leaving Rogers, take two.
04/21/04|9:56 p.m.

this really sucks.

there was a new admit Saturday. medically speaking, it's hard to believe someone so sick could be alive. I didn't really see her; I couldn't make myself look. I just saw all the entourage and machinery keeping her upright. but I couldn't really look because the invisible sickness was too much for me. I couldn't really look because I was focused on having a few seconds to steal Stephanie away from the admission for a talk. and a photo. and because earlier, when a couple of RCs counseled about open rooms, implying a new admission... I'd been jealous. pathetically, ridiculously, understandably jealous.

I wrote Dave a letter today in sloppy, large handwriting - because he called it anorexic, and that's a fighting word I simply will not stand. I shook while I was writing it. I think it was more about writing him right after seeing him Saturday, and not the handwriting, but still. I spent the night shaking like I'd had two or three cokes, and I hadn't had the slightest bit of caffeine. and the whole American Idol thing did not help. neither did the fact that I (hopefully) left my non-blank-book with my Rogers outpourings in the back of my dad's car. if it's note there, I really might put my head through a wall. if it is there, he could read it and know more things than, "hey, the girl can turn a phrase when she tries." no, my attachment will not surprise him. but the statements that make vague reference to my sexuality? perhaps a little more. oh, what's the big deal, I'm not keeping quiet for much reason other than not understanding it myself. and thankfully, my mom already knows about that confusion. thankfully because my aunt innocently stumbled onto my journal, and I have no idea what she read, but given the general gamut of subjects, I don't think there's any more shocking secret she could feel compelled to share. she's not going to talk to my mom about the divorce being hard, or about my problems here and there with Mom, and I came out of the "I'm in love with a Wisconsin hospital" closet long ago. I'm not hurting myself. it's actually weird to be in a spot where someone stumbling onto private writing isn't reason to raise the alarm and flip out... I guess my secrets are pretty safe these days, even when they slip past security.

but really, this sucks majorally. I'm much more equipped to handle it than I was two and a half years ago... but it doesn't fucking matter. I want to go home. people are dying in my home right now. there's too much in that statement to know what's upsetting me. and there's too much in my head right now to do a damn thing.

just sit and buzz; just sit and watch the ripples. don't judge, don't interfere. ...don't stray too far from kleenex.

~me

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