back.
I feel sick, but I don't think I really am. I just feel like my body's been pushed through processes it's not meant to undergo. like there are (literal, this time) toxins inside me that need to get out, like my muscles can't quite hold up my skin. a shower would help, but I'm too tired to stand up for it, too tired to prove I can. I suppose there are other things I don't, this moment, feel like proving. there's an e-mail in my inbox with the subject line, "support someone with an eating disorder." I read it - having just gotten back a few hours ago, not feeling my best and certainly not feeling my most compassionate (or actually, it's not so much about compassion as energy ... hi, my name is Mary, and I don't want to give right now, ok?) - and thought, "yeah. me. could someone support me, please?" I have other e-mails in my inbox doing that. and I have a doctor trying to help me understand that I can decide who I have relationships with, even who I continue having relationships with... I can decide what I need from another person and let go when if they don't meet those needs, if they don't reciprocate in kind. That's what he said. And then I sat there, wide-eyed, numb, for about five minutes and he said, "This session's really knocked the wind out of you, hasn't it," and I nodded. The idea of letting go when the relationship isn't destroying you - when, for instance, the person is "only neglecting" you, not being abusive... honestly boggles my mind. Walking away? Severing an attachment - are you fucking crazy? It was the first time in as long as I can remember that he proposed a new idea, a new way of being (potentially), and I didn't feel drawn to it. Normally, he boggles my mind, yes, but I feel this attraction, this, "oh, it would be so wonderful to think that way," which helps me start working toward it. I'll be honest: my second thought when he suggested, basically, that I think through the people in my life, consider what my "rules" might be, pick out those who aren't really meeting that and so forth was that I might as well star on a reality tv series. What, I'm kicking people off the island now? We're throwing out the friend with the least votes? ("Are you insane?" is not an easy question to pose to your psychiatrist.) I say that was my second thought because my first was far more extreme, far more painful. The image that popped into my head, reflexively, as he talked about this was of a Nazi officer at Auschwitz, choosing who went in which line. I feel horrible for having thought that, for making that involuntary association. And I hear a voice say, "Well, you must think rather highly of yourself, if not being picked by you is the same as being killed." We all know I do not have problems with egotism. (Frankly, whenever I start to be self-loving, I do not complain.) And I can't blame myself for an involuntary response. Or won't. It's about me, anyway; I hate to let go of people. Duh- I hate to let go. To be alone, scariest thing in the world to me. But I'm being (...wait a moment, I need to rephrase this...neurolinguistic reprogramming and all)...I'm starting to think that I'm not handling this fear in a rational way. I know that I have people in my life who plan to stay there, and a good majority of my brain believes they will. I'm still very, very scared I'll lose them, and if I can lose one, I can lose all, and so why on earth would I let go of someone, knowing they could be all I have, next week? And that feels sad, like the thought of someone less than who I want to be, because it's this desperate need to have someone instead of the need for specific people. I do have a strong, pained response to the idea of "moving on" from specific people, but I also have the need to just hang onto everyone. In case. I lived through a Great Depression, too; only in my world, they rationed love. Attachment. Attention. And I don't know when I'm going to stop packing my cupbords and attic with all this surplus, all this filler. The things I may someday need. The things I might regret giving up and therefore keep. And, maybe, the people, as well as the things?
I tried to make a list once, in D!@#$%^, of the people I needed to keep in contact with... It just kept growing. And I would think of people that I'd forgotten, and wonder for a moment if I should put them on, and then I'd think how awful it was that I'd consider "editing" them out, or how I needed to at least try and hold onto them, or how so-and-so was on the list and this person was that important - or even, who was I to decide who's important? (in my life) - everyone matters, and I'm going to go through and prioritize? I ended up more confused and hurt and ashamed for having attempted to figure out all my long-distance relationships, and I've forgotten which notebook the list is in. I quit long before I finished it, if I ever could have, and I can't imagine how long it would be if I ever tried. Imagine those people who have the Christmas card list of 1500 people; then imagine they all deserve more than a Christmas card - they deserve something to the tune of the best friendship I can offer. It's no wonder I want to bang my head against the desk. And I understand now why the doctor asked me when my life will get to be "all about Mary"? When he said it, I cringed. I guess I think that's selfish, kind of surprising as that is. I believe that the best life comes out of who I am and putting that above all else, et cetera, but I also believe in relationality and in the huge aspect of myself that is relational, on top of which I think that everyone deserves to be treated as if they are of equal and tremendous value - because I believe that they are and it feels best to me to live that way. I don't differentiate between thinking that people are superior or inferior in the universal scheme and thinking that people matter more or less in my life. Or even, contribute more or less to my life. For instance, the teacher of my fifth and sixth grade gifted classes? She matters hella much in my life. I haven't spoken to her since she moved halfway through my sixth grade year, and I haven't written her since some time in middle school, so one could say that my relationship with her now is less than infusive. But I think about her all the time, and about how I should write her. Because if I did write her, and the letter actually found her (she moved so often; I don't even trust it would, but of course I hope, obsessively), she'd of course write me back, and get to know who I am now, and like me even more, and we'd become faithful correspondents and good friends, and, and, and... This scenario exists for basically every person who is touching or has ever touched my life. I'm sort of in touch with them, or I plan to be, or I fantasize about being, or I mean to be... My main motivation for being a published writer, before that finally broke down and my real desires broke through? - was the image of my book on one of those display stands in a store, and all these people that I love walking in (one at a time, all over the world) and seeing it. And saying, "Is that... oh, my gosh, that's - it's Mary! She... Wow. And I told her I always knew she would." And maybe the book would be brilliant fiction, and they'd love it, and get in contact with me. Maybe it would be inspiration, and they'd love it and wonder at my wisdom. Maybe it would be poetry, and it would sweep them into speechlessness, bring tears to their eyes. Maybe it would be autobiography; they'd learn of all the struggles they hadn't known I faced, fought, conquered, and redeemed. And maybe it would be a long love note, or they'd find their name in the dedication, or as one of the chosen members cited in the acknowledgments. Looking at it now, I think if I ever published a book, it would simply be three hundred pages of acknowledgments, of thank yous and love. And that's the beauty and the problem, right in there. That's who I am, you know... going through this whole Rogers thing, with the visit, before, after, not saying goodbye, holding people, loving people, hanging on... It's who I am. I am someone who comes to rest in a state of absolute love and gratitude. I bubble with it; I burst... it feels wonderful, honestly. So good. So different than the desperate attempts to show it, explain it, communicate it, keep up relationships with everyone for who I feel this way. And it's not that I don't want to keep up the relationships (even those I don't have anymore) ... I do. But the doctor was right when he said - Friday, this is all Friday - that the heart has infinite space for love, but it does not have infinite energy. I just keep hoping I will find the energy.
He says it in a way that feels so awful...that if I do this sort of relational spring-cleaning (my term, and my face contorts as I type it) I'll have spaces open for people who can reciprocate. Even though he doesn't believe in replacing people and knows I don't believe in it either. Even though I told him, I'm still open to new people...although my circumstances say otherwise. And I know I've had rules in the past, and presently, about certain things. I've stayed away from people I knew I'd end up caring about who were in extremely shaky spots. Because I already had enough friends on the edge of something awful and something permanent. Because I had enough of it myself. ...And I feel guilty; I felt guilty then. And I hate the thought that someone could read this and think I don't really want them, that I don't attach to them by choice and out of love... specific love ...because it isn't true. That's motivation, I guess: I don't want to give anyone reason to *wonder* if my attachment to them has more to do with compulsion than relationality. The thing is, I'm afraid that some of the people I can't imagine life without can't reciprocate, and I don't want to imagine myself without them. I don't want to imagine what would happen... or the Ultimate Alone, which ideas like this always make feel imminent because the doctor says, "You can fill that space with people who reciprocate, who love as deeply and fully as you do" - and I don't believe they exist. Me, more than anyone else...no. That's why I had to make it a defect, so it wouldn't look like I considered myself superior. I considered myself a freak. But then, I have reason to believe a few people share this whatever-it-is with me. I'm starting to really understand that they're there, to look out and actually see them. I just don't want to let go. no, I haven't talked to my first-grade teachers in about a decade, but I cared so deeply for them, and what if I'm passing on sharing myself with them, when they would reciprocate - by choosing not to track them down? and sure, maybe my relationship with a classmate is sort of sporadic now, but we used to be best friends; do you really expect me to let her/him fall out of my life forever? and ok, my relationship with this other classmate is practically non-existent, but I always *wanted* to know them, and what if I could have that chance? I haven't tried yet. I haven't tried *now.* on and on and on and on and on.
no wonder I'm exhausted. just thinking about how much I want and need and like and love how many people... takes away my breath. and some of it is healthy, truly. some of my desire to hang on, even, even now when it's so obviously too much. because I saw the expression on that face, the glint in the eye, the curl of lip or voice, the energy or laugh or color that showed the valuable essence in them; I saw it and felt it and it inspired me, touched me, gave me something, felt like life, fed me and made me hungry...it opened them for me and made it easy to "understand the grandness of a man behind the petty crimes"^. When I think about not trying for relationships with people who've shaped me, people I've loved, people I've had relationships with, people I've wanted relationships with, and people that I've had this vision of, seen through that one amazing lens... it empties me. I miss them. Stored with my memories is the emotional memory of that asset, individually. And it's like the perfect character sketch, the Dorothy Parker short, the play that is so unbelievably meta. It's art that captures something exquisite in the exact exquisite manner; it's so hard to explain. And so even when I think about capturing it, holding onto that, expressing just that, instead of relation... Even when I think about writing who these girls and guys and women and men are, I know I'm missing out on something. I'm missing out on knowing them, in my day-to-day, or month-to-month and what's more, I can't capture what I've known. It's like trying to capture freedom or own liberty. It can't be done.
so, in short form, I'm no longer considering the possibility that the doctor and I can never talk again (because, you know, I have such an easy time walking away) as a result of his view on relationships... but I'm sort of wishing we weren't talking so soon as tomorrow. or at least later in the day. when it comes down to it, maybe I'm not so much uneasy as overtired. curious.
the trip. well. there's some to tell, of course. not so much as one might think, but maybe that's just coming off a trip to Oconomowoc - an unfair comparison. actually this reminded me of the trip to NYC for YPI (ooh, the acronyms) - which reminded me of my relationship with Ruth, and how amazing she was and is and how I need to e-mail her and she doesn't always respond right away but she's so cool when she does and you know, that's not a relationship I want to lose, so I better start e-mailing her more, and hey, am I ever going to write that spider I nearly stepped on when I was seven? ... a trip so soon after returning from WI. there are some anecdotes and two major points, one being an intense struggle with my eating disorder - (hey, look I have one. and it's not nice. fuck. ...sometimes I feel like I have a tumor in my head, and it can talk to me) - and some realizations surrounding that and the other having to do with religious weirdness. fun, fun, fun. but I need sleep now. oh, there was a rather wonderful dream as well; I could write that story also - at some point. and you know, my friend Ash ... she was in it. she's so incredible, and it's been so stupidly long. I want to have written her.
you get the picture; now, I get to sleep.
forth.
~me
^Ani, "Served Faithfully"