I can't believe how much is happening. I can feel the adrenaline of the school year coming to a close, despite the fact that I haven't had any part in school this year. There's an excited itch to the air; everyone seems to be living so well right now, wherever they are in life, whatever that means. People who seem to know themselves well are continuing to shine, consistently building on their already amazing lives. People who I've watched skip, trip, and pick it up again are holding their own. I've got kids graduating, (haven't used "kids" in awhile; it's the short, youngest sister's way of feeling tall and older), friends doing things they've never tried... I'm doing things I've never tried as well. I do feel a slight regret about this year; it's hard for me that I never had a clear goal of what I wanted to gain from it, and I don't have a clear sense now of what I have... Maybe I can look into that and piece together how this time has been important. Either way, I need to continue "this time." I refuse to go to college or begin working with phobias like these. I won't mar the experience with that; I won't leave before I'm ready. And I want to be ready! So let's get to working, hey?
Oh, wait, I'm already "working my ass on" as Sara says. Let's continue, I suppose.
And in random news, Beth, I already miss you and am willing to bypass May if it means you will be less busy and more present. Apparently, I've gotten spoiled in my Beth-time. and I want to stay that way! Do you all understand that, if I had visited my oldest brother instead of my middle-child-brother this weekend, I would have been in the same city as Beth Ann? how completely wonderful is that idea, and how totally unfair that it did not work that way? but this is (she says without serious complaint) the way my life has been lately; the fact that I have no life seems to matter little when it comes to conflicts of schedule. seriously, you people know how rarely I do anything. the idea that I've been out of state twice in three weeks is mind-boggling - even to me. so, why does my calendar keep pretending I'm booked?
Examples: I've been in love with Alix Olson since, say, my freshman year of high school. Every few months, I receive an e-mail from her subtle-sister mailing list telling me that she's once again touring and once again refusing to take pity on me and stop here. I'm so used to this, that I just scan the e-mail quickly to make sure it's once again accurate, and go about my day. And you know what? This current tour- the last one for awhile, she says- the list actually says, "Hey, Mary! Guess what! I'm so going to come perform for you!" (or something that roughly translates to that) and just before I can get excited to the point of being frightening, I read the date. (This was a few weeks ago.) Her performance here was scheduled for spucking April 17th. Not only was I going to be out of town that day (for WI), it was the one day I was going out of town for... meaning it was not the 16th or 18th, when I was traveling, when I could have moved it around. It was the reason-to-go-to-Wisconsin-day-of-the-vigil-Day. I was in physical pain, which I sifted gently through a strict regimen of dramatic performances.
Then, my brother John decided to do yet another really rocking thing for me; he gave me a heads-up about some local shows by musicians I adore and totally would have missed. The first one he informs me of is Alanis Morissette. (I will say for the millionth time: if you have not heard Alanis Morissette speak, if you have not gotten to witness how incredibly intelligent and peaceful she is, most of all, if you have not gotten to hear the lyrics of Under Rug Swept, you are deprived. Even a blind squirrel stumbles across a nut once in awhile. Pop culture is equal to the squirrel.) So, I look it up. It's dandy. A bad venue, but what can I expect for such a massive show, and it's not until August - so marvelous, I'll have the money without a problem. Oh, wait, problem. (What? How can there be a problem? I don't have any plans for anything ever. I have no foreseeable future. Except.) The show's on my dad's birthday. Spuck. And I have no idea what to plan around that because my dad will so instantly collapse what he wants to let me do as I please. I asked him if he'd thought about what he wants to do for his birthday, and he said he hadn't thought about it. I mentioned that it's on a Wednesday, hoping he'd give some clue about whether he planned, in that case, to celebrate on the day or over a weekend. I didn't go any further because I didn't want to influence his decision. I can completely miss this concert for his birthday, but I can also look forward to actually doing something if he's going to wait until the weekend to celebrate. A few people have suggested I could treat him to the concert, which is a great idea - he actually liked Alanis Morissette before I did - except that it's not *so* him that it fits for his birthday. If he goes with me, it won't feel like we're there for his benefit, and I know that. So, now I just have to bide my time and wait for my dad's indecision to become a little less blurry. (No judgment on the indecision; I'm entirely guilty on that count myself.) And if he doesn't make a clear decision, I can always say, "I'd like to go to this event, so for me, the weekend would be a better choice." I don't have a problem being upfront. I just believe my dad deserves what he actually wants, especially on his birthday, even if he doesn't know how to decide and communicate what he wants.
It looks like I will get to see Melissa Ferrick in just under two weeks; I still have to get (the so incredibly cheap and therefore kickass) tickets, but that looks like it will go through. I'm tres excited about that one. And considering I just missed the most important concert of all (even more important than the show Ani's doing in the next few days, which I can't seem to convince myself is worth getting tickets for, even though I had a rocking time at two of her shows, and it would be an actual instance of getting out to do something I like)... that's a nice thing. The most important concert of all would be my spucking brother's biggest gig to date, opening for spucking Live, who I got hooked on by (can we go an entry without mentioning him?) Dave. I can't even convey my despair to the boy; he refuses to see how I can possibly feel disappointed. "You didn't miss so much," he says, and I honestly want to pummel his placating self. I missed so much! I missed my brother and his band opening for another way-cool-connected-to-Rogers-and-therefore-sacred band. Because the boy led me to think that it wasn't happening for a few more weeks; he's a rock star, but he has an anxiety disorder, and so he mentioned that this gig was happening the night before it took place. That's ok; I would have scaled the necessary walls to see it anyway...except that I was driving (riding) to Nashville that night. It was Friday. And so I was in a car, spucked up both from a session and from before the session, unhappily anticipating the trip, when I could have been destroying my vocal cords in an effort to vocally display that I'm my brother's biggest fan. Grr. He's more excited about a gig he has later this month; I don't quite understand how that works, but at least he's telling me when this one is. It will be the first time I (finally) see my brother play a set, and that rocks. I've wanted it for so long.
Did I mention they loved him? (How could they not?) Did I mention two of the djs from a top radio station here called him up? That one of them called a week or so before the gig asking where John's third album (the one just about to be released) was, and more to the point, why it wasn't in his hand? That John sent them the album (it's a big deal when they start asking you to do this) and the dj loved it, but not as much as my favorite dj loved it, that they called him after the gig Friday and asked permission to play the single? Eeee! I'm so thrilled. I can officially request my brother's song on the radio. That is in the running for the coolest thing ever.
In fucked up things (that have happened since I started this entry) my first letter to Dave just got returned. Grrrr. The address is incorrect. I want to bang my head against the wall. How many hoops must I go to before I *actually* have legitimate contact info for him? The envelope says "no such number" so I spent about thirty minutes googling businesses on that street, and my guess now is that he inverted two of the numbers. He's just starting this job after all. So now, I have the joy of hoping that my second letter is also returned to me, and not just dead in an office somewhere (because damnit, I do not want to have to communicate that sentiment again), waiting to try and re-mail to an address that still might not be the right one, and once again not even in a position to hope I'll have a response in my mailbox sometime soon. Damn his discalculia.
I would really, really appreciate it if contact with one person could just spucking work. Easily. Right now. Which means I need to acknowledge a rocking e-mail from Chas, who's really good about getting back to me after our silent patches. I-heart-Chastity. (The girl. I don't have much feeling one way or the other for the "virtue.") 90 days until she's married. I have complete faith in her decision, so I'm not worried about her at all. But I'm not sure I'm ready for it. ...I do think it's marvelously brave to get married right now - assuming you want to - when you've seen and experienced (as a witness or child or some other third party) "failed" or "bad" marriages. Chas isn't naive, and she just went through her parents' divorce. So to me, the fact that she's getting married makes her even more remarkable.
I will not die if she changes her name. (I handle change so splendidly.)
...Which leads me to one of the two Nashville topics and means I might as well go ahead and say what I have to say (at this point) about the trip.
My appointment ran way late, and we ended up driving almost entirely in the dark, post-terrific-rainstorm. One of the odd inconsistencies between my self and my phobias is that I really enjoy "driving" in the rain, so long as it's not to a point of serious danger. And I'm more comfortable driving in the dark on a highway, then I am in any other context. I think because I did it so often as a kid; coming home always meant an hour drive or so, usually from the city. And because the highways are lit differently (read: at all) I have no memories of scary country roads lit only by headlights. I can no longer remember if driving in the country at dark scared me before the thing with Charlie. I'd kind of like to know that. It's possible it hadn't come up a great deal, considering that was only my sophomore year, and I hadn't done a lot of riding in foreign rural areas. The country roads I generally saw were the ones within which I'd lived for mainly my whole life, so it's possible I would have had the fear anyway. Or had it before and just don't remember. I have a problem with trauma changing me. I have a problem with being changed without my consent/ decision. I am not talking about Nashville at all. Spuck. Let me get back on track.
We drove, it took forever, we ended up in the wrong lane when the highway split, which screwed up our direction, but we got there nonetheless. The dark, for me, always makes things feel more sacred, so going through Kentucky actually felt alright. (On the way back, it was in the day, and I slept through the entire state. I kind of didn't like that, but then, I kind of didn't like being exhausted either.) We got to Joe's between ten and eleven; he and Mom went out, and I went to sleep. I like sleep. It helps me feel less like shit. They were out until two and up at six. I was awake at six also, but not interested in actually getting up. I slept poorly, and I honestly need a lot of sleep. I have a problem with this, which has led to me having a problem with people questioning it. Sleep is necessary; if I tell you I need a certain amount and it seems ridiculous to you, I don't really care to hear you elaborate. So anyway. I told them they were crazy, and they talked about going off for breakfast and then perhaps to find some fun, while I stayed at his apartment and slept. I asked my mom what I was supposed to do for breakfast, and they tried to negotiate around it, and I started to feel really awful because I couldn't understand if I was more of a nuisance with them or away from them, because I was having a really hard time in general, because I was down on myself and didn't feel like I deserved sleep, because my eating disorder was flaring up and so I also didn't feel like I deserved food (and therefore took their decision to get breakfast without me as implicit agreement, which of course they never meant), and because I couldn't figure out whether or not I could go with them. I'd expected to just drive myself through the experience, propel through it... but given the option of staying behind, I remembered that normally, I can't go out, and started thinking in a mindset that would mean not going out there either. By the time they were both ready, I had finished sleeping, and they ended up just waiting for me to shower so I could come along. Breakfast was yummy, and that scared me. I told myself there's nothing wrong with liking the taste of something. I told myself there's nothing wrong with a meal like I ordered. I felt like I was fifteen, and that my desires were entirely out of control. My eating disorder was yelling about how I'm not supposed to enjoy food, I'm not even supposed to eat it, and to eat so much, and not even on my meal plan, just based on what I think is good... Gosh. I must be doing something terribly wrong in terms of eating habits lately because I look all weird and none of my clothes fit, even though they're bigger than old clothes. It was a serious self-attack, not entirely out of nowhere. In the days leading up to the weekend, I could feel the ed thoughts increasing. It's been rather seriously suckish. And I don't really know what to do with it because the doctor and I don't usually talk about ed shit, and I'm not sure I want to spend our time there, but do I really want to go see Tammy about it? And it's more a problem of self-image than nutrition, and even though I know she has experience with that, I don't know if I'd be comfortable talking with her about it. On top of which: I'm still not insured, and I've not yet been approved for disability, so I hate to ask my mom for yet another expensive appointment... I will if I need it, but things have been a little better today and late yesterday, so maybe I'll pull through on my own.
The really confusing thing to me, to be honest, is that I've always understood the eating disorder to be a manifestation of other issues and having worked through so many of those issues, I don't understand how it can suddenly flare up again. It's like a shed snakeskin, in my mind, suddenly inhabited and alive again. I know that it takes on a life of its own, that part of the difficulty and the tragedy of developing this disease is that you have to work on deeper issues to get out of it, but if you don't work on the set of issues characteristic to the disorder, you can't work on anything. It basically adds a whole slew of messes to an already brutal mess. Not to mention the sudden urgency of the situation. Bah. Anyway, I understand that different issues could animate the snake than did originally, and that I haven't worked through everything entirely...but it's extremely difficult to have thoughts I haven't had in so long taking over my head. I almost told my mom about it after that breakfast Saturday. I was relieved to realize I felt I could share it with her, but that's also a measure of how bad it's been. The additional slew of messes. Thinking I'm ugly, and wrong-looking, and eating the wrong things, and too much, thinking I have to do something to deserve food. Our big activity Saturday was a game of Frisbee golf (Frolf) at this course in Nashville. It's a cool game, and it's a little mind-blowing to watch these people on the course get so seriously athletic and competitive around throwing a frisbee. I sucked. My mom sucked, too, but it didn't really comfort me. Neither did the fact that I've never played before and obviously wouldn't have the skill. Neither did the fact that things can still be fun even if you suck at them. Neither did the fact that the woods through which we played was absolutely Rogers-ropes-course beautiful. Neither did the fact that if it were ropes, my experience of shame and frustration would somehow be turned around, and there'd be an important lesson or medicine in the game regardless of my skill level. (The "but if Dwight were here" factor.) None of my arguments seemed to quell the prosecution. By the time the game was over, I was trying not to be sullen; I felt incredibly incompetant and out of shape.
I realized later - and this did help me, which is a relief - that I have a weird cycle of shitty-thoughts surrounding exercise where it guaranteed to be a lose-lose situation. When I exert energy, and I start breathing hard, sweating, feeling it in my muscles, and so forth, I feel like I must be in poor shape. Which is a horrid term anyway because good physical health isn't related to a consistent "shape"... but anyway. This pushes me to exercise compulsively, which means I spend more time exerting energy and bothered by the entirely natural responses to the exercise. I struggled with this around walking, too; I live in a total commuter's city, and I don't get out much...so the amount of walking I do when visiting other cities often blows my mind. I finally reminded myself of my old bike rides - I miss them so - and how that summer that I biked so often across those fucking D!@#$%^ hills, I never once came home without having broken a sweat, breathing normally, and looking entirely in tact. It had nothing to do with not being strong or in shape or whatever we decide to call it. Biking is simply *always* work, always taxing. I was able to go farther with less exertion by the end of the summer, but I still came 'home', pleaded with my legs to remember how to walk, went inside for a glass of water and sat entirely still, drinking it, after I got back. Every time. So it's unfair to expect myself to be physically superhuman, and I did realize that eventually. It's impossible to judge how healthy I am or whether I'm active enough, physically, by my response to exercise without any point of comparison. Thus, I'm trying to stop. There's not so much to trigger it here, but I want to make it clear nonetheless. When we finished the frolf game, my mom said something about did I want to go out for smoothies (and I love smoothies) - but my (unarticulated) response was, "Oh, right. Offer the [fat, lazy, weak, etc] girl a dessert as consolation prize. Ugh, I'm so horrible. I don't deserve a smoothie." Deserve a smoothie? How does one deserve a smoothie? That is also unfair. But it went on that way, nevertheless. And I couldn't stop second-guessing myself. "I'd like this... am I insane? how do I know that isn't just the kind of behavior that's causing a problem right now?"
The problem would be that I'm not thirteen, and I don't look like I am, either. I have no desire to be thirteen, specifically; I have a lot of desire to be past that... but I'm terrified of adulthood- we know that. And I honestly have not taken in the growth, development, aging of the past few years. Having shut it off through an eating disorder leaves me really confused. Having finished high school without attending it leaves me really confused. I constantly think people my age are older than me. I definitely still think I'm in high school, and barely. We were at a mall Saturday night, waiting to get into a restaurant, and one of the local high schools was obviously having a prom nearby because pretty much their entire student body seemed to be present (and conspicuously so...) I made a few comments about dresses that were cool, the genius of a girl who was wearing comfy-looking flip-flops, my own prom experience and so forth... and then I said, somewhat dumbfounded, "These people are *younger* than me!" (I used incorrect grammar. I do that.) "I mean, maybe not by much - just by a year or two, most of them...but...they're younger than me!" I can't explain how odd that felt. I'm looking at my peers (in terms of age), and seeing my siblings and their friends. I know I need to catch up on some of the growing up, I didn't get the chance to do in middle school and high school, but it's creepy to realize just how much I need to do so... and it's scary to know that I won't stop getting older while I work on this. I can't pause things, work at it, and press play when I'm ready to be nineteen. I have to deal with the fact that I'm nineteen while I do the work. And that's really hard. Physically, I'm becoming adult-ish. I have no idea how noticeable it is to the untrained eye, but I can see how the shape of my body has changed from what it was, how I look more like my sister and some of the other women in my family... how I will soon look like the twenty-something I will soon be. I'm terrified of that; I truly am. I'm starting to work with the terror, but I'm still frightened when I see myself. "That's not how I look!" It makes me wary to dye my hair, also, because I'm already so confused by my appearance. (I'm still going to. Spucking photo making things more spucking difficult.)
Well, that's one of the major points of the weekend. I'll save the religious weirdness for another time. I'll save the fun restuarant story, too. I'm going to sleep again. I'm always trying to make a habit of sleeping.
...And I did have a session today, that I'm semi-avoiding discussing. It wasn't so unexpectedly bizarre as Friday's, but I was nervous and reticent. What I did tell him, I said too quietly, and I don't think he heard me correctly. He spent a long time trying to convince me that it was really important that I feel safe telling him when something doesn't feel right to me, and that this will help our work, etc...which I don't think I needed to be told. I know that. I wasn't pushing my own thought processes into the conversation because over the weekend, they've become fairly suspect. That entry last night, which I did not expect to turn entirely into a discussion of the issue at hand, woke me up a little. And the truth is, I do want help changing some of my beliefs and behaviors in terms of relation. I'm scared to explain what I believe (now) because I *don't* want him to defer to it. I'm starting to feel inclined toward changing my thinking, and I'm scared that he's more intent on assuring me that my perspective is valid than he is on helping me live with one I can, well, live with. I did sort of start to communicate that. I think. To be honest, the best parts of the session were silent. I was really tired, emotionally and mentally spent, and it was best to just sit and try to take in that this is a safe place. I don't want to continue feeling so nervous; I want to feel comfortable again soon. By, say, Friday.
I think I might sleep until then. I'm so ready for crash time. But then, I haven't learned how to sleep-journal yet, and what would we do without these rambling bits of joy and genius? Oh, what would we ever do?
Post, medicate, sleep. I'm on it.
~me