admitted

Mom was admitted to the hospital on Friday. I threw up on Saturday. I think the two are related.

She called, just to keep me in the loop, it's nothing serious really, they just want to keep an eye on her. If I had some time could I visit? Because they haven't given her anything to eat or a room to stay in yet and she's starving. But when I have a minute. She doesn't want me to drop whatever it is I'm doing. It's no big deal, really.

Mom, don't you ever get sick of being the strong one, even when you're bleeding internally with infections in your blood and your lungs?

Of course I dropped whatever it was I was doing. And on my way out of the lab, I glared at the girl across from me - who I had told about Mom, and who was now whining because she just wants to go to the gym and she doesn't have a hair tie and how can she go to the gym now?

At least you're going to the gym and not a hospital.

We sat together, she trying to look not-sick, me trying to look not-worried. How many times will we have to play these roles?

I said goodbye, left, stopped, went back, bought her books, said goodbye again, got on the subway and got angry at the tears in my eyes.

And then I was back at the house with her medical equipment in it, alone on the first floor, and it was over before I knew what was happening. Cookies and ice cream, in and out, 30 minutes total. Easy, too easy, still, after all these months trying. Too easy to return to. But I know that. I know it might start at 30 minutes, but it won't take long, if I let it, to start carving out hours of my day, wasting it on eating and un-eating.

Maybe I need to just make sure I'm not alone with Mom still being in the hospital.

so drunk

But just the right level of drunk.

I can look inward if I want to, deep into the things I don't normally think about.

I can look outward if I want to, lose myself and watch everything blur by.

Or I can stay here, in between..

I can do anything.

words and words and words...

I am so sick of writing.

The last day of school was December 20th, and since then, I've spent every single day writing. First an 18-page research progress report (that's 18 pages single-spaced and size 10), which I emailed out yesterday (yes, yesterday, New Year's Eve; I managed to finish it and email it all of 20 minutes before people came over for a party).

And now on to another assignment, this one on green roofs. I have no idea how big it will be yet, likely 10-15 pages. But I've been reworking the same paragraph for something like 2 hours already, I think I'm just completely out of motivation. I want to go outside, watch a movie, run in the park, something, anything other than sit here and keep writing.

And then on Monday it's back to school. And I've got a presentation on Tuesday, so as soon as I finish this assignment, I need to start working on that. Ha, so much for a break.

trauma in list form

I'm starting a group therapy program in February. It's an educational support group for women who have experienced trauma. It lasts 12 weeks, and each week we'll learn about a particular technique or strategy to deal with things like flashbacks and panic attacks. But we're not supposed to talk about what actually happened to us that was traumatic, because it might be triggering to us or someone else in the group, so we're only supposed to talk about what's happening in our lives now. So that might be a challenge, but I guess I'll see. It still feels far away.

I've been on the waiting list for something like 6 months. I had the assessment interview today. Not quite your usual interview. No "congratulations, you've got the job."

Congratulations, you've got trauma?

It wasn't a long interview, but it was surprisingly thorough. I guess she went through some sort of checklist for things that normally crop up after trauma...depression, suicidal thoughts, anxiety, flashbacks, dissociation, panic attacks, insomnia, headaches, muscle tension and pain, eating disorders, substance addictions, self-injury. It was a bit overwhelming, realizing that I'd experienced everything she asked about except full-fledged substance abuse. But it was a bit reassuring too. Sometimes I worry that there's something fundamentally wrong with me, something that's just not put together right; otherwise why would I have so much that's wrong with me? It seems like I recover from one disorder, have a brief moment where I convince myself I'm okay, only to develop something new and equally destructive. But if it can all be linked back to trauma then at least there's a reason for it, some sort of ugly root that I can take aim at and work on.

It would be so, so amazing to one day look at that list and have none of it apply to me.

drink your coffee

I will. Once I'm done cleaning the bedroom. And the bathroom.

You don't have to do all of that. You just said you were going to vacuum.

I can't clean partly. I can't do anything partly.

I know...but we can do things entirely together. Let me help.

It's okay, it's almost done.

...Okay...Well, take a break, have your coffee at least. You're getting an F for coffee-drinking right now. And a D minus for food intake.



No, that should be the other way around. There's far more coffee in me than food.

This week feels like it's run backwards. I've thrown up twice. He doesn't know that. I have gauge marks on my shoulder blades from my nails. It would have been worse if I still had my old razorblades with me, and if I'd had a moment or two alone. He doesn't know that either. I feel guilty about not telling him. Mostly, I just don't know what to say. I don't know why I did it, why I lost control over those impulses after so many months of being better. I don't understand it to myself; I don't want to try to explain it to someone else.

still with me

I do have an update on that dinner night with Dad - it went well actually, and I want to talk about it more, but my mind's not focused on that today and it will have to wait.

I almost caved three nights ago. The impulse surprised me - I hadn't felt it so strongly for so long - but there it was. I was at a Halloween party. I'd had four beers and didn't feel at all drunk, and as I became aware of that, I thought that it must be because I weigh more again, and so my tolerance has gone back up. And suddenly the three slices of pizza seemed like far too much, and the room of loud and happy and drunk people was suffocating, and I left for awhile and wandered the halls and found myself looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. And I could see the stalls in the reflection behind me. And suddenly I wanted to just be empty again.

No. It's not worth it. It's been nearly four months, your teeth have started to get strong again, don't do it.

But once in four months isn't so bad, really, surely just once more won't ruin my teeth.

And I spent a long time in the bathroom, arguing with myself, instead of at the party with everyone else. When I finally went back - still full, still uncomfortable with it - the party was moving to another pub and I was being ushered forward. I didn't want to go. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to be with my boyfriend, who might not know why I was so upset, or then again he might, but either way he would hold me until the impulses softened.

But then an old friend started telling me about his problems with his girlfriend, and I could tell he needed to talk, and so I went along to the next pub and bought him a beer and listened. Maybe I was hoping that listening to his problems would get my mind off my own, or maybe this was a throwback to the days when I thought my only worth was my ability to make other people feel better, or maybe a bit of both.

Then again, sometimes I still think that's my only worth.

I get like this sometimes, usually when I'm drinking and at a party, and I'm beginning to think it's not the drinking that has me feeling so flawed and inadequate, it's the party. Because sometimes I drink with smaller crowds, a friend or two, and then I don't feel so self-destructive. I think it's the large crowds that get to me. Something about seeing so many carefree people, and realizing how far I am from that, makes me feel like despite all my efforts, I'll never be like them, there's something wrong with me, something that can never be fixed.