Giving My Closet the Finger...

There comes a time when things suck and you pretty much feel like giving everyone the finger. Oh man, that'd be sweet. Very therapeutic, I think. Somehow though, I get the impression that such a gesture would not be well-received. Too bad, because it is a lot of fun. Oh, fingers.

I feel like burning all my clothes. Not that I'd run around naked or anything - pretty sure it's pretty cold and I'd be arrested for indecent exposure - I just feel like burning them, although I'm not sure exactly how to articulate this. Maybe it's because I feel like giving them the finger. Yes, that's right. I feel like making a rude gesture at my closet. I need more sleep; I think I'm losing it. Anyway, back to swearing at my closet... yeah, I dunno. All I can see is stuff that remembers everything I've done. Does that sound completely psychotic? I'm not sure, but I'll say it anyway. It's like, the black shirt remembers exactly when you bought it, what you were wearing at the time of purchase, whom you were with, what your hair looked like, and how much you weighed and it remembers when it was suddenly too big and witnessed an act against the body. The coat in the corner has been temporarily forsaken because it knows too much. You put it on and its specific smells trigger memories in your head that you'd rather forget. The blue sweatpants that you've had since 8th grade and you can't get yourself to throw out, the ones in the bottom of the second drawer from the top of your dresser, those ones have seen more battle than anything else you own. They've been on you as you've ran and ran and ran and fell and then ran again. They saw you transform. They saw you shrink and stretch and morph and be silent. They remember the rhythm of your walk and they remember the cold you put them through. Yes, these are just clothes, but I swear to God they remember everything and it scares the hell outta you sometimes. Clothing tells a story about the person (a little wisdom from Stacey and Clinton), and they tell the story even if it sucks. The pink sweater stares at you in all its brightness, and it bores into you, begging you to remember when you bought it, the erratic state you were in, how it fit, where you wore it (the hospital), how you felt in it. It asks questions like, "have you changed? You better not change or we're through." Whoever says they don't have some sort of relationship with their clothing is lying. The t-shirts in the bucket yell out every damn morning, "HEY, where the heck have you been?" I can't tell them the truth. I have no use for them anymore, but I can't throw them out either, because they hold a lot of memories, too. I am so screwed. The "Bee yourself" t-shirt with the bumble bee on it is incredibly ironic and it remembers where you bought it and when and how big or small you were. It will remind you of this everytime you look at it or any of its comrades. The memories will play over your eyes like end credits. Mostly it will be numbers in these end credits. Lots and lots of numbers. The numbers are all it needs to remind you of, and then you remember everything else all on your own and a little too vividly at that. When you stop to think about it, your bedroom is quite loud even when it's just you standing in it with the music and TV off. You need to go shopping, so that perhaps you will fill your closet with different memories. It will occur to you that out of all of the clothing you have, not one piece has been bought while you were healthy. "Healthy" is a rather relative term anyway and is in the eye of the beholder, but nonetheless, it's probably true. No wonder you have such an incredibly psychotic wardrobe. Your closet is like a freakin' drill team - employed are General Bluenotes, Admiral Old Navy, Sergeant Hurley, and Private La Senza (no pun intended). They yell "drop and give me 20 - you only paid 30 for me anyway - it's called getting more bang for your buck, soldier!" all day tell you to shape up. Joining the actual army might be less exhausting for you.

To add to this in a roundabout way, dissociation is an interesting phenomenon. The use of the word "you" instead of "I" reflects a desire to distance oneself from the subject at hand. There is safety in distance. It is an attempt to separate from association or union with another, as Merriam Webster will tell you. I think it is much deeper than that. I think it goes hand in hand, if not joined at the hip, with objectification consciousness. This can be explained -if somewhat crappily done by me - as, seemingly, the watching of yourself from overhead, as if one can see themselves live out their lives - being both the actor and the audience. Also, perceiving themselves through other eyes, as if there were some Great Observer looking over their shoulder (this is different from a belief in God).

I am totally going to love Psychology. I can already do a fairly good analysis of myself, or so it seems.

Another topic...
Mom is starting to crack, I swear. She's starting - or maybe just picking up the pace and tempo - to hassle me about my routine. I say this is the best I can do. There is in fact nothing wrong with my damn routine. And so she gets sick of my routine, the one she'd, just weeks before, been enforcing. Big friggin' surprise there! I love my mom, I really do, but seriously, she always backs out. Every time. It doesn't matter how much she supports you in the beginning, I give her about two weeks and then Ping! like the timer on the microwave, she flops over and gets tired and says with a yawn, "I don't really feel like it anymore." She doesn't always realize in time that this statement can make me state the same. "I don't really feel like (take a wild guess and fill in the blank) anymore." Then she gets upset. What a pair, huh?! It's not like I do it to piss her off or anything, it just so happens that what she at first supports is something I (almost always, without fail) hate and want to quit. When she says "oh well, I don't want to do that (help me, for instance) anymore," it kind of just convinces me to quit. She's practically given me a license to quit. After all, she doesn't give a damn, right? She's gotten tired of it. Funny how as soon as I quit, she gets mad and says I need to keep going. Right now the cracks are starting to show. I give her about a week. I know this is a really awful thing to say, but it's true. Scientifically proven even, after 17 years of study in the field. I could write a whole paper on this. I do have to give her credit though, because she starts out with perfectly good intentions. She really does. She puts in an effort to help. But I find it sort of pointless to pitch in because I know if I get used to something, it's gonna be gone in 2-3 weeks. Then I will feel incredibly disappointed, which sucks like a bastard. Therefore, if I live a nomadic lifestyle (in principle), never putting down roots, she can't painfully rip them out and then wave 'em around. This is so messed up and I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be this honest if I wasn't sleep deprived. Sleep deprivation makes me a friggin' chatterbox, and it makes MIBS buzzy. I'd rather be buzzed, but so be it.

Anyhoo, I'm saying good night as it is almost 1 a.m. and I should be sleeping. I'll take another go at the bed, maybe employ some mmmm-sleeping pills. If that doesn't work, then I guess I will throw a dance party in my room while I clean it, even though I already did that. Clean my room, that is, not dance.
Ha ha I have this electric heating pad on my bed which I'd turned on a while ago to warm up my blankets, but now Tippy's sleeping right on top of it. I guess she likes to be insanely, comfortably warm. Go figure that we'd end up fighting over it. Maybe there'll be a dance party and a duel.

G'night.

Oh, Catatonia

That's sort of how I feel - catatonic. Immobile. Stuck. Non functioning. I hate this. This seems to be a running theme of mine.

When stuck, one tries to go forward. When that doesn't work, we reverse, hoping this will get us out of the rut we've found ourselves in. One should, really, consider the rut - maybe it's actually where they're "supposed" to be. In fact, maybe you've been told you should keep thriving in the rut, that it is good for you, that you should even make improvements and expand your rut, that it's not a rut at all. I personally think they are full of it. I for one, have tried going forward, found I hate it, and so have gone in reverse. Reverse is so much more appealing. So much more seductive. Enticing. Reverse is also code for deviation - something that they don't particularly encourage. While on maintenance watch, they will ask how it's going. I will tell them. High risk of relapse still, they say. I'm slipping, they say. I feel fine, I say. Now the tables have turned because it seems I'm the one who's full of shit. I tell them I can't follow this plan - it's too much, it's unhealthy, I feel bad and I hate it. I've cut the plan back. Deviated. No ass kicking yet, which makes it all the more tempting. I'm a terrible person. I just feel like I can't do what they want. I feel down. Fell down. I hate tripping over ruts. Stupid, stupid "ruts".

On a good note, I'm definitely looking forward to shopping with Jam - and Jessia - on Thursday. Shopping is always a good pick-me-up. And so is Jessia, which is why if you don't come, Jessia, we'll cut you.

Well if I was in your position, I'd put down all my ammunition

Ah, another sigh. Went to see another whitecoat this morning. It was pretty pointless, kind of got me down. Hauling your butt all the way to RUH and there not really being a point to it is sort of annoying. I went anyway, in hopes that things might be different this time. I felt like a communal drink, to be quite honest. Being passed around the circle of whitecoats like beer at a party is not exactly my idea of a good time. You sort of feel used after a while, and the funny thing is, after all that, they still haven't done a thing. Yes, it's not their job to fix me up good - I get that - it just seems a little stupid that they want me to keep coming back but we never get anywhere. True, I'm not always the most willing of patients, but I'm smart enough to know that this sucks. They're like, "This is really bad...see you later!" Who wouldn't be frustrated with that??? Next time, I swear, I'm just going to avoid them all together. Oh well, at least I got to miss Social this morning. That's a plus. Oh, and I got STARBUCKS...mmm. You gotta try their eggnog lattes. Having a Starbucks in RUH boosts its appeal, if only a little.

Ah, another sigh: I'll be home alone in 2 more days! Everybody leaves on Friday morning - I will be incredibly peppy at school on Friday, you can bet your butt. I'm pretty sure I'm more excited about their leaving than my parents and sister are. That's a little sad, but I'm not gonna apologize. I'm too stoked for that. As soon as I have the house to myself, I clean. Yes, it's pathetic, but it's true - as soon as it becomes my space, I actually like cleaning so that it's nice to be in. Soooo excited...

One trippy rollercoaster ride

Things are different yet again. They're different, and yet still sort of feel the same. Maybe this is just another layer that's been added to this freakin' weird ride.
The goon squad has regrouped, come up with a new plan, a new tactic, a new trick. They've discovered that old tactics don't really work, are rather ineffective, and may in fact cause one to sink even deeper in shit. Which, by the way, is not their intention.
Interesting how both sides will flop when one way doesn't work. Upon detection, I switched things up. Upon detecting, the goon squad also switched things up.

Since my last post I've discovered that although I believed they would no longer be waiting to kick my ass if I deviated, I was incorrect. I deviated, and was kicked. Sort of. I am under what you could call "maintenance watch". Basically, I can't screw up yet. Apparently, the threat of hospitalization has not completely dissipated yet. I don't really understand. Ok, so this sucks hardcore for me and I don't particularly enjoy any of it at all, and I wish I could just quit (quit, being highly ambiguous) but argh... I still don't get it. Apparently, there's still cause for concern, or rather, I'm still cause for concern. I think all of this is stupid. I just want to go back to before. I liked things a lot better before. They say I'm, "still not safe," they still need to make sure I'm doing okay. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I understand, to a limited extent, why they feel this is important, but it seems a little pointless.

Maybe this ticks me off so much simply because I've forgotten how to do what I'm "supposed" to do, you know? If you go long enough, you forget these things. You hate these things. You wish to run away from these things. And you cry when you realize all of this and see how utterly pathetic it is. Still, it's hard to regroup, convince yourself that what they're asking isn't really so bad. They're the adults, right? They should know what they're talking about, right? I don't even know anymore. I don't even know if this makes sense to anyone else but me.

Maybe I'm just supremely pissy because I feel like I'm losing. I hate losing. I'm competitive, when interested. I'm incredibly stubborn, and I feel like they're trying to bend and manipulate me. I feel broken down, but not in a good way, like where you feel broken and spent and then you feel better; repent of your sins. Nope. This is like, I feel broken and feel like diving right back into the freakin' pit because it's what I know how to do. I'm pretty sure now that I'm not making any sense to anyone else. For that I apologize.
I think they want me to feel this way so I will "turn myself around and be good," but once again, their tactics have failed.

I'm now bound, until next week Monday, to another contract. What fun. If I sound happy, you are not a good judge of sarcasm. You need help with that, for it's terribly sad... Anyway, yes, another week of contracts I hate but will follow if that means my parents will go away for the weekend and i get to dance in my underwear and t-shirt. I am a little wary of the fact that they sort of tricked me last time; I will step lightly. I guess the "plans" are part of "maintenance watch" - ha ha, that, and mom's frenzied emails when she freaks out, which is often. I'm a terrible person.

By the way, Manitoba was great - my nephew's awesome and so little! We had a good time hanging out, and the kid can burp - he's definitely related to me. Makes me proud. I wish I could have stayed longer, but oh well. Maybe I'll go back after Christmas or something. I like being there. Yes, a lot of bad Saskatchewan jokes were made, but I can handle that. I found that "yeah, well, your mom!" worked pretty well as a retort.

So tired and not looking forward to school but what can you do. Darn. At least I only have a couple classes tomorrow, which makes it more manageable. I wonder what Mr. Millette will do next. Argh.

I HATE THIS

I figured out today that no one is really going to kick my ass if I deviate. This is a dangerous sort of discovery. It would have been much, much better for the 'rents if I was still under the impression that I would get my ass kicked if I didn't follow the "plan". Uh oh. That story's blown and now my mind has time to wander...this is not good. I know that I can't go see Rachel on Thursday if I don't do certain things, but...I could do a lot less of those certain things...and I wouldn't feel so sick all the time, and technically I'd still be doing what the whitecoats and my parents want, I'd just trim it a little...

I can't do this plan. I don't think I'm supposed to feel this terrible. Oh God I want to go back so bad. There's not a whole lot of difference, physically, between now and before - I'm still cold, nails still blue, heart still malfunctioning, body still tired. I shouldn't feel this terrible. I feel dooped, fooled, tricked. They shouldn't have forced me to do so much in so little time. Now I feel like I've overstepped the limit, taken too much, even though it's not even half of what I'd be doing if I were in the hospital. It just all feels so wrong and I can't stop crying and I hate when I cry and I just want to hide under a rock and read a book and be by myself and not have to look down into another bowl of steaming hot hell. I'm sure I can make mom understand...If they push too hard, I stand still, I freeze up, stitch my mouth closed and bam! fall over because it's all just too much at once.

I just have to remind myself every other minute that I can't go anywhere if I majorly fuck this up within the next few days. I will make some changes to the "plan", but I still have to perform on some small level, so I guess I'll just wait it out until Thursday - when I can breathe. I can't just stop completely short otherwise I really will be in deep shit once again. I would apologize for my language, but as I find it extremely therapeutic to swear, I shall refrain from saying sorry.


"Wander This World" - Jonny Lang

...I walked 20 miles and I'm dragging my feet
And I'll walk 20 more, I don't care

And I'll wander this world, wander this world
Wander this world, wander this world all alone

...Well I've never been part of the game
the life that I live is my own
All that I know is that I was born
To wander this world all alone, all alone...

Sometimes it's like I don't even exist
Even God has lost track of my soul
Why else would he leave me out here like this
To wander this world all alone

And I'll wander this world, wander this world
Wander this world, wander this world all alone

And I'll wander this world, wander this world
Wander this world, wander this world all alone...


Ah blues music, the kind that makes your soul ache. Gotta love it. Also, it doesn't hurt when the guy singing and playing blues guitar is extremely good looking....mmmm. Steamy.

there may be something to this whole venting business...

How many whitecoats does it take to screw in a lightbulb???

I decided to ditch the whitecoats yesterday in favour of peace. Also it just seemed like a waste of time. They never tell me anything different. And they don't give a shit about it anyway. Honestly. They just kept frustrating me and everyone else, making me run in circles because they didn't have the balls to say they weren't going to do a thing. I talked to another professional on Wednesday, and she was actually really pissed - they should have admitted me over a week ago. It just shows you how stupid this all really is. I mean, they said I could have a heart attack, but then they'd be like (I kid you not), "Oh, come back next week, and we'll just ask you the same questions all over again and try to draw blood from veins you don't have!" Doesn't that sound like a wonderful way to waste your days? Argh. I'm still incredibly tired.

Oh, but on the upside I do want to say THANK YOU to you guys for coming over to visit me. That was the nicest thing - I got to see people from the outside world. It boosted my day for sure. I can't wait to see you guys again. True, not so excited about school, but oh well.

I'd like to report that everything is back to normal, but that would be a lie. I shouldn't even be home, but since I am it's become a sort of hospital in its own right; there are still crazy people running around outside my room, telephones ringing constantly, people popping in and out of your room all the time to see what/how you're doing. You sleep a lot. You can't just get up and leave. Everything is planned... I wish I could say that all of this made me feel like this is a good thing, but I can't say that. Not yet anyway. And it could just be my mindset now, but I sort of - no, definitely - miss how I felt before. Oddly, I liked it much better then than how I feel now. Maybe when I'm a little more used to this new "plan," my feelings will change. In fact, I should feel sort of lucky because I would not have the same plan if I were somewhere else. I dunno, I still hate this. Perhaps I feel so bad because either way, my body revolts. It hates the empty, rejects the full, makes me ill either way. I hate the games it plays with my head.

I'm going away next weekend. Going to see my sister (the lucky one who got to leave home at seventeen and therefore got to retain her sanity) and her hubby and my new nephew. I am excited about this, and so maybe that's what'll keep me going for the next week, knowing I have a way out. Also, I haven't seen my nephew yet, so I get to be the first of my family to hold him. Ha ha, you know I'll rub it in their faces. The weekend after that my parents and sister are heading out there, so I get to be home alone. Woot woot. Prepare for a feel-good bash in two weeks girls, cause right now is not so great so we need some good movies.