Now, I doubt anyone's actually going to read this, but just in case anyone does, don't take anything personally... I am just being a cranky bitch and I obviously have some issues to work out.
That disclaimer out of the way...
I fucking hate it when my friends have boyfriends.
Yeah, I know. That makes me a horrible person. I know I should be happy for my friends, especially as said friends have awesome boyfriends that I actually like. Only trouble is, remember that bit about how I'm a Scorpio? Yeah. That makes me extremely jealous and possessive, unfortunately by nature.
Not jealous of my friends for the fact that they have a boyfriend... matter of fact, I don't mind being single all that much. Sure, there are times when I get lonely, times when I'm horny, whatever. Yeah, I suppose it would be cool to have a boyfriend, but really, it's not something my happiness and sanity rests upon. I'm pretty fucking independent... and by that, well, I really mean I hate trying to operate as a unit. Functioning as a couple and trying to always think about the other person - i.e. not drooling over whoever in my chem class or whatnot - feels distressingly restrictive to me, and I don't work well that way. I may be a great friend, but I'm a terrible girlfriend, and I know it. I never let any of my boyfriends get past a peck on the lips - two if lucky - and I am well aware that that is nowhere near enough to satisfy the libido of any adolescent male. And I have this horrible tendency to freak out, feel like my boyfriend is way more into me than I am into them, and what do you know, we break up. Must be like a fear of commitment or something. Anyway, point is, at least in my experience so far, being in a relationship is a nice novelty for a while, but soon I get scared and it ceases to be enjoyable for me. Awesome, huh?
So, no, that is not why I am jealous. I am jealous of the boyfriends. They take over my friends lives, minds, and words, and pretty soon several things happen. I get pushed to the sidelines, I get kicked off the phone the second the boy calls, and my friends cease to be interested in me. Best friends? So what? The boyfriend is the priority, so kbai. And, due to my jealous, possessive (and emotionally insecure/low self-esteemed) nature, I soon get beyond envious and I feel cast aside. I realize that's pretty black and white thinking, but it's how I feel. Friend gets boyfriend, I become immediately second place, unimportant, the easy sacrifice. So my reaction? I get angry. Passive-aggressive angry, of course, because I know throwing a fit about how "how come you like him more than me?" would be incredibly childish, not to mention I don't have the balls to be that forward. So I glower, ignore, and come up with dumb excuses to snub. Two can play at this fucking game. I don't want to hang out with you anyway. You obviously don't care about me, so why should I give up my time of day to spend time with you when ALL YOU EVER FUCKING DO IS TALK ABOUT YOUR FUCKING BOYFRIEND???
(Because you have nothing better to do, Lauren? Because you're lonely as hell? And you have this whole spring break, sitting around doing jack shit? And doing it alone?)
Yeah, whatever. I guess being alone is better than being in the room with someone who has clearly demoted me to not-as-worth-my-time-as-my-precious-boyfriend status. At least for now, until I get over myself...
I know. I'm fucking insecure, childish, self-obsessed, self-centered, and plenty of other negative adjectives that would look fantastic on my resume. I know that. And that's part of why I'm so upset. I'm mad at myself for being such a fucking baby, not to mention a lousy friend... I should be happy for you, after all. But I'm just sad for me, jealous of Mr. Right and his use of your dear time.
And some of you have even been throwing around that M-word.
M-m-m---marriage.
EEEK. HOLY WHOA!! WAIT A MINUTE!! None of us are even fucking 21?!?!? What the hell is that word doing in first-person sentences?
I haven't even lost my goddamn virginity yet... not that I'm in any hurry to. I'm pretty sure if I just went out and got laid I'd scar myself for life.
Not the point. The point is, I don't want to be left behind... you people are getting married, even having kids, and here I am, have never even made out with anyone. But, more importantly, I don't want to grow up that fast just so I can be on that same plane with you. So, I don't want you guys getting married and leaving me!!! STOP IT.
I have one friend who is already married and has a son... and yes, I really am truly happy for her. I know she has been through hell and back a number of times, and I cannot think of anyone who deserves wedded bliss and a beautiful baby more than her. But, regardless, getting married vastly changes the dynamic of our friendship, like it or not. That whole thing about operating as a unit? She has to do that in a very big way... I don't just get her anymore, I get the whole family.
Not that I don't love the family. Her husband is a very cool person, and perfect for her, and her baby... well he's an angel. It's just that it's so very different than it was, and I don’t adapt to change very well, unless I initiated it. I have to plan "us" time around three people now. And, of course, I'm no longer the first line of communication, the one to be there for her. That's her husband now. On the one hand, I guess it's nice not to have that responsibility, but it's kind of distanced us. I hardly know what's going on in her life anymore, and as the baby gets older and more demanding, I'm sure that will only intensify.
And what about my other friends, the ones with boyfriends-but-not-husbands... yet? Will you marry yourselves away and leave me behind to access you through your families and the barrier of knowing I'm not the first one you call when you're crying, or the person that means the most in your life?
I know that's selfish, but I need people to need me. If they don't, that makes me useless. Purposeless. Superfluous and, well, why don't I just go away? Yeah, it's not quite that simple; I know it's not that people get married and don't need their friends anymore. But I will cease to be needed on the level that I've come to know, and that it very unsettling to me.
I'm the fucking perfectionist from hell, and feeling like a second-rate companion simply will not do. I know I can't be everyone's best friend, and that's fine, but the people that I do call my best friends and vice versa... well it really hurts to feel as if this boy, who you've known a fraction of the time you've known me, has taken my place. Hurts like hell, and I can't help but want to retaliate in defense... how making you feel unneeded will make me feel any better, I don't know. I guess I'm just a control freak. I like having at least some shred of control over an outcome... if I have none, I feel helpless and small... invisible and disposable.
Friends, if you read this absurdly long rant... way to go, I guess you have a shitload of time on your hands. I love you. I really do. I'm just a mess and I'm feeling abandoned and unwanted. I honestly feel like no one likes me sometimes, and I have to feel accepted to accept myself... I have a long way to go to get there, and I suppose that's why I'm hurting so bad.
You don't have to change anything. It's your life, and I can't and won't stop you. Choose what you will. I'll be here.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
YAY!
I found this really cool article about cheerleading on a link from the MSN homepage, and I just have to share it!!
Credit where credit is due: By Jennie Yabroff NEWSWEEK, Mar 24, 2008 Issue. Also, here's the link where I found this: http://www.newsweek.com/id/123468?GT1=43002
"The team is in bad shape. One member has a broken rib. The other, a possible concussion from a nasty fall. A third wraps a compression bandage around a sprained ankle. They've been practicing day and night, focusing on their sport to the exclusion of most everything else, and the strain is showing. Their coach is screaming at them from the sidelines. What they could really use is a nice, peppy cheerleader to raise their spirits. The only thing is, these are the cheerleaders.
Bring it on? Modern cheerleaders do, with a vengeance. There's a lot more to cheering than short skirts and "fight, fight, fight!" says Kate Torgovnick, author of "Cheer." Torgovnick spent a year following three groups—a four-time championship team, an all-girls squad and an all-African-American team—none of which fit the stereotype of vapid blondes doing splits on the sidelines. Instead, she discovered, competitive cheerleaders are more like extreme athletes: daredevil adrenaline junkies who often perform exhausted or hurt and love their sport with an addict's devotion. And unlike more-revered athletes—such as football players or even gymnasts—cheerleaders have to contend with lack of respect from their peers and frequent mockery (think of Will Ferrell and Cheri Oteri's cheerleading skit on "Saturday Night Live"). The truth, says Torgovnick, is that cheerleading has a long, distinguished history—five American presidents did it—is a demanding sport, and deserves to be taken seriously. So make some noise!
Cheerleaders have been around since the 1890s, egging on Princeton in its first football game against Rutgers, but they looked a lot different. For one thing, they were all men. For another, they didn't do much, besides using megaphones to pump up the crowd. Over the years the guys incorporated backflips and handsprings in their routines, and, during World War II, women joined the squads. Around the same time, the president of Kilgore College caught students drinking in the parking lot during halftime, so he asked the cheer team to take the field between quarters to keep students in their seats. And thus, Torgovnick writes, modern cheerleading was born.
Today, there's a split between the stunt-heavy, gymnastic-style teams, whose routines are filled with flying bodies and physics-defying contortions, and the more traditional, pompom-shaking "spirit squads." At the University of Oregon and the University of Maryland, the competitive cheerleaders don't even cheer for the athletic teams—they save their backflips for big-time competitions such as the World Cheerleading Championships—which makes you wonder how far we are from the day when cheerleaders get their due as athletes. Torgovnick says the biggest surprise in writing her book was learning how popular the sport is with men again. After becoming female-dominated in the 1950s and 1960s, college cheerleading is now 50 percent male. "I assumed if you were a guy cheerleader you're gay," says the writer, "but it's this culture of manly men who come from football, wrestling, baseball, and get pulled into this world." If they get static about their activities, they can always point to their forefathers in cheer: before leading the country, FDR led the crowd at Harvard, and Eisenhower, sidelined from football by a knee injury, wielded the megaphone at West Point. Ronald Reagan played football as the Gipper on film, but in real life he rooted on the basketball team at Eureka College as a cheerleader. And both Bushes had that rah-rah spirit at Yale; George W. cheered for Andover as well.
Though the sport continues to evolve, most people's perception of it remains rooted in 1950s stereotypes, says Torgovnick. "The image of the cheerleader straddles the virgin/whore line," she says. "She's either the straight A's prom queen, or the short skirt, slutty, queen-bee kind of girl." This misconception is perpetuated by stories about cheerleaders run amok, such as the self-proclaimed "fab five" high-school cheerleaders in Texas who harassed their teachers and posted dirty photos of themselves on the Internet, or the Carolina Panthers cheerleaders who were arrested after a bar fight. "Cheerleaders have such a wholesome, all-American, uncorruptible image, the idea of them being corrupted really appeals to people," Torgovnick says. But she admits that there is something about the sport that attracts drama queens: "To be a cheerleader you have to want to be the center of attention," she says. "The women do like wearing that uniform." And the men like it, too."
Credit where credit is due: By Jennie Yabroff NEWSWEEK, Mar 24, 2008 Issue. Also, here's the link where I found this: http://www.newsweek.com/id/123468?GT1=43002
"The team is in bad shape. One member has a broken rib. The other, a possible concussion from a nasty fall. A third wraps a compression bandage around a sprained ankle. They've been practicing day and night, focusing on their sport to the exclusion of most everything else, and the strain is showing. Their coach is screaming at them from the sidelines. What they could really use is a nice, peppy cheerleader to raise their spirits. The only thing is, these are the cheerleaders.
Bring it on? Modern cheerleaders do, with a vengeance. There's a lot more to cheering than short skirts and "fight, fight, fight!" says Kate Torgovnick, author of "Cheer." Torgovnick spent a year following three groups—a four-time championship team, an all-girls squad and an all-African-American team—none of which fit the stereotype of vapid blondes doing splits on the sidelines. Instead, she discovered, competitive cheerleaders are more like extreme athletes: daredevil adrenaline junkies who often perform exhausted or hurt and love their sport with an addict's devotion. And unlike more-revered athletes—such as football players or even gymnasts—cheerleaders have to contend with lack of respect from their peers and frequent mockery (think of Will Ferrell and Cheri Oteri's cheerleading skit on "Saturday Night Live"). The truth, says Torgovnick, is that cheerleading has a long, distinguished history—five American presidents did it—is a demanding sport, and deserves to be taken seriously. So make some noise!
Cheerleaders have been around since the 1890s, egging on Princeton in its first football game against Rutgers, but they looked a lot different. For one thing, they were all men. For another, they didn't do much, besides using megaphones to pump up the crowd. Over the years the guys incorporated backflips and handsprings in their routines, and, during World War II, women joined the squads. Around the same time, the president of Kilgore College caught students drinking in the parking lot during halftime, so he asked the cheer team to take the field between quarters to keep students in their seats. And thus, Torgovnick writes, modern cheerleading was born.
Today, there's a split between the stunt-heavy, gymnastic-style teams, whose routines are filled with flying bodies and physics-defying contortions, and the more traditional, pompom-shaking "spirit squads." At the University of Oregon and the University of Maryland, the competitive cheerleaders don't even cheer for the athletic teams—they save their backflips for big-time competitions such as the World Cheerleading Championships—which makes you wonder how far we are from the day when cheerleaders get their due as athletes. Torgovnick says the biggest surprise in writing her book was learning how popular the sport is with men again. After becoming female-dominated in the 1950s and 1960s, college cheerleading is now 50 percent male. "I assumed if you were a guy cheerleader you're gay," says the writer, "but it's this culture of manly men who come from football, wrestling, baseball, and get pulled into this world." If they get static about their activities, they can always point to their forefathers in cheer: before leading the country, FDR led the crowd at Harvard, and Eisenhower, sidelined from football by a knee injury, wielded the megaphone at West Point. Ronald Reagan played football as the Gipper on film, but in real life he rooted on the basketball team at Eureka College as a cheerleader. And both Bushes had that rah-rah spirit at Yale; George W. cheered for Andover as well.
Though the sport continues to evolve, most people's perception of it remains rooted in 1950s stereotypes, says Torgovnick. "The image of the cheerleader straddles the virgin/whore line," she says. "She's either the straight A's prom queen, or the short skirt, slutty, queen-bee kind of girl." This misconception is perpetuated by stories about cheerleaders run amok, such as the self-proclaimed "fab five" high-school cheerleaders in Texas who harassed their teachers and posted dirty photos of themselves on the Internet, or the Carolina Panthers cheerleaders who were arrested after a bar fight. "Cheerleaders have such a wholesome, all-American, uncorruptible image, the idea of them being corrupted really appeals to people," Torgovnick says. But she admits that there is something about the sport that attracts drama queens: "To be a cheerleader you have to want to be the center of attention," she says. "The women do like wearing that uniform." And the men like it, too."
Monday, March 17, 2008
Via Quarta
Or, "The Fourth Way." I think, I hope, I have found it. I think I mentioned the three "options" for dealing with negative stimuli previously... and since then I've also identified the stages of recovery, but that's a whole other story. Today I want to announce the Via Quarta, nomine appelatur "Spectandi Studium Scientiae." Scientific Curiosity!
This Via Quarta is really a more productive mutation of option one. I'll admit, it's still a defense, but I think it's more like Gore-Tex than a clunky-ass suit of armour. Instead of allowing myself to go into obsessive DEstructive defense, clogging my brain with repetitive thoughts that I don't want, moreoever, useless repetitive thoughts, I will attempt to drive the obsessive tendancy towards something more useful - why? For instance, Laura's insane ability to get motion sickness in five minutes... why the hell is that? Instead of letting myself fall into painful empathy, I will try to focus on the scientific interest of the matter. I mean, that really is remarkable. I've never met anyone else to whom that happens. So why? I want to know. And, even if I am not enough of a mad scientist to figure it out right now, the point is that the desire to learn, objectively, is there.
That is the key: OBJECTIVELY. I must become more objective. I am hella psyched.
EDIT: This was my horoscope for today: "The topic of the day is knowledge and learning, dear Scorpio. Did you study the field you dreamed of? Do you feel ashamed of not having attended such-and-such a school or program? If those sorts of issues are uppermost on your mind, remember that your creativity has little to do with the degrees you hold and everything to do with how you use your skills and knowledge to better the world."
How very appropriate, considering I just closed the door on an English class for the last time today. Biology major, here I come!
This Via Quarta is really a more productive mutation of option one. I'll admit, it's still a defense, but I think it's more like Gore-Tex than a clunky-ass suit of armour. Instead of allowing myself to go into obsessive DEstructive defense, clogging my brain with repetitive thoughts that I don't want, moreoever, useless repetitive thoughts, I will attempt to drive the obsessive tendancy towards something more useful - why? For instance, Laura's insane ability to get motion sickness in five minutes... why the hell is that? Instead of letting myself fall into painful empathy, I will try to focus on the scientific interest of the matter. I mean, that really is remarkable. I've never met anyone else to whom that happens. So why? I want to know. And, even if I am not enough of a mad scientist to figure it out right now, the point is that the desire to learn, objectively, is there.
That is the key: OBJECTIVELY. I must become more objective. I am hella psyched.
EDIT: This was my horoscope for today: "The topic of the day is knowledge and learning, dear Scorpio. Did you study the field you dreamed of? Do you feel ashamed of not having attended such-and-such a school or program? If those sorts of issues are uppermost on your mind, remember that your creativity has little to do with the degrees you hold and everything to do with how you use your skills and knowledge to better the world."
How very appropriate, considering I just closed the door on an English class for the last time today. Biology major, here I come!
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Option 1, I choose YOU! For now, anyway.
Well, after writhing in misery for the last three days - that's option 2 - I decided that maybe a reversion to Option 1 - allowing my OCD to defend me against the misery - would be a good idea for a little while considering the severity of the situation. So, as much I hate/am ashamed of writing these stories, I decided to write one anyway, except, instead of representing the pain-inducing situation through Tory as usual, I would actual use her to represent my character specifically in the struggle. So this isn't anything close to what actually happened, but I wrote it so that she's going through the same sort of pain that I was, yet within the parameters of her character. I also made a point to make it seem like she was getting ridiculously upset over a really little event... well, I don't think I even need to explain why THAT'S significant!
So without further ado...
An Excessively Guilty and Overly Ashamed Conscience, or Let It Go…very, very loosely based on a true story. October 1994.
I walked around to the back of Karl’s house, looking for a suitable object to throw at his window. Finding a rubber ball presumably left by one of his many siblings, I tossed it upwards and thought gratefully that I had a decent sense of aim. Presently Karl appeared at the balcony and came down to meet me.
“Hey babe,” he said. “I thought you were with Rachel. What happened?”
“Something bad,” I said, giving him a hug and trying not to cry.
“You’re not hurt, are you?” He asked, and I shook my head. “Is she?”
“No, Rachel didn’t get hurt either,” I said. I gave up and cried anyway.
“Aww, baby… well, come on inside, you wanna try and tell me about it?”
I walked with him up the stairs; his arm around my waist was making me feel a little safer, although it always made me nervous coming to his house unannounced, hence my habit of throwing rocks at his window. Once we were in his room, I picked up the red and black fleece blanket from the foot and his bed and held tight to it, trying to banish my guilt. It wasn’t going to happen. Karl sat down next to me and rubbed my back.
“What happened?” He asked again.
I buried my face in the blanket. “I threw up in front of Rachel,” I said. “She freaked out… I mean, she didn’t kick me out or anything, I just couldn’t stay there anymore, I felt so bad about it…”
“Why? That’s not so bad.”
“Well… I couldn’t make it to the bathroom,” I said. “It’s been so long since I’ve done that… it’s only when I get motion sickness, otherwise I can control it…”
“That’s alright, baby, it happens to everyone once in a while.”
I couldn’t stop crying now. The guilt was just making me feel sick again, and I couldn’t do anything to make it go away.
“I know, it’s not just that!” I said. “It was so scary, the look in Rachel’s face, like it was her fault…”
“That’s crazy, why would she think it was her fault?”
“Well because she was driving I guess… she doesn’t have her license yet, so she was nervous enough about that… but her car is a stick like yours, but she’s not as good at driving it as you are, plus she was scared to death to get pulled over, so she was driving like a grandma, pumping the brakes all the time and everything.”
Karl suppressed a laugh, probably amused by the unlikely thought of Rachel driving like a grandma. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing,” he said. “I know that kind of driving makes you sick faster. She probably wasn’t thinking about that, though.”
“Yeah… she didn’t even know until we were almost there.”
“Of course, you wouldn’t tell her, would you?”
“What difference would it make? I would have gotten carsick anyway. That’s not the point.” I sniffled. “Well she asked me something, but I didn’t answer right away cause I was just breathing, trying to settle my stomach… and then she asked what I was doing, so I told her I was feeling carsick, and she just said something like ‘don’t puke in the car, that’ll look really bad if I got pulled over,’ so I told her I wouldn’t. But when we got to her house…” I couldn’t talk anymore for crying so hard.
Karl hugged me and tried to get me to relax, but it was useless. “Do you have a tissue?” I asked. I was afraid I was going to get snot all over his blanket. He gave me one and told me to keep talking.
“Well I told you,” I said, “I didn’t make it. I got as far as the top of the stairs, but then I couldn’t hold it.” I held tighter to the blanket and dug the fingernails of my other hand into my palm, trying not to scream. “Rachel completely froze… I told her I was so sorry, but she didn’t say anything, just stared at me… I felt so bad for her; she had no idea what to do… I think she finally said something about not realizing I was so sick, and asked if I was okay… I told her I’d be fine, I’d clean it up… she didn’t answer, just sat down, I think she might have been crying…”
I stopped and held my breath, and shifted my attention to my fingernails. I wanted to punish myself for putting Rachel through so much trouble, and at the same time, I also felt guilty for causing Karl trouble. He was probably right, I probably was making too big of a deal out of it, but I couldn’t help it… that was just the way I was.
“Huh,” said Karl. “Is Rachel scared of puking? Cause that would explain a lot.”
“No,” I said, “I don’t think so. She told me once, though, she’s scared of… being responsible for people, doesn’t want them dying on her watch or something like that.”
Karl raised his eyebrows. “Dying? Come on, you just got carsick, jeez.”
“I know…” I found it a little ironic that he was saying this now. I had said almost the exact same thing to him when he was going ape-shit about me making myself throw up on a road trip to get it over with. “Yeah, so it’s a little extreme, it’s just some phobia of hers I guess. I just feel so bad for freaking her out like that! Not to mention it was embarrassing! I’ve never thrown up in front of her at all, let alone on the floor!”
“Baby, don’t worry about Rachel, she’ll be fine. Everyone has their fears, she’ll get over it. She’s probably over it already. You’re here, you’re not her responsibility anymore. It’s probably one of those things you don’t think about once it’s over. Besides, she has her mom to take care of her if she’s still freaked out. That’s more than you can say.”
“Oh God, her mom… she’s gonna have to finish cleaning… oh my god, she’s probably gonna get mad at Rachel, and—”
“Tory. Rachel’s mom is a nurse. I bet she could clean up puke in her sleep. I’m sure it’s no big deal.”
“I guess,” I said, wiping my nose again and trying not to choke on myself. I wished I’d been able to stay long enough to finish cleaning like I’d said I would, but I couldn’t stand to watch Rachel sit there, frozen in uncertainty any longer. The tears resurged, and poor Karl scooped me up and tried to get me to lie down.
“Baby, let it go!” He said. “Rachel will be fine. Her mom will definitely be fine. Now I just need to make sure you’re going be fine.”
“I am,” I wiped my swollen eyes. “I feel better now.”
“That’s good,” said Karl, and he kissed my cheek. “Now you need to relax.”
I was still crying. I didn’t know how to make the guilt go away. I wanted to go back to Rachel’s house right then and tell her I was sorry, but she probably didn’t want to talk to me.
“Shhh…” said Karl. He pushed my hair out of my eyes and kissed me again. “I love you,” he whispered. “I hate seeing you like this… please believe me… it really is okay. I’m sure everyone will be fine. Let it go, Tory. Breathe, sweetheart. It’s okay.”
So without further ado...
An Excessively Guilty and Overly Ashamed Conscience, or Let It Go…very, very loosely based on a true story. October 1994.
I walked around to the back of Karl’s house, looking for a suitable object to throw at his window. Finding a rubber ball presumably left by one of his many siblings, I tossed it upwards and thought gratefully that I had a decent sense of aim. Presently Karl appeared at the balcony and came down to meet me.
“Hey babe,” he said. “I thought you were with Rachel. What happened?”
“Something bad,” I said, giving him a hug and trying not to cry.
“You’re not hurt, are you?” He asked, and I shook my head. “Is she?”
“No, Rachel didn’t get hurt either,” I said. I gave up and cried anyway.
“Aww, baby… well, come on inside, you wanna try and tell me about it?”
I walked with him up the stairs; his arm around my waist was making me feel a little safer, although it always made me nervous coming to his house unannounced, hence my habit of throwing rocks at his window. Once we were in his room, I picked up the red and black fleece blanket from the foot and his bed and held tight to it, trying to banish my guilt. It wasn’t going to happen. Karl sat down next to me and rubbed my back.
“What happened?” He asked again.
I buried my face in the blanket. “I threw up in front of Rachel,” I said. “She freaked out… I mean, she didn’t kick me out or anything, I just couldn’t stay there anymore, I felt so bad about it…”
“Why? That’s not so bad.”
“Well… I couldn’t make it to the bathroom,” I said. “It’s been so long since I’ve done that… it’s only when I get motion sickness, otherwise I can control it…”
“That’s alright, baby, it happens to everyone once in a while.”
I couldn’t stop crying now. The guilt was just making me feel sick again, and I couldn’t do anything to make it go away.
“I know, it’s not just that!” I said. “It was so scary, the look in Rachel’s face, like it was her fault…”
“That’s crazy, why would she think it was her fault?”
“Well because she was driving I guess… she doesn’t have her license yet, so she was nervous enough about that… but her car is a stick like yours, but she’s not as good at driving it as you are, plus she was scared to death to get pulled over, so she was driving like a grandma, pumping the brakes all the time and everything.”
Karl suppressed a laugh, probably amused by the unlikely thought of Rachel driving like a grandma. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing,” he said. “I know that kind of driving makes you sick faster. She probably wasn’t thinking about that, though.”
“Yeah… she didn’t even know until we were almost there.”
“Of course, you wouldn’t tell her, would you?”
“What difference would it make? I would have gotten carsick anyway. That’s not the point.” I sniffled. “Well she asked me something, but I didn’t answer right away cause I was just breathing, trying to settle my stomach… and then she asked what I was doing, so I told her I was feeling carsick, and she just said something like ‘don’t puke in the car, that’ll look really bad if I got pulled over,’ so I told her I wouldn’t. But when we got to her house…” I couldn’t talk anymore for crying so hard.
Karl hugged me and tried to get me to relax, but it was useless. “Do you have a tissue?” I asked. I was afraid I was going to get snot all over his blanket. He gave me one and told me to keep talking.
“Well I told you,” I said, “I didn’t make it. I got as far as the top of the stairs, but then I couldn’t hold it.” I held tighter to the blanket and dug the fingernails of my other hand into my palm, trying not to scream. “Rachel completely froze… I told her I was so sorry, but she didn’t say anything, just stared at me… I felt so bad for her; she had no idea what to do… I think she finally said something about not realizing I was so sick, and asked if I was okay… I told her I’d be fine, I’d clean it up… she didn’t answer, just sat down, I think she might have been crying…”
I stopped and held my breath, and shifted my attention to my fingernails. I wanted to punish myself for putting Rachel through so much trouble, and at the same time, I also felt guilty for causing Karl trouble. He was probably right, I probably was making too big of a deal out of it, but I couldn’t help it… that was just the way I was.
“Huh,” said Karl. “Is Rachel scared of puking? Cause that would explain a lot.”
“No,” I said, “I don’t think so. She told me once, though, she’s scared of… being responsible for people, doesn’t want them dying on her watch or something like that.”
Karl raised his eyebrows. “Dying? Come on, you just got carsick, jeez.”
“I know…” I found it a little ironic that he was saying this now. I had said almost the exact same thing to him when he was going ape-shit about me making myself throw up on a road trip to get it over with. “Yeah, so it’s a little extreme, it’s just some phobia of hers I guess. I just feel so bad for freaking her out like that! Not to mention it was embarrassing! I’ve never thrown up in front of her at all, let alone on the floor!”
“Baby, don’t worry about Rachel, she’ll be fine. Everyone has their fears, she’ll get over it. She’s probably over it already. You’re here, you’re not her responsibility anymore. It’s probably one of those things you don’t think about once it’s over. Besides, she has her mom to take care of her if she’s still freaked out. That’s more than you can say.”
“Oh God, her mom… she’s gonna have to finish cleaning… oh my god, she’s probably gonna get mad at Rachel, and—”
“Tory. Rachel’s mom is a nurse. I bet she could clean up puke in her sleep. I’m sure it’s no big deal.”
“I guess,” I said, wiping my nose again and trying not to choke on myself. I wished I’d been able to stay long enough to finish cleaning like I’d said I would, but I couldn’t stand to watch Rachel sit there, frozen in uncertainty any longer. The tears resurged, and poor Karl scooped me up and tried to get me to lie down.
“Baby, let it go!” He said. “Rachel will be fine. Her mom will definitely be fine. Now I just need to make sure you’re going be fine.”
“I am,” I wiped my swollen eyes. “I feel better now.”
“That’s good,” said Karl, and he kissed my cheek. “Now you need to relax.”
I was still crying. I didn’t know how to make the guilt go away. I wanted to go back to Rachel’s house right then and tell her I was sorry, but she probably didn’t want to talk to me.
“Shhh…” said Karl. He pushed my hair out of my eyes and kissed me again. “I love you,” he whispered. “I hate seeing you like this… please believe me… it really is okay. I’m sure everyone will be fine. Let it go, Tory. Breathe, sweetheart. It’s okay.”
Sunday, March 9, 2008
I need some serious help
Well here's a 180 degree turn around from yesterday. I am A MESS.
I haven't eaten in... nineteen hours. And I have absolutely no desire to. In fact, I feel like throwing up, although that's probably next to impossible considering I've had nothing but water since before 4 o'clock yesterday. But my stomach is absolutely killing me, my heart is racing (after just getting up to pee and walking back to my room, it was 144bpm... my resting rate is like 75-85) and I am shaking like crazy... I know I should eat, but I can't, I just can't.
I'm no better than Catherine Fucking Linton. If you all haven't read Wuthering Heights... well Catherine is psychosomatic whacko that literally makes herself sick to get her way, starving herself, sitting in the rain until she gets a fever, and so on. I'm not trying to get anything, but I can't fucking eat. I have it in my head that I should go twenty-four hours, and then I can eat again... so at around five today, since daylight savings time happened. That's only five more hours. I need a shower, so once I dry my hair and do my makeup, that's about an hour... I'm sure I can find something to do for the other four hours... besides I don't want to eat anyway. I can't. I would probably just throw up anyway. I almost wonder if that would be a good thing. Meh.
I definitely have felt like cutting since yesterday... but of course I can't do that either. I haven't in almost three and a half years, I can't break that now. But I desperately want to, God how bad I want to.
I haven't eaten in... nineteen hours. And I have absolutely no desire to. In fact, I feel like throwing up, although that's probably next to impossible considering I've had nothing but water since before 4 o'clock yesterday. But my stomach is absolutely killing me, my heart is racing (after just getting up to pee and walking back to my room, it was 144bpm... my resting rate is like 75-85) and I am shaking like crazy... I know I should eat, but I can't, I just can't.
I'm no better than Catherine Fucking Linton. If you all haven't read Wuthering Heights... well Catherine is psychosomatic whacko that literally makes herself sick to get her way, starving herself, sitting in the rain until she gets a fever, and so on. I'm not trying to get anything, but I can't fucking eat. I have it in my head that I should go twenty-four hours, and then I can eat again... so at around five today, since daylight savings time happened. That's only five more hours. I need a shower, so once I dry my hair and do my makeup, that's about an hour... I'm sure I can find something to do for the other four hours... besides I don't want to eat anyway. I can't. I would probably just throw up anyway. I almost wonder if that would be a good thing. Meh.
I definitely have felt like cutting since yesterday... but of course I can't do that either. I haven't in almost three and a half years, I can't break that now. But I desperately want to, God how bad I want to.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Nevermind.
I wasn't as strong as I thought. I should have known I'd lose it. It was nice while it lasted. I guess I had my fifteen minutes. Oh well.
No words can even describe this feeling...
I didn't think this day would ever come. It's more peaceful than I thought it would be. I expected... well I don't know exactly what I expected, because I don't think I imagined that it would ever happen without faking it.
I didn't fake anything. I'm okay. I really am okay, I'm not happy, but I'm fine. I'm so glad I feel fine. I never knew it could feel this good. It wasn't a flawless lack of a reaction, but it was just what it should be.
I was upset, concerned, and sympathetic.
But not empathetic. No desire for symbiotic suffering. Just "I'm sorry." And that was it. And now she's fine, and so am I. And it's beautiful. I feel okay. Just okay. And that's all I could want. It really is Good Enough. I didn't feel like Voldemort. I didn't cause anything. I didn't have to panic about anything. I just had to express my sympathy, let her get off the phone to get sick, and then I finished my coffee. And I was okay. I didn't want to tell anyone.... I never do. But not because I'm hurting, because I'm fine. I don't really want to talk about it somehow. It feels so personal, I'm still processing, wondering how I can possibly be sitting here writing this... shaking only because I've been drinking caffeinated coffee.
I'm not angry at anyone for this, it just happened... and now it's done, and I don't need to think about it, or remember the date ten months from now. We're not going to the concert now, but that's alright because I didn't really want to go anyway.
The only strangeness left is how confused I am that I'm okay. I'm usually a million miles from okay right now, guilt tripping that I dared to think about Tory this morning, and that I made it happen. I didn't. I didn't do anything. I just said "feel better" and that was...
Oh my god... I'm okay. I'm fine. I never thought this would ever happen... it's so powerful, I don't feel like I even know how to tell anyone... I'm still sensitive enough about being babied that I don't really want to bring it up. Maybe I'll just wait. Keep processing this, and maybe I'll talk about it out loud eventually.
Wow...
I didn't fake anything. I'm okay. I really am okay, I'm not happy, but I'm fine. I'm so glad I feel fine. I never knew it could feel this good. It wasn't a flawless lack of a reaction, but it was just what it should be.
I was upset, concerned, and sympathetic.
But not empathetic. No desire for symbiotic suffering. Just "I'm sorry." And that was it. And now she's fine, and so am I. And it's beautiful. I feel okay. Just okay. And that's all I could want. It really is Good Enough. I didn't feel like Voldemort. I didn't cause anything. I didn't have to panic about anything. I just had to express my sympathy, let her get off the phone to get sick, and then I finished my coffee. And I was okay. I didn't want to tell anyone.... I never do. But not because I'm hurting, because I'm fine. I don't really want to talk about it somehow. It feels so personal, I'm still processing, wondering how I can possibly be sitting here writing this... shaking only because I've been drinking caffeinated coffee.
I'm not angry at anyone for this, it just happened... and now it's done, and I don't need to think about it, or remember the date ten months from now. We're not going to the concert now, but that's alright because I didn't really want to go anyway.
The only strangeness left is how confused I am that I'm okay. I'm usually a million miles from okay right now, guilt tripping that I dared to think about Tory this morning, and that I made it happen. I didn't. I didn't do anything. I just said "feel better" and that was...
Oh my god... I'm okay. I'm fine. I never thought this would ever happen... it's so powerful, I don't feel like I even know how to tell anyone... I'm still sensitive enough about being babied that I don't really want to bring it up. Maybe I'll just wait. Keep processing this, and maybe I'll talk about it out loud eventually.
Wow...
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