(no subject)
I finally find my way back here. This livejournal has turned into more a monthly update. Oh well. If I know anything about myself, it is that I am far from perfect…no matter how much pain I will endure to strive for it.
Well, these last weeks have been…well…a bit of a blur with certain sharp images that come back to me like a memory from a film. And, as always, I watch from the outside.
There is the me drunk on wine and martinis at a local dive bar with a long-time friend. He is beautiful and brilliant and anorexic and HIV positive. He is looking at me, he says he is jealous because I am “succeeding”, adding that he knows that is wrong to say, but wishing either of his diseases could leave him as thin. Everything goes blank, and then I am in a graffiti covered bathroom stall, throwing up red and praying it is just cabernet and cranberry. I clutch at my body to stifle the pain; I slam my fist into the wall to quiet the tears that threaten. I haven’t eaten in days, and the alcohol burns through me like his words. I want him to live. I fear having to watch him waste. Or losing him completely. And I cannot believe he actually thinks I am thin. My vanity, in the midst of it all, appalls me. Is this is who I am? This dark creature unable to look at anything besides her own reflection? I don’t want that.
Nest scene, costume change, Dr. Rosenblatt enters stage left. We go through all the same tired discussion. Eating? Not really. Sleeping? Are you trying to be funny? What are we going to do? I don’t know. Are you suicidal? Why do you have a magazine with Mary-Kate Olsen on the cover in here? I’m scared for you. Me too.
The decision is made for me to go to the treatment facility in Jacksonville for an assessment. They don’t take my insurance, it’s an hour and half drive, and I can’t go back in-patient as I am trying to have a career at a place that is as sick as I am of my eating disorder. I want to have hope. I need hope. I just can’t quite shake my inherent cynical nature. After all this, how are they going to help me? But, there’s my option. My only option. So, I will make the drive and see if a miracle exists somewhere in those newly painted walls.
Well, I have managed to get to the end of my day. 5:04. Now, off to sequester myself with a drink and a tangle of words I am trying to force into a novel. I have so much more to say…odd after such a long silence. But, perhaps I will continue tomorrow…so many bits of moments of time of memory of faces, voices and the smells of wind. To come: New York, Nick, New York, sickness, Anthony lost, Anthony found, NYU, doctors, dreams of waves and bus stops and screaming menageries.
Black and white slips to color every now and then…
lorelie
Well, these last weeks have been…well…a bit of a blur with certain sharp images that come back to me like a memory from a film. And, as always, I watch from the outside.
There is the me drunk on wine and martinis at a local dive bar with a long-time friend. He is beautiful and brilliant and anorexic and HIV positive. He is looking at me, he says he is jealous because I am “succeeding”, adding that he knows that is wrong to say, but wishing either of his diseases could leave him as thin. Everything goes blank, and then I am in a graffiti covered bathroom stall, throwing up red and praying it is just cabernet and cranberry. I clutch at my body to stifle the pain; I slam my fist into the wall to quiet the tears that threaten. I haven’t eaten in days, and the alcohol burns through me like his words. I want him to live. I fear having to watch him waste. Or losing him completely. And I cannot believe he actually thinks I am thin. My vanity, in the midst of it all, appalls me. Is this is who I am? This dark creature unable to look at anything besides her own reflection? I don’t want that.
Nest scene, costume change, Dr. Rosenblatt enters stage left. We go through all the same tired discussion. Eating? Not really. Sleeping? Are you trying to be funny? What are we going to do? I don’t know. Are you suicidal? Why do you have a magazine with Mary-Kate Olsen on the cover in here? I’m scared for you. Me too.
The decision is made for me to go to the treatment facility in Jacksonville for an assessment. They don’t take my insurance, it’s an hour and half drive, and I can’t go back in-patient as I am trying to have a career at a place that is as sick as I am of my eating disorder. I want to have hope. I need hope. I just can’t quite shake my inherent cynical nature. After all this, how are they going to help me? But, there’s my option. My only option. So, I will make the drive and see if a miracle exists somewhere in those newly painted walls.
Well, I have managed to get to the end of my day. 5:04. Now, off to sequester myself with a drink and a tangle of words I am trying to force into a novel. I have so much more to say…odd after such a long silence. But, perhaps I will continue tomorrow…so many bits of moments of time of memory of faces, voices and the smells of wind. To come: New York, Nick, New York, sickness, Anthony lost, Anthony found, NYU, doctors, dreams of waves and bus stops and screaming menageries.
Black and white slips to color every now and then…
lorelie