Survival. And green-ish eyes.

Yes, I survived therapy. Don’t I always? *sighs* I know, I know, I know. I do. I always manage. Be it therapy, school, life. Whatever…I manage to make it through. I know this. But I don’t always know this. I know it, but don’t necessarily internalize it.

I went to dinner with Homie last nite. She is just….wonderful. She randomly calls me up so often and is just like “Hey buddy, wanna go to dinner?” And when I say Yes (cuz I always do…) she is like “Score!!! That’s awesome. I’ll pick you up in five minutes!”

She seeks me out and apparently enjoys my company. And I hers. I think I enjoy our relationship so very much because it’s balanced. It’s equal. When I’m down, she helps me out. When she’s down, I do my best to help her out. We’re honest with each other. We don’t hide our scars, literal or figurative, from one another. Yet we don’t shove them in each others’ faces either. Our conversations are natural and frank and hilarious. Today she’s at an interview in a town an hour away. And I hope, for her, that she gets the job. But it makes me so sad to think of her moving away. She’s so much more than an acquaintance. And, although I have more friends now than I’ve had in forever, there are still very, very few who are really allowed inside my walls. She’s one of them, very much so.

Sorry. Derailed for a second. So, we went to dinner. And. I slipped up yesterday. Found a razor and did some damage. Not horrible. Kind of how I used to be…very controlled and even and small. It’s been so long since I’d cut…my skin, although still scarred, is was healed, pretty fully, almost everywhere. Meaning…wow. There’s a difference between cutting on completely healed or fresh skin and cutting on mostly-healed skin. I suppose it has something to do with nerve endings. Possibly scar tissue, tho I rarely go deep enough to form a great deal of visible tissue, and perhaps what does form underneath is thin enough that it eventually breaks up and goes away. My point is. Cutting yesterday on that new skin….took me right back. Right back to college, when I lived in the dorm. Back to when I was always controlled and precise with my lines and cuts and stuff. Before I discovered Anger, before I discovered the ‘freedom’ or release of just going ape-shit and slashing wherever and however.

This scares me. Because it felt so….right. It felt so comfortable. That 30 second pause before the stinging starts. Those tiny, tiny bubbles of blood that don’t drip or move. That sharp intake of breath as the feeling finally hits the synapses in my brain. The focus and concentration and grounded-ness of it all. Those straight half inch lines, so symmetrical and solid and real. The absence of fear, doubt, worry. Just bright white pain focus.

I was home again.

But. That’s exactly it. I was home again. That means different things to different people. Generally, that statement means that you’re safe, comfortable, familiar with your surroundings. But I mean it as in…I was Home again. My home was safe, familiar, comfortable. But also toxic. Underneath the facade, it was unstable and untrustable.

I was home again. I don’t want to be home again. Not there. Not like that.

Sidetracked again….So. We went to dinner. And she knew that I cut. I suppose I told her, in not so many words. Or conveyed it to her. And I had to burst out laughing, because one of the first things she said was “It’s just a little slip…” And I was like Ok, J!, who has been mantra-ing me all week with “A slip is not a fall…” I really hope Homie gets accepted to her grad school of choice. She really needs to be a therapist. I watched quite a few people pass thru the psych department, intent on becoming counselors and therapists. And some of them, tho I didn’t know them well so this is based on passing opinion and observations only…some of them I kinda had raised eyebrows about. Like…ok…maybe with alot more schooling. But some of them…some of them seemed fit for the task. Homie is one of those. She just has a natural instinct, I think. It was funny, too, cuz we were sitting there talking about getting her nails done and she was like “Ok. I’m going to take off my future-therapist hat.” Ok I said, and waited. She leaned towards me and whispered “I really don’t want to go to the Chinese (maybe she said Asian) people!” and then she was like “Ok. I’ll put my hat back on now.” *grin* She had reasoning too- she felt like they talked about her while they were doing her nails. And, I’ve been with my mum on more than one occasion, and I completely understand that feeling, cuz I feel like that too. It’s like they’re talking about you and you can’t understand what they’re saying. It’s a very uncomfortable situation.

Where was I? Was I?

Therapy today. *sigh* I was silent and blocked off. I was angry at myself for cutting. I was frustrated and disappointed at me. It scares me that letting J, or anyone, in while I’m like that will just…I dunno. It’s like willingly letting the anger seep on to them. And I’m afraid that if I let anyone else in my bubble at such times, I’ll take the opportunity to lash out at them, instead of lashing out at myself. And that wouldn’t be fair, or right.

J hugged me a lot today, even tho I didn’t want her to was feeling completely untouchable. I couldn’t find words. All I wanted to do was cry. And I just can’t cry. Jen and I were discussing this last nite on AIM. She can’t cry either. And it’s frustrating. Cuz I just feel so bottled, so ready to explode. I’d rather cry than cut. But the tears won’t come. Well. I guess a few tears do. But they only make me angrier, cuz they’re just…taunting. Like “ha ha. We’ll let you squeeze a few of us out. But not enough to feel better. Just enough to make you feel worse.”

It makes me feel like…I can’t cry, so obviously I don’t hurt. but I do It’s so annoying.

J also tried for a long while to get me to look at her. Which for some reason, I just…can’t. And it’s so stupid. It’s not like she’s got laser eyes or anything. Though, in a way, she does. She was talking at me today, describing how she thought my thought processes went when I get overwhelmed like I am and I had to just laugh because she was so dead-on that it was scary. How’s a person who’s known me for (my gawd has it really been??) 7 years able to better describe my brain than I myself am? Well. Other than the fact that it’s what she does for a living, in a way. And that she’s usually thinking way more rationally than I am and therefore better able to guage the situation. So. In that respect, she can see right into me. And. Dude. I don’t generally like looking into me. To subject someone else to that…just makes me feel guilty. Even tho, rationally, I know it’s not as bad as I imagine it to be. I dunno. I know how I feel after (figuratively) looking myself in the eyes. I’m afraid of what she’ll see. I’m afraid of what I’ll see when she sees.

And part of it is…I’ve spent a good many years getting very good at looking people straight in the eye and telling them I’m ok, and having them believe me. This is not something that I’m generally proud of, it’s more of a survival thing than anything else. Protection and such. But I’ve gotten so good at it. Not with her. Or with M or Homie. But. With 99% of the population I come in contact with…I’ve really refined my skills. Sometimes I’ve done it so well, that I start to believe in my own lies. So much so that I don’t trust myself when I feel hurt. Or when I feel happy. (especially not when I feel happy…)

I don’t trust myself. How can anyone else? I don’t want to look her in the eyes and lie. But I don’t really know how to look her in the eye and be honest, either. So it’s best to just not look. I guess.

I did, though, look a little at the end of today’s session. And as usual, I’m left intrigued by the colour of her eyes. The light wasn’t good where we were standing, and thus they looked very dark green. But not green-green. heh. I think I’m fascinated by any eye colour that isn’t brown. Made me miss M, oddly enough. Her eyes are a wonderful colour. And my sister who has the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen, especially when she’s angry. They go this brilliant shade of green and are outlined in orange. I was looking at a picture of Z that she sent me, and he looks SO much like her baby pictures. Which means he’s gonna be one beautiful kid. (duh)

Right. I need to get back to studying. I’ve managed to get through all of my notes and get all the pertinant info onto the notecards. And I’ve listened to the diabetes, narcotics, and the first GI lectures. So I just need to listen to the second GI lecture (yay for laxatives, emetics and anti-emetics) and the NSAID’s and anti-inflamatory lectures.

I feel less overwhelmed. Some of what J was saying today is sinking in, and it makes me feel better. Just need to remember, one bite at a time. One bite at a time. I don’t think I’ll do as well on this exam. But I should still pass. I do pay close attention in class, and I do find the stuff very interesting. (Unlike in my nursing process class where we’re talking about GI stuff and it’s all I can do to focus on the instructor. Eeek…) And I like Liz a whole lot more this time around than I did my first semester of nsg school.

And. After this exam tomorrow, I’m done for a week. And I don’t even work, which means I can just take it easy. I can spend the week catching up on the half dozen poetry assignments that I’ve not done, and I can buckle down and read the GI stuff. So. I just have to make it through one more day. I can do that. *nods*

One bite at a time. *breathes*