Dressing up like Santy
To get back in them panties
Maybe I'll get a handy
For giving her kids these toys
~ Christmas Lyrics by Ricky Butcher
Ugh. Vacillating between a serious case of self contempt, shame, and strangely, immense relief.
Figure THAT one out.
There's so much to tell.
I guess we'll start at the beginning of the day, even though the most pressing thing on my mind is M.
Ah fuck that, let's start with M, and what I did to him.
So, we all saw what I wrote yesterday. Then I stopped answering my phone, because I am childish fucking coward, and would prefer to stew in my own resentments than actually deal with anything. Little did I know how close M came to walking away from me completely, like any normal person would have done.
When he couldn't rouse me on the phone, he showed up at hop-sital.
He did not look pleased.
I knew the moment our eyes met that I had fucked up. Soooooooo badly.
We went to sit on the comfy chairs outside the Group room. I was fidgety and barely speaking, and couldn't look him in the eye.
"Do you not want me to be here?" he finally asked.
"No!" I said. "No, it's not that. I'm just really anxious."
"Why are you anxious?" he said.
"Because you're here to chew me out," I said.
"I'm not here to chew you out,"he said. "But I am here to address it."
I blew the air out of my mouth, which came out more like a frustrated sigh, and he looked at me quizzically again.
"Do you want me to go?" he asked, exasperated.
"No, that wasn't a sigh of frustration, or disinterest," I said earnestly.
"What was it, then?"
I hesitated. "Fear," I admitted. I fucking hated confrontations. Obviously, or we wouldn't be here right now.
So I shut my mouth and let him talk. And for once, instead of thinking up clever rebuttals and stinging comebacks or pointing out where I had been the most victimized, I tried to shut the fuck up, and really listen to what he said to me.
And oh, God. Ouch. The shame of it. Ewwwwwwww.
His premise was simple. He pointed out that he had forgiven me for a lot, a lot, of really fucked up things - was he not allowed to make one minor infraction, too?
I realized suddenly just how rarely he asks me to see things from his point of view - and that he shouldn't have to ask me to do that. I thought I was an empathetic person, and maybe I am capable of empathy, but when I am hurt or angry, it just flies out the fucking window. When he presented his perspective, I saw just how ugly my behavior was, and just how unwarranted it was. And oh God, it was just gross. I am so ashamed of myself.
The only person I can accurately compare it to is...is...
Oh God, no. I can't do it.
Ugh. Baby Momma.
FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!!!
The woman I hate most in the world! I'm just like her! Maybe not to the scale and fucking depravity of that deluded sociopath, but still. I do the same shit that she does, which is to immediately revert to the role of victim, always the victim, look how hurt I am. So hurt that it completely excuses how I am about to lash out from out of nowhere, and hurt you back. But it's justified, because I'm the victim.
The other element, which I have already acknowledged in myself but haven't actually been arsed to do anything about yet, is my own cowardice and inertia in situations like these. Things wouldn't have escalated to the point that they did, had I but picked up my mobile, and dialed M's number. But of course, I couldn't do that, because I was the victim, and it was better to sit here and fucking stew for another twelve hours.
I avoid confrontations like the plague. I find that I am often frightened and overwhelmed by the intensity of my feelings, especially my rage, and in an effort to elude them, I choose to just run away from situations where they might come up. I'm not strong or courageous enough to declare my feelings in a confrontation, because they are obviously wrong - that's what a confrontation is, is telling the other person that they are wrong. Maybe that's why I hate confrontations so much - I hate being told that I am wrong, that I did something drastically wrong. I don't want to hear it, so I just run away. And if I remain inert and just do nothing, then there will be no confrontations, ergo, no feelings.
But that's not entirely true, is it, because my feelings are already hurt when I start running. I guess I just think that that pain is all I can take - it's manageable, but any more might not be, so I better not risk it.
But that is the path to self destruction. The past EIGHT FUCKING YEARS can confirm that.
I need to stop running from situations like this. The counselors and doctors here think that that may be my route problem, my paralyzing fear of confrontation. But sitting and stewing in our resentments instead of taking action is what sends addicts and alcoholics back out again. Duh.
So, I learned that I like to play the victim card, that I use it as an excuse to lash out at others, and that I am afraid of confrontation.
Now I know this stuff, I need to figure out what to do about it.
Here's what else happened today.
Dr. Ram-It-In and Head Nurse were here first thing this morning. Well, I say first thing, because to me, it was top o' the fucking morning - the ungodly hour of 11 am. Gross.
I shared in Group my exact thoughts from the night before - that I wanted to leave hop-sital, that this was getting to be fucking ridiculous, that I thought I belonged in Day Program, etc. Mumbles put up some opposition, but that's to be expected - she opposes everything. I presented and defended a cogent case to my peers, before I was hauled away by the ear to my Sit Down With The Big Dogs.
"So, Kage," Head Nurse said, when Interchangeable Nurse's Assistant #239763e9 released her Vulcan Death Grip on my ear and shoved me into the Family Room. I angrily turned back to the NA, but Head Nurse kept talking. "You left a note on the door that you wanted to speak with us?"
"Yes, I did," I said, rubbing my ear and baring my teeth at the back of the retreating NA.
"Come and sit down," Head Nurse motioned to the chairs in front of her.
I shuffled over to a chair directly across from them and sat down, took a deep breath, and began my soliloquy.
"I think I'm ready to move on from the hop-sital," I said. "I came in here to stop purging, and to stop abusing drugs and alcohol, and I've accomplished those things. Now I need to work on my compulsion to overeat, which is what makes me barf in the first place. But I don't feel like I can do that here. I can't address my compulsion to overeat when you're chasing me to gain weight, while also limiting how much food I can eat."
Doc and Head Nurse glanced at each other, then looked back at me.
"I'd like to be considered for Day Program immediately," I finished. "I feel my continued presence here in hop-sital would be redundant."
"Okay," Dr. Ram-It-In said.
I paused. "What?"
"Okay," he said again.
I cocked my head. "Okay, what?" I asked.
"Okay, we get what you're saying," Head Nurse interjected. "You're right, you have accomplished what you came into hospital to do. You've stopped purging, and you've stop abusing drugs and alcohol. And we recognize that you are ready to move on to the next challenge, which for you is Mindful Eating. But we also recognize that maybe the exact perimeters of the Restorations refeeding program aren't the right fit for what you are trying to achieve. And that's okay, Kage. Some parts of the program fit, and some don't."
"Yeah, huh," I said suspiciously. Where was she going with this?
"So I think we can support you if you decide to leave the hospital," Dr. Ram-It-In finished.
I turned the stink-eye on him. "Yeah, but against medical advice, right?"
"No," he shrugged. "I see no reason why you shouldn't be discharged, having fully completed the program."
No fucking way! I thought to myself.
"No fucking way!" I exclaimed out loud, then turned and coughed delicately into my hand. "Harrum, harrum! Excuse me."
"You do understand that you won't be able to go directly to Day Program, though," Dr. Ram-It-In said. "You'll have to go on the waiting list, and wait for a spot to become available."
"Okay," I shrugged. "How long is the wait, approximately?"
"Two, maybe three weeks," Head Nurse said.
Eek. That's a little longer than I expected.
Stupid other anorexics.
"Okay," I breathed. "Okay, I can handle that."
"Just so you know, Kage," Dr. Ram-It-In looked serious for a moment, so I nodded and tried to look serious, too. "You can come back if you want."
"What, into hop-sital?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes," he said.
"Oh, thank God," I whimpered.
"So, what day do you want to leave?" Head Nurse asked.
"Oh. Um...," I said. Now! Now! Now! "Thursday? My parents are out of town until then."
"Okay, that sounds like a good plan. Thursday it is," said Dr. Ram-It-In.
And that was it. They opened the door and set me loose again, with only three more days as an inpatient here at Blah Blah Hop-sital.
"Holy shit," I gulped aloud, to the empty sleeping quarters. "What the fuck did I just do?"
I returned to the Group room, and spent the rest of the day in a bit of a daze, like, did I really just do that? But I was yanked from my daydreaming when someone else's drama dared to become MORE interesting than MINE.
I was in the sleeping quarters, sitting up on my hop-sital bed, tapping away on my lap top. Suddenly I knew I couldn't hold my bladder any longer, and would have to stop writing and get up. God damn it, I thought bitterly, though I wasn't sure if I was annoyed because I was lazy and didn't want to walk all the way to the Nurse's Station, or if I didn't want to admit that I had held my pee for too long, and now I might actually explode.
I did a little dance at the counter while I waited to be acknowledged. "Bathroom key?" I said desperately, when an NA finally looked up and in my general direction.
Suddenly I heard someone scream from one of hop-sital rooms to my left. "Fuck you! I'm not going anywhere!"
I looked up in surprise, and saw that there were two security guards standing at the entrance to Auschwitz-the-Lifer and Miss Kitty's hop-sital room. Something interesting was going on.
"I've got the bathroom key, Kage," a key was suddenly dangled in my face, as Interchangeable Nurse's Assistant #87263r0782 tried to bring my attention back to her. I brushed the key aside and walked almost comatosely towards the security guards instead.
I think it's showtime.
Both guards were young and uniformed, though only one could be said to fit the role. Cute, muscular and with full sleeves of tattoos on both arms, he stood unsmiling on one side of the doorway. Hello, I thought with a grin. The other guy was a hot mess - he must have been mis-posted from parking authority or something. Pudgy, bespectacled and bewildered, he looked like he hadn't a clue what to do with the 80 pound scruffian alley cat who was about to claw his fucking eyes out.
"Fuck you!" Kitty screamed again, as she tried to yank a shirt back from one of the nurses that was packing her bags. "I won't go! I won't fucking go!"
Off to Disneyland, Kitty Meow Meow? I wondered.
"Kaaaaaaage," the Nurse's Assistant sang from behind me, and jangled her key. "Baaaaaathroom."
"Shhhhhh," I hissed, waving her off. "I wanna see Kitty rip off the hot one's uniform. Get us some popcorn, you can watch too."
"Let's go, Kagie," she said.
"Nooooooo...," I whimpered. "Interesting...scratching...big muscles...parking authority..." I gestured helplessly to Kitty's room, with the security guards, the nurses, the endless stream of obscenities. "Please?"
"Sorry, hun," she said, and pulled me away by my elbow.
God, I rolled my eyes bitterly, and let her lead me away. I never get to do anything fun.
I would have made such a good witness, too, when Pissy Kitty went to trial. Like when Ricky Butcher goes to court in a wife beater, pig tails and a black leather dog collar with metal spikes, and the whoever (bailiff?) says, "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"
And Ricky bats his eyelashes and says in this perfect British-Orphan accent, "Yes! I don't know how to lie."
Anyway. Even though I didn't get to see the show, I heard about it later - the next best thing.
I don't know exactly why, but Pissy Kitty was escorted off the unit today, and taken downstairs to the second floor.
Where things are immeasurably harder, what with the access to coffee and cigarettes and all.
But if I'm honest, I'm glad she's gone. She was bringing the whole Group down. She was so pissed off all the time, and kept interrupting Groups to bitch about this or that over and over and over again, so that we stopped actually accomplishing anything, and instead just listened to Kitty crowing.
She is clearly not ready for Refeeding. Just like Boy Ana, I think maybe her problems run a little more into the psychopathic range. As in, maybe she belongs in a psych unit for a bit, until she actually wants to be up here, with us.
Not that we aren't crazy up here, too. But at least we are only a threat to ourselves.