4.12.10

Things are different than my last blog. Things are the same. Things will return to how they have been. And then they will be different again. I read an article in the New York Times this morning about modern psychology researches reopening investigation into psychedelic drugs as a form of antidepressant. Study subjects--the depressed cancer patients, the terminally ill and a couple of other populations--experienced a dropping of boundaries between themselves and their environment and a powerful sense of unity with the world and its inhabitants that lifted their spirits for months and changed their mindsets. The article ended with a strikingly Buddhist phrase-something to the effect that the hallucinogens opened the patients experience to the one true constant in life--change. Ugh.

So I sat stunned in the coffee shop, paper felled to my lap, and let the electrical impulses speed down the nest of snakes in my brain that comprise my thought disorder. I can't let myself change. Since a child I have fought change. My parents are going to die soon. I need to learn to change. I have to learn to change. A cloud of self-abasement wafts over me and settles in. I am recalcitrant, bad, a hopeless meditator because I refuse to change. It is my fault. I should just change. I can't have a boyfriend or a true friend, or open myself up to a new experience. I can't love. I've learned nothing from the three years at my halfway house. I haven't changed a bit, I castigate myself. Well, maybe a few little things here and there,like the chips of plaster falling of my parents living room ceiling, if I am lucky.

This is the same. This is my illness, I can see objectively out of the corner of my eye. Will it ever change? And am I separate from it? If so, have I changed? Can I change? No, I fear. I still have the same challenges--loneliness, meaninglessness, fear. I guess everybody has these challenges. How much then, is the success or failure of this human struggle affected by the snakes twisting everything in my head, corrupting the most basic thoughts and interactions? What is fair to expect from myself, and what can I celebrate as success?

I feel successful after last week. I did not go once, not a' once, to my clubhouse. I actually walked by it on the way to the bank, to Dunkin' Donuts, to the sporting goods store to buy socks and a kick ass water bottle, but did not go in. Sitting trapped in the airless room (the windows don't open) that has begun to stink being frustrated with an atmosphere of members waiting to be waited upon by staff, or carrying on nonsense conversations, or whining at the top of their lungs puts me in the worst mood and makes me feel lousy about myself. It is only made worse because I can't leave, knowing I can't return to my halfway house until the afternoon. Stuck. Trapped. Annoyed. Feeling like the detritus of society forced to sit in a milieu of craziness was not good for the soul. On top of it all I had to go home and do it all over again--more people, more staff, more milieu--at my halfway house. Endless treatment.

I finally caught on to this dynamic to my days, hence the no clubhouse week. So much better. Harder, too in ways. Harder to fill in the empty hours in my day as I go from the farm I volunteer at to therapy a couple of hours later. Or what to do in the morning until my art class starts. Or how to spend Mondays. Like today. I was just dying to go sit at my clubhouse and just sit. I really wanted to stay home. I just needed to sit and relax and I was tempted to go to Medication Group and hear my favorite psychiatrist at the clubhouse talk and answer questions. I just like the sound of her voice and her presence but I knew I couldn't handle members screeching about their doctor over and over again or ---jeez, I'm being cruel. How did I get so bitter? So mean? I guess I can have more compassion if I am not there, not forced to be there, able to leave. I hope that is true because when I leave my halfway house for an apartment I will be going back to my clubhouse for support. Is doing just one answer enough? Or does it have to be a particular one? Do I have to stay at my halfway house where the people are more active and capable and responsible and interactive. I would say intelligent, articulate, and talented too but I know this isn't necessary true.

Anyway. This one week experiment has left me feeling much better about myself. I have bought a cool shirt (and new socks!) I have put more energy and commitment into my the people at my house. I have accepted help. I think I've gone on a date with a guy from the clubhouse. We met up for ice cream Saturday night and he paid, which surprised me, so I took a dare and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, my heart thumping. I had set the stage, thought, putting on some good jeans a nice top and my kick ass boots and a little make up too. Of course, who do we cross paths with but my therapist, M, who just smiles and mouths "hello" to me. It made me smile but I felt too uncomfortable to sit with my friend (date?) and watch M. 's son run around the park so I finally had to ask G. if we could move to a different part of the square. So G. walked me home and put his arms around me to show me the gargoyles on one of the university's halls. We hugged good-bye. He said to call him the next day if I wanted to, and I wanted to, but my energies quickly go kidnapped by terror that my roommate had taken off to harm herself and all the anger and feeling used, and thoughts about my mother and so forth that go into that set of snakes. So I never called him, but believe you me, I had trouble falling asleep that night I was so excited. Whether I can really handle a boyfriend or not is a big question, but I think I want one and I'm certainly attracted to him even with his smoking and dirty teeth. The only thing is, he has the upper hand--his illness is under better control, he is happier, more social, works, has hobbies and interests. On other hand I think I should have the upper hand because I am more refined, better looking (debatable), better educated, more complex. I really get irritated too when he turns every conversation into something about himself. I want to be listened to and understood. But is it that important to be understood--to have my illness, my pain, my history, etc, etc, all understood? I'm beginning to think not. Maybe all he needs to know is that I need to switch benches because I'm distracted by my therapist and that I don't like the peanut butter in his smoothie. He is not someone I can control. He could reject me. It is a risk. I felt with D my first real boyfriend, I was in control, but with G. neither of us is in great control. If control is great.

So anyway. I guess all this posturing about whether I'm human or not just boils down to a date.