Living life after being in treatment is weird. It's a feeling, at least, to me, of constant, never-ending duality. Of two lives lived and living, co-existing (and not exactly peacefully) in this one shell. I say shell because really, all we all are are physical shells for our our amorphous souls, that which lies underneath incrementally more important. And yet...so much, if not all, our and society's focus seems allocated to the shell we show to the world.
But, as I always (used to) do, since I don't write much personal stuff these days, I digress.
Living my life here in my old quarters is just strange. It is strange a lot of the time, if not always. It's March 24th, 2019 now. I just booked a ticket to see my mother for Passover next month. Then I ate dinner. A year ago, I had a ticket booked for Passover, probably didn't eat dinner, and sat in this same apartment, well, probably laid. In just a few short weeks after a year ago today, I would get on a plane (to be more accurate, be dragged by my very frail arm by my very rightfully fraught-with-fear mother on a plane) to Denver to spend the next 4 months in "treatment". But, knowing what i know now about treatment and having been to 2.5 treatment "centers" the 4 months I spent in Evergreen and Pine at ERC was really not much like treatment to me so much as dare I say, a psych-ward/hospital. Yes it was treatment and I do not imply Renfrew or something like that is peaches and cream, but ERC, particularly Evergreen, was, as I like to make light sometimes, prison meets camp meets prison. 2/3 pysch ward lockdown, 1/3 camp. With cute bedspreads, but yes.
So, yeah, just rewind time a year ago and freeze frame on my lack of a life; skeletor-Rachel vibes. But no, it's really not funny. Those were the days my dear client would take me aside and ask if I had cancer, when people whispered about me and I heard them, thank you very much. "Ew, look at that girl." "Ana". "Ugh gross". Yep, I heard it all. At the end of March 2018 into April was the worst state i ever was in, and while I knew it somewhere, and every time I stepped on the godforsaken glass digital scale in my hallway, I also didn't know it. 78 pounds graced my eyes, and left as quickly as it came. I knew I was sick but I didn't also.
Something about this moment now, end of March 2019, with another toothache, on another antibiotic, has left me "feeling the feels" big time, as Alanna always said. The picture in this post is deliberate, too, and not just because it touts my current "good vibes only". On the left in the photo is a card given to me by Alanna, my genteel yet incredibly forceful and remarkably amazing therapist Alanna at Evergreen. She handed it to me the morning I left EG after breakfast for Conifer, happy as a damn clam, with my net bag on my shoulder, ready to kick Conifer in the ass. Yeah I really was happy as a damn clam to get the hell out of Evergreen; I was also quite teary eyed, a bit scared (and looking back on it, rightfully so, as leaving those prison-esque hospital walls of the Evergreen jungle has proven to be quite challenging at times, liberating yes of course, challenging as fuck, you bet. Having the independence and autonomy to make (and second guess) my own choices is a double edge sword, a catch 25 of catch 22s, and any other metaphor you want to insert. Point is -- it is hard every damn day. But to continue -- Alanna handed me that non-goodbye serenity now (I had forgotten about our line till i read it just now) card as I walked out the padded doors. Bye, Alanna, she hugged me then, I cried and am teared up now. That moment was also the duality of dualities. Get me the fuck out of this hellhole...but yikes...what lies beyond those walls is/was/is a hellhole of another breed too. Conifer, after Conifer...too much to delve into. The Good Vibes only sign hung on my wall in my room with my EG roomie Gwen for 3.5 months. Yeah, good vibes only...
On the right in the photo is a card given to me on my birthday by my non-TX long-time therapist Michele. Michele, the usually-calming force who has kept me from falling off a cliff several times throughout my non-Denver days...er, all of them minus 4 months. Michele the "other mother" and lord knows I will NOT go there again in this blog, Namaste. She gave it to me on our birthday bagel outing...an outing which did not go as I had planned...real life that day foiled the birthday bagel. But yes, the card is from her.
So, my dresser decor is fraught with meaning, rife with loaded memories and above all, reminders of where I have been, how far i have (mostly) come, and yet...I know where I have been.
Life is large. Social media is strange. The friends I made in treatment seem to dominate my social media feeds, their bodies seemingly shrinking on my screen every day, their struggles pervading my iPad and my heart. My first next door neighbor in Pine attempted suicide last week, a girl down the hallway passed away. A best friend in Evergreen at the same point I was a year ago if not worse...don;t get me wrong, some, well, few are well and good, and for them I am happy and proud. But somehow, the struggles and downhill slopes seem to outweigh (awful word use here, please ignore) the flat terrain, and it all weighs on my still-beating heart. All the time.
"I work hard every day of my life, I work till I ache my bones. At the end of the day I take home my hard earned pay all on my own...." had to quote it somewhere in here because that song is too apropos to my state of mind not to quote. But I do. I work hard every day, I work on myself, I bust my butt for my clients, my boss, my mom. I work to eat my meals, sometimes force feed myself so I don't get sick again. I work hard. I show up. i show up to work, I show up to my appointments, I do my hair, I smile, joke around about the snacks in the kitchen with colleages like "anyone else". I get it all done. But I have stuff. I have cards on my nightstand, and some demons in my heart. I have love to give, laughter to let out. I have all of it.
But life is certainly a mixed bag...and I suppose I'll keep on shaking it up, for as long as I possibly can.
-RB, 3.24.19
