Volumes of Issues

Walking alone, half a lap ahead of my peers, I watch the quiet surroundings of the fresh air park rotate in their slow carousel around me. I’m in a more contemplative mood although part of what I’m to work out in my head is whether or not I should be talking to my friends instead of thinking about things that have the potential to bring my mood down. Its just that between last night and so far today there has been enough drama around here to suffocate any amount of good intentions. I’m trying to not let it get to me. I’m trying to stay positive but its hard.

People that have been here longer than me are starting to have problems stemming from the prospect of going home. Some are having extreme family issues that peak into screaming matches both over the phone and in person when people come to visit. Some of the newer people are just having problems with the meals in general and there have been a lot of tears shed at the table recently. Some are also having food issues due to being scared of going above the goal weight that they have already met while here. Reaching “maintainance weight” and still trying to restrict your eating, still accepting that you can more or less eat whatever you want is harder than can be represented in words. I can admit, too, that seeing my peers, my friends, have their own questions and doubts does scare me. I have to admit it because, if denied, it has the potential to sneak up and just floor me.

I care about these people because I see at least some aspect of myself in each and every one of them. Its difficult to just stand by and know that I can’t really help them with their issues. I want to. Badly. Its in my nature. If I choose to do that though I know it would jeopardize my own recovery. I just can’t go back there in any part of my head right now without the potential of losing what I have worked so hard for. Some encouraging words and just letting them know that I understand is about as far as I can safely go. I have been both stunned by my positivity and in love with it in such a way that I’m terrified of losing it.

This is why I hang back. They walk and I hang back just absorbing my surroundings, absorbing my thoughts. There will be a right way to do this. This is just one in a line of speed bumps that will unfailingly be along my road to recovery. I hate to get so cliché with the terminology but is just what best describes it in this case. It is a road we are each traveling, a journey we are each individually on. And, in the end, it is each of us who decides just how big the obstacles along the way will be.

Thought provoking

Two sentences creep their way into my head like thieves as I walk around the small yard after dinner. I don’t know how they got in and I don’t know where they came from. All I know is that they are taking something from me by even just being there. They are:

1. I don’t have any friends.

2. I have people who will forget about me as soon as I’m not around.

Soon the first two are joined by a third and possibly the most scary of the trio:  3. At least I have a daily schedule I can rely on.

I try and drive the sentences out but each time I cut one off another starts fresh. i can feel them stealing life from me.

I know they are wrong though, they have to be. There is just no way something like that could really be true…but doubt is a devious monster. I watch the ground as I walk and adjust my comfy weekend pajamaish pants so they don’t drag in the newly wet grass. Elle and Benji are playing catch again and Molly, Carrina, and Tiffany are halfway around the same loop that I’m on, chattering away. For once its not stroke-inducing hot out and Sunday winds down again as Monday prepares itself for dawn.

I know I have friends. I’m 30 and its almost ridiculous to be reassuring myself of such a basic statement. If wisdom comes with age then I would think I shouldn’t really need to be even forming those words into a sentence. Its something I know – I have friends. I also understand the meaning of the phrase “out of sight, out of mind”. Its not a hard concept to grasp and perfectly understandable with us all being human and what-not.

The guidelines for friendship are something I have had trouble defining my whole life and what I feel it comes down to is that there aren’t really any. many people have many different definitions of what a friend should be but I’ve come to realize that, for me, a definition of that word shouldn’t be made. If I were to sit down and make a list to answer the question “what is a friend?” I would be following that criteria every time I met someone new whether I was conscious of it or not. Then, inevitably, something wouldn’t fit. Anxiety would set in and I’d start stressing out about the validity of people I considered my friends and thats a hole I know I don’t want to have to try and get out of.

The scarier thing though, the one about the routine, really snuck up. I can’t help but question the subconscious validity of that statement. Is that why I’m so strict with my schedule? Is it so that I don’t have to rely on people to do what they say they will because I already have the daily structure so definitively planned out? A routine is not a replacement for a friend. Again, a basic thought. It doesn’t matter that I know I can count on it to do what its agenda says it will. Its hard to differentiate because I know I can trust the routine. I can rely on the fact that it will be there when I need it and it won’t let me down, but does that really mean that I don’t have to rely on anybody else?

People are fallible. They will make mistakes just as I do on a regular daily basis, but that does not mean that they are not deserving of trust. A lot of thought has gone into this and I think more is needed still but, for now, I have enough to work with. The sun is setting. Its time to head back inside. As I meander up the stone walk to the double doors a comforting calm sets in and I smile to myself before jogging ahead to join my friends.

Versus

I got to go outside yesterday for the first time in two. After each meal there is an alloted amount slot of time for “fresh air” and you have to have eaten 100% of the previous 3 meals in order to achieve the privilege. Since I had arrived I had always just assumed that “fresh air” time was more for smokers than anyone else and that all you did was stand around on the pavement out front doing nothing. It didn’t seem terribly appealing to me so I was pretty surprised to find that assumption proved wrong once again.

We elevated down to the bottom floor and exited at the side of the building into the natural light. It was the first non-rainy day in almost a week and the warmth felt great. By comparison our little wing of the hospital could have passed for an icebox. We stepped out onto a short walkway leading to a small lawn, a semi-neglected little garden, numerous benches and chairs, and a rather good view of the Hudson River beyond the highway. I don’t know if I’ll be going out every time the opportunity arises but I was definitely pleasantly surprised.

Towards the end of our little outing we were joined by 5 or 6 guys from the THC study that is occurring in a different wing of the building. Apparently there is a lot more going on here than I am aware of because fascination upon finding out that there was an actual study promoting the smoking of pot definitely ensued. Its like Wonka’s chocolate factory – you never know what going on behind the next closed door!

Back in the building again I finally got the okay to move into my new room. My roommate, Elle, had already established herself in the space closes to the window so I began unpacking my thing on the remaining bed next to the door. Twin sets of basic furniture decorated either side of the room and we each had a barren closet that I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with. Elle, who has been here once before for treatment, informed me that they used to come equipped with hangers but that privilege was taken away when one of the previous residents had apparently tried to hang herself from her hanger. So, with no real dresser as replacement, I finagled my suitcases into a make-shift tower for my clothes with a shrug. Heck, you win some, you lose some, right?

Oh, and due to the force of gravity vs. the strength of a plastic hanger I wasn’t surprised to hear that the suicidal girl hadn’t succeeded. This may be a semi-surreal setting compared to every day life but the laws of physics do still apply.