just call me bee, interrupted

i want to make a commitment to myself. to write here every day for the month of november, and write about what i need to. to not erase things because i'm worried about how it will come across. to be unflinchingly, gently honest with myself because it is so hard for me, and see, in one month, where i am. where my healing is.

i am scared.

yesterday i went to the crisis appointment with my therapist that met made me promise to make. it was hard. i don't like crying in front of people, but lately crying's all i seem to be able to do, so that was in essence my hour. i cried about how alone i feel; my absolute F. E. A. R. of abandonment; all the guilt and hurt and anger that the past few days have stirred up.

(as an aside, jen wrote something really poignant about anger. it got me to thinking - a lot of this sadness and anxiety in me is just warped rage.)

at the end of the appointment, my therapist told me that i had to go to the hospital. he asked me if i thought that would be okay, and all i could say is "i want to be safe."

he escorted me to the hospital. at that point the tears had stopped, mostly, and i was just numb. last week i found this small plastic horse on the street and stuffed it into the pocket of my vest, i kept playing with it, hugging my school bag to my chest, thinking about all the work i had to do.

a long, long while later, after the tetanus shot (for the cutting) and the intake and the "this is my story" over and over and over again:
("how many times have you been sexually assaulted?"
"countless."
"well, raped then?"
"three."
"where's your mother?"
"dead."
"where's your father?"
"we don't talk much."
"what about siblings?"
"one. she lives in toronto."
"do you go to school?"
"yes. and i work part-time."
"do you live on your own?"
"yes."
"do you have many friends here?"
"sort of. not really."
"so in essence you're telling us that you've been critically stressed for months. with no support system."
"i guess so.")

the doctors told me that if it was alright with me, that they didn't think i should be released and i should stay with them overnight.
fluorescently lit room. fluorescently lit hall. people in blue pajamas and blue paper slippers. a nice, hippie nurse with waist-length hair who brought me chicken, mashed potatoes, and soup.

i called met. he had sent me an email the night before saying that he wanted me to talk to him if anything was going on, and i figured this qualified. i figured this would be one of the times he was talking about, when he got upset that i didn't tell him what was going on. even though i didn't want to. even though, literally, the thing that flashed through my head was, "will he ever be attracted to me again?"

at first he didn't recognize my voice. once i told him it was me, he asked me where i was.
"the hospital."
"um. what?"
"yeah."

he wanted to come over right away. i said i wasn't sure i wanted him to. he asked me why, i told him that i thought it would confuse my heart too much. that right now, the word "distance" is hard for me to interpret.
he said, "just because i'm questioning the relationship doesn't mean i'm leaving it."
which simultaneously made me feel better, and confused me even more.

so once they gave me a bed i lay there for a while. i wrote a poem that i believe i'm going to call "hospital suite", i read some of life of pi for a book report, i ate dinner. i thought and thought and thought.

this is some of what i thought: okay. you are now in the emergency room, psychiatric division. do you think you can slow down now?

the world is going to allow you to be as fucked up as you want to be, or as healed as you want to be. pick healed, goddamn it.

you are worth it. you are. you are worth love. even if this just feels empty right now, you have GOT to believe it.

then the room got too small. airless, windowless, white painted room with a tired old woman sleeping on the other bed, my skin smelling like hospital. too hot, i couldn't breathe. i thought of what met had said to me, as we were getting off the phone, "i know you don't want to be there, but they will take good care of you." but i felt peace, at that moment.

so i checked myself out. the night air felt so fresh on my hot skin. the moon was almost full and guided me to the shuttle stop through the snarl of city buildings. the maple trees, those with leaves still on them, shone golden through the streetlights. beautiful.

i rode back to my neighbourhood on the bus. i walked home and tried not to think. i curled up on my couch and watched a movie. i talked to met. i turned off the phone and went to sleep by 9.

i'm wondering why i blogged about something that yesterday i asked met to keep between us.
the answer is pretty simple, actually. this is my journey. some of it is uncomfortable to write about, to think about, to be in - i have no doubt that it is uncomfortable to read.
but until i become relaxed about being honest about who i am, i have to do this. not to push myself or be sensational, but just to let everything go, and trust the universe.

i still feel the prickles of ice. it's still hard to breathe. i still have this feeling that i'm standing on the cusp of something, on the one hand going to lose everything i have worked for, on the other being able to keep it. but i'm going to fight.

because i want to be healed.