Anniversary

Today's my wedding anniversary.

Small death? Derailment? Salvation? I have not decided. I have no idea whether my marriage was a mistake or not.

One of the benefits (or detriments?) of my practice is I don't really see things as mistakes.

I ran away in the middle of the night with my husband. I had only known him six weeks and had only dated him for three. We were having a fight. We had slept together once and then he had dropped me. I had run into him at a party. I poured a beer on his head and I guess he thought, "this is the girl for me!"

He had just finished doing his laundry. He took the laundry basket filled with clean clothes and put it into the back seat of my Chevy Impala filled with 1/2 empty packs of packs of unfiltered camels (I was trying to quit--don't ask about my strategy--even I'm not sure what it was). We headed south. I think the reason I did something so crazy is because I was nicotine deprived and losing my mind.

So now I have Nick and Lilly and a crazy ex-husband.

I've been at the library all day, doing a "health promotion paper" on the dangers of cell phone use. There aren't too many, but they aren't completely harmless. So, as with anything magical, use it carefully. That's really a good rule. Things that are too magical always exact a price--love, birth control, cars, x-rays. Think about the stories. If some new technology virtually confers upon you magical powers, it's bad for you somehow.

I called my crazy ex husband yesterday. I'm taking Lilly to an eating disorder specialist Thursday. She just hit 112 lbs. Her hip bones stick out like conch shells and her periods have stopped "I think I'm getting a little weird about food." She says in this off-hand way. I found myself spilling all this to this nurse I work with, not someone I particularly respect or am close to. He's kind of sloppy--not really as a nurse, but personally. Doesn't shave, scrubs always rumpled and sort of dirty looking. Looks like he's always rolled out of bed. Doesn't look like he showers very much. Now I know why. It's strange the way you always know the right people to talk to about things. It was at the end of my shift and he was taking over. "I'm going home to watch my daughter not eat dinner," I said as a joke. Then the whole thing just came lurching out.

"We're going through the same thing with Wanda." He tells me. "She's institutionalized right now. We can't handle it at home. " He and I swap crazy eating stories about our daughters. We start laughing. The stories are so similar.

"This will rip your home apart," he warns. "An anorexic ends up controlling every single person in the house. We have five kids, but we only have one, if you know what I mean."

5 kids. One severley disturbed. No wonder he looks like he just rolled out of bed.

Just like an alcoholic, I suppose. The craziest person wins.

"Get on it early. We kept ignoring it, trying to make it go away." He gave me the number for his doctor. Then he called me the next day to make sure I called. I wanted to cry.

At dinner last night I watched Lilly do anything except eat. Twirl the pasta, move it around her plate, get up, search for CD's. I realized, when does she actually eat? Ever?

I've done this to her. I never remember to eat. I'll go for two days sometimes, when I'm by myself. Always have done this. I don't have an appetite. Only for sweet things. Then I'll be sort of cranky and tired and wondering why everyone is so stupid and insensitive--then I'll think, oh, yeah, I haven't eaten in two days. I mean, I am totally disconnected from my gut in this respect.

So I called her dad, because I thought he'd like to know. Being her dad and all. He's so deranged. "Well, I've been telling her--she's been after 3% body fat--but I've been telling her that's unreasonable. Girls aren't supposed to have 3% body fat. I've been telling her she needs to eat."
"She exercises constantly." I tell him.
"She did that all summer. Hours on the treadmill every day."
I want to ask him why he didn't stop her when she started exercising all the time over the summer. Why he left her alone in the house all the time. He's so charismatic, such a powerful personality. Talking to him, I am once again swept up into his story, even though I know it's not accurate. I find myself in the same conversational pattern, wanting to please him, agree with him. I came to be so afraid of him. It kicks in, briefly. I know how to please maniacs.
I hang up.
Return to myself. Whatever that is. Return to quiet. My own lack of noise. Take a deep breath.
I realize that the reason I am still alone is because I am afraid of that happening again, of becoming so subsumed by someone else's personality that I lose myself.
That's my 1/2 hour.