(no subject)

I need more sleep, weekends moving to weekdays. Awake from 3:30 to 5:15, only to jolt awake a few minutes later when my alarm goes off. I wish I could say it was because of fun or excess. I'm beginning to think sleep is more important than food.

green and black girl

Several weeks ago I thought I was having trouble sleeping, and was so tired, so wanting to sleep that I as petulant and a little desperate. Some years ago fairyhead, a lifelong insomniac, started semi-jokingly referring to Sleep as my other girlfriend, because compared to her, I was getting all sorts of favoritism and action. I'm not sure if the idea was planted in my head by that, or if there were other nonneurotypical things going on in my brain, but I'd begin to get a sense, a feel, and even a glimpse of Sleep: a slim, silent girl with pale skin, long wavy black hair and a mischievous smile always about to break on her face. I'd say hi, flirt, and plead fairyhead's case (sadly, to little avail). When I had particularly bad time with sleep, I'd try to make up with her, and a lot of the time it seemed to work. For some reason, over the past few years, I don't see her as much; maybe I hadn't been calling her up, or maybe we drifted apart.

But this particular night I thought I was in such sad shape, sleep-wise, that it wouldn't hurt to see if she'd still take my calls. I settled back, slowed my breathing and reached in/out for that space where I sometimes see things. I didn't see anything at first, then suddenly saw someone I didn't recognize, a girl with long, straight black hair, bangs swept right over her forehead. She was wearing something dark green and black (wool sweater and skirt, maybe?), and looking at me through what looked like a large, clear, thick walled hollow glass globe or container in the middle of a dark room that had the sense of an underground lair or lab. The globe didn't appear to contain anything, but I remember noticing the imperfections and bubbles in the thick glass that I took to be signs of age. I remember the girl in black and green held my gaze, then her eyes flashed and she kicked or knocked the globe over. I could hear and see it shatter, thousands of tiny shards falling and bouncing on the floor while she laughed ... not quite maniacally, but wildly, with a tinge of the amoral or extramoral that made me think she was not some accident, but a visitor, some Other that I didn't know and the time, and still don't.

It shook me, for sure. I remember details that suggest it was imprinted forcefully on my memory. It was the next week that the image of an alembic came to mind, writing this post, and things seemed to connect. Shit is breaking in me, spread all over the floor, and whatever was contained is free, all at once. It's awful, terrible, and probably brutally necessary. I have been looking for the green and black girl, but I can't find her. All I can recall is the look in her eye, and that extrareal, extrapresent laugh. I want to ask her, Is this what you meant to happen? I don't expect to get an answer.

a little more accessible, a little less resonant

Last week, I had a talk about talking with New Therapist. I had been growing increasingly concerned with what looked like a more Rogerian, bearing witness kind of approach, and I chafe in the face of engaged passivity, particularly when I'm paying for assistance with very hard work. So I talked about what I thought I needed more of: engagement; active presence; the possibility of being called out (I feel that I get a pass more often than is good for me, that she assumes only the best instead of picking at things); collaboration; questioning. I tried to make it very clear that while I knew I would be doing the majority of the work, if bearing witness was all she had to offer we were likely screwed, because if I knew what to do already, I'd probably be doing it.

She confessed to having two filers in place that encouraged her to be less immediate, less present. The first was that she was acutely aware of having hurt me with unthinking language use twice in our working relationship, and that her desire to monitor herself, to not do that again, took her out of the moment. The other was that she said she was acutely aware of how much smarter than her I am. We talked about both. I expect honest mistakes from time to time with people, particularly if I'm the first nonstandard trans person they meet. They're not pleasant, but they are part of a process and hopefully diminish over time. New Therapist is very empathetic, which I appreciate, but in this case, it got in the way. I also said that I wasn't necessarily looking for a pure intellectual perspective, that if that was all that I needed, again I would probably already be on the path to getting better. So, we faced some impediments and resolved to work on them. Then we actually talked, which was useful (though I still think she's inclined to give me more credit than I necessarily deserve).

I left work early today because I slept all of two hours last night. I was so tired, I worried about the drive home. Of course, I get home and I can't sleep. Tears, sure, but no sleep. I have slept and eaten less in the past week than at any other point in time I can remember. Curiously, my body is not responding in its usual way to lack of food. I don't want it, don't eat it, and at least in the very short run, don't appear to be suffering immediate ill effects (when usually I have to eat every four to six hours or suffer dramatically and obviously). I don't want to lose any more weight; I've crept below 165 just barely, and I think that's sufficient. I would be embarrassed if I couldn't hold my sadness and got physically ill.

And because it probably needs documenting (and I probably need to be responsible for it):

half a bagel with soy cream cheese
small slice of watermelon
four blackberries
half a cup of tea
two pieces of peanut butter toast
three glasses of water
a cup and a half of coconut rice with vegetable stir fry

I should probably do that every day for a while. Maybe making it public will encourage more mindfulness.