Reih7’s Weblog

I am surprised at the amount that I have done today, despite being 2 days short on sleep and having just arrived back from LA at 6:00AM.

- I unpacked and somewhat cleaned.

- I made a dentist and health physical appointments, as well as picked up my refilled medications.

- I voted and dropped off the ballot.

- I went to the library and got a few good books.

- I bought salt for the New Year.

And today, while talking to my father about my sister’s future career, I started crying. I was mopping the floor and swallowed, saying “Yeah” over and over, and when he hung up I sat on the rug against the cabinet by the sink and sobbed into my hands.

On Monday afternoon, after a somewhat sleepless night, I flew to LA to take a test. It’s supposed to be a lame, useless test that hardly anyone studies for. Regardless, not wanting to make a $1000 mistake, I read a little over the weekend, practiced with my dad and had a great bout of studying on the plane ride. Monday night I could barely sleep and all plans to “Buckle down and practice all the cases at least once!” fell to the wayside when I realized I was so sleepy that I couldn’t stand. I slept a few hours of fitful sleep and woke up again at 5:00am on Tuesday to read some more. I practiced the cases out loud with as much motivation as I could muster, but the drive just wasn’t there. Something was gone; perhaps lost after 6 months of craziness and a recent week of cramming for the written part of the exam, which I took last Thursday.

On Tuesday morning I felt ready. I had caffiene in me. I wasn’t completly alert, but I was…okay. The first two patients, I couldn’t finish the full exam. The next 3 were okay, though I might have forgotten to order a chest XR for someone with a cough. A half hour break and then 4 more, which seeme to go well enough. For one I forgot part of the exam and went back without using gloves, a major faux pax in my mind. The last three were a daze. I didn’t do poorly but I didn’t do steller either.

Throughout the entire test I couldn’t beleive it was happening. I stood in front of each door, waiting for the “Ready” announcement and trying to find the motivation to keep going. After each quick encounter I rallied the troops and told myself to “Just concentrate for a little more! Freedom is a mere 5 hours away!”.

The test was killing me. And, perhaps, I was killing the test.

When I came out, I wasn’t too happy. Thankfully a friend was there to whisk me off to the beach in his convertible BMW. Dad calls on the way and I tell him about my utter apathy about the test and how I’m not sure how I did and that if I have to retake it I will literally shoot myself. There’s silence on the other end, and then dad goes off. It’s like being back in middle school again: “How could you not have motivation?? That’s just not possible! Isn’t the money you spent on the test motivation enough?”. I roll my eyes, thinking he’ll get over it, and tell him that I was just tired and don’t know how I did, but I know that I did make some mistakes. He keeps going and now…now I’m about to cry with the beach right in front of me and I won’t let that happen. I tell him I need to go and hang up.

I couldn’t get over it. Much later, on the red-eye back home, I lay awake and thought about the test, the mistakes I’d made, and what dad had said. This horrible rage filled me when I thought about all the times I’d shown some weakness, saying that I was too tired to study or that I couldn’t concentrate during a test. There’s no discussion; it’s always “Why?? How could you do that?? How could you be so stupid??”.

A few years ago they wanted to know where the eating disorder came from. Mom asked over and over, “Was it something we did?!”. I didn’t know how to answer because, like everything in my life, I’d always just assumed that it was all my fault and my parents were right. Today though, today I think “Yes, yes it was something you did.” It was all the times I brought home a ‘B’ or ‘C’ on my report card and mom started crying and told my sister not to tell anyone. It was when I didn’t get into the local medical school my parents hid in shame. It was when I kept telling my parents I wanted to take a year off in medical school to get myself together and their adamant refusals.

All of it, ALL OF IT, weighs me down. I’m not allowed to be normal because, in their eyes, I never have been. All my failures were repressed, my successes were expected and I never beleived that I controlled any of it. While I was in LA, for the brief 36 hours, I wanted only one thing: to be left alone. To move away, find a job somewhere, live in a shit apartment and just….be. No one realizes that the entire time I was sick, the entire 3+ years, I was just a poorly constructed shell that pretending to be human. I can’t even remember things from those years. People bring things up and I have no recollection; it’s like partial amnesia. For me, my life was on put on “pause” 4 years ago. I was trapped in my own glass coffin, waking occasionaly for the important things (Ba’s death, my surgery), but not really remembering them. I finally woke up around the same time I hit 100 pounds and have been rubbing my eyes ever since. Every month I find myself becoming closer and closer to normal, but I’m definately not there yet.

I feel like I’m still the girl I was when this all went down hill, a college kid waiting for her senior year to start and looking forward to finally having a break. I’d move on to the involved medical student who knew people in her class, was part of a ton of organizations, and knew her future early on. In the process I would go out, have fun, meet people (boys and girls alike..), perhaps find someone to spend some extended amount of time with. I would *live my life* and, by this time, I would be comfortable with myself. I would be over feeling like I got shafted out of a “youthful growing up phase” and would finally be ready to move on with my life.

My fear…my fear is that, not only do I not feel ready to become a “real” doctor, I actually suspect that I am actually *not* ready. This wild streak, the voice that laughs after yet another day without a single interview, the voice that whispers in my ear to fuck it all, move away and just LIVE, that streak will always be there. It will rear it’s ugly head next year or next decade, but it WILL be there.

Everyone keeps joking around about me getting married soon, but the truth is that I haven’t been in a relationship in 7 years, and 3 of those years are missing from my life. My dad only commented on it once: “Well, I’m glad that that eating problem thing is over”. He doesn’t know how much I hate myself every day, how I’ll go a few days without showering if I’ve eaten too much because I don’t want to see myself naked or in the mirror. It’s all mechanical with them: Well, you look normal now so get back to school and get back to your life. Follow this formula and that’s how you shold live.

For my sister…dad was going on about how he’s so happy she’s dropping her English degree and deciding to major in accounting instead. I know my sister loves english more than anything and would rather poker her eyes out than work with numbers. I’ve always wanted her to do english because I felt that, at least if I couldn’t be liberated, then at least she could be. That’s why it irks me to hear that she’s decided on accounting. It’s like she’s buying into the whole system, just like everyone else.

I don’t think I would have these feelings (as severe) if I had a bunch of friends and went out all the time, etc…but I don’t. Blame that on being antisocial over the last few years. I keep telling myself that my situation isn’t unique, that sometimes people have circumstances in their lives that they have to get through…what probably gets to me the most (and what has ALWAYS gotten to me) is that OTHER people are out there living the dream. They’re going out, having fun, being young…and I’m at home feeling like a disaster. If everyone else was a disaster as well then I probably wouldn’t mind so much. Ha. So much for not wanting to be competitive.

The truth is that I’m really really scared that something (fate?) will intervene, I won’t match this year, and it’ll be because I’m “not ready.” And despite EVERYTHING I just typed, I think that would be unfair. Because I got these 6 months to myself to become whole again, and I’m already half way there. I just…want the opportunity.

Fuck it. I need to watch some Christian Bale.