Dr. Wexler said, “We don’t live in Papua New Guinea or Denmark.”
“That’s not the point,” I said.
“No,” he said. “But I wonder about your point.”
“What, you can never be wrong?” I asked.
“Seldom.” He smiled. “But yes, I can be wrong. Can you?”
“I can be wrong. But I’m not wrong about this. I saw it with my own eyes. Inge’s family was so close and did everything together and I don’t see why this whole individuation thing is such a big obsession.”
“The point is, perhaps there are cultures and families that are close. But do the children in those families have eating disorders? Do they find themselves hospitalized?”
“No,” I admitted.
“No,” he repeated. “That’s the difference. And it’s a pretty important one, wouldn’t you say?”
“I guess.”
He waited.
“But what if it’s not?” I said.
“Not what?”
“What if it’s a chicken and egg thing? You and Dr. Prakash say that enmeshment with my mom is the problem. But that doesn’t feel like what started the problem.”
“No?”
I shook my head. “I feel like what started the problem was being anxious and worried all the time. So then I turned to Mom for comfort.”
He tapped his pen on my folder. “You think the anxiety came first.”
“I think, maybe. Yeah.”
“When did you first experience your anxiety?”
“At school.”
“So…”
“I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to say my anxiety was caused by separation from Mom when I was at school. And that came from enmeshment. But what if it really did come first? The anxiety?”
“Well. Then what caused the anxiety? Where did it come from?”
I threw up my hands. “I don’t know! That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.”
“I don’t have an answer.” I sighed. “I was kind of hoping you could tell me.”
Samuel Tuke Center
Adolescent Chemical Dependency (CD) Group Workbook
This exercise will help you get in touch with the emotional, mental, and physical parts of yourself in the here and now. These will probably change day to day, especially the emotional part.
Complete the sentences:
Right now, today, I feel… exhausted.
Right now, today, I am thinking about… my upcoming therapy sessions, getting out of here.
Right now, today, what am I doing? Feeling pain.
Answer the questions in this exercise to help you understand who you really are.
What is more important to you than anything else in the world? People liking me.
How are you feeling about being here? Sad, depressed, angry, anxious, relieved.
Are you ever depressed? Describe? Yes. It sucks.
Have you ever been told you are hyperactive? Yes.
How do you feel about yourself? Okay. Fat. My self-esteem could certainly improve.
Have you ever thought you were crazy? Yes.
Do you lie when it would be easier to tell the truth? Sometimes, yes.
Do you have difficulty completing things? Yes.
Have you ever felt like hurting yourself? Yes.
Have you ever wanted to die? Yes.
Have you ever attempted suicide? If so, when and how? Yes, last year—cutting wrists—never bad enough to be hospitalized.
Is it hard for you to get close to someone? No.
Do you have trouble concentrating? Yes.
Do you feel you have a problem with drugs and/or alcohol? Not sure, maybe. Yes.
Do you think you are an addict or an alcoholic, or both? Alcoholic.
Of the following, which describes you best in relation to how your family sees you? A. The good guy/girl, taking care of everyone. Mostly this one. The Good Girl.
B. Black sheep, always in trouble.
C. Withdrawn, unnoticed, never missed.
D. Clown, hyper, always on the go. A little bit. Hyper.
17. How are you feeling right now? Down, desperate, exhausted.
Reading assignment: continue reading The Big Book of Alcoholic Anonymous
Share written work with your primary.
December 27, 1988
To Whom It May Concern,
I’m done. I’m not going to do these CD worksheets anymore. I’ve been doing them religiously, but no one is checking them or even asking about them. Unless I nag Chuck to look them over, these worksheets go completely unnoticed. I’m being honest with myself about my diseases—eating disorder, alcoholism. I’m reading the Big Book, because that seems like a legit endeavor. But meanwhile I have a ton of stuff to do for all my other groups, not to mention homework for my tutors who finally started showing up. Honestly, whoever is reading this (which will be no one, ever, thus the whole point of this note), I’m supposed to be individuating and figuring out who I am. Well, I’ve figured out that I’m someone who doesn’t bother with pointless worksheets when there is real work to do for recovery.
Sincerely,
Jennifer J.
Wednesday, December 28, 1988
Treatment-planning Objectives for Jennifer
Patient will continue individuation by limiting phone calls to family to every other day.
Patient will continue to explore ways in which she can be more spontaneous in everyday life.
Patient may continue morning walks—formal approval, walking only.
Patient request for unsupervised bathrooms—approved.
Patient requests for weekend passes—approved.
Notes: Patient treatment-planning days are moved to Fridays. Next treatment-planning date will be Friday, January 6.
“You know, Jennifer,” Dr. Prakash began, “you have talked about your father sometimes intellectualizing things.” She lit a cigarette. “But I have been thinking. I have begun to wonder whether it is the case that, emotionally, your father is the most spontaneous person in the family.”
“He’s spontaneous with his temper tantrums, that’s for sure.”
“Let us lay the anger issue aside for now. I wonder if you and your mother most often intellectualize and rationalize your feelings. And other people’s feelings, as well. And whether you hold those intellectualized, rationalized feelings in.”
“Wow.” I was stunned. “Honestly, I hadn’t thought about it. But…yeah. I think you’re right.”
“And tell me, Jennifer, where does your brother fit?”
“On the continuum of spontaneity versus holding things in?”
“Yes.”
I rested my head on the back of the couch. Insights were tiring. As I stared at the ceiling, I said, “Not sure. He really just…melts away.”
I could hear her recross her legs, her knee-highs brushing against each other. “By being spontaneous, you could avoid overanalyzing your feelings, Jennifer. You could express your feelings as they come. The way you report you are only able to do when you are—”
“Drunk?”
“Yes. But without the loss of responsibility. Or safety.”
“So, being spontaneous,” I said, looking at her, “is supposed to mean that my inhibitions are gone, that I don’t worry so much about acting or sounding dumb?”
She smiled and spread her hands. “Yes.”
“But what if I do?”
“Do what?”
“Act or sound dumb?”
“So what? Would the world end?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Jennifer, this may surprise you, but normal teenagers look and sound dumb sometimes.�
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“Sure. Normal teenagers.”
“Let us discuss what you could do to start being a normal teenager.”
“Go for it,” I said. “Knock yourself out.”
She ignored my snarky tone. “One thing you could do is start allowing your mother to be your mother. You do not need to protect her, Jennifer. Nor do you need to listen to her gripe about your father. Does this sound like something you could do?”
I nodded.
“You must also think about the things in your life that your parents should take more control over. Meals, curfew, whether you can stay home sick from school, and so on.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“You might not like the sound of that, but it is something that must be done. You need for your parents to be your parents. You cannot pick and choose the ways in which they take care of you.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not. Picking and choosing is not letting them be your parents. It opens doors for you to begin manipulating, and lying, and hiding your feelings—”
“I know. I was kidding.”
“Very well,” she said. “Please, tell me some of your own ideas for being a normal teenager.”
“Partying and drinking?” I suggested. “Isn’t that normal for a teenager?”
“Allow me to revise my question. Tell me some of your own ideas for being a normal and healthy teenager.”
I thought about it. “I guess I could stop telling everyone I’m doing okay all the time.”
“Very good! You can start being honest and—”
“If you say ‘spontaneous’ I’m going to gag.” Oops. “Not gag as in purge. Gag as in—”
She held up a hand to stop me. “Fine, fine. Continue. What will you begin being honest about?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. A lot of things. Like, if I’m mad, or upset, or feeling down. Or if I need help.”
“That is a good start. But tell me, Jennifer, is a teenager’s life always so serious?”
“Mine is.”
“Perhaps that is something else to look at. For now, I want you to do this for me. Make a list, yes, of purely fun things that you like to do.”
“Things I like to do for fun?”
“Yes, for fun. What do you enjoy? Write a list. This dovetails beautifully with our discussion of how to be yourself without all the competition and narcissism. Do you remember?”
“Bleh,” I said.
“You must do this,” she said. “It will be a wonderful resource for you in the weeks to come.”
Things I Like to Do, Just for Fun*
*That are also not unhealthy or dangerous
•Friday night dances at the Y.
This is my very favorite thing ever.
•Go to the movies.
Sometimes even by myself. Which makes me the lamest loser ever. But I don’t care. Okay, actually, I do care, but I know I shouldn’t.
•Go shopping for shoes, books, and tapes.
Because it doesn’t make me feel fat, like clothes shopping does. But, unfortunately, it does require transportation and money.
•Pet and cuddle with my dog.
Spike! Give me Spike!
•Hang out with Kelly.
But not be gossipy and talk behind people’s backs, because that makes me feel mondo guilty.
•Hang out in nature, at Roger’s Conservation Center.
This does not make me feel lame, but I need a ride to get there.
•Go skiing.
Except I get ultracompetitive. If I go with my brother it’s not as bad, because then I’m just trying to keep up and not break my legs. But this requires a ride and lots of money. And him being willing to be seen with me.
•Browse the library for a good book. Bury my nose in it.
Stay away from the 616.85 eating disorders section.
•Build tree houses with my next-door neighbor.
Even though it sounds childish.
•Play Ditch or spies with my neighbors.
Even though that sounds childish, too.
•Play with the little kids at my after-school job, or the little kids I babysit.
Holy crap, I don’t just sound childish—I am childish.
•Convince my brother to let me ride motorcycles with him.
But this almost never happens.
•Go for walks in the rain.
But not if I think anyone can see me. Then I start thinking about how I look. And that is not fun or relaxing.
•Art: drawing and painting.
But thou shalt not compare thy art to other people’s art.
•Listen to music.
But not music I used to listened to when I was super depressed or drinking. No more Smiths.
•Decorate my room. Sketch decoration ideas.
I heart decorating.
•Go mini golfing and alpine sliding at Song Mountain.
But I would need a ride. And moolah.
•Hang out with the “nerds” in my class.
Except I worry about becoming a nerd. But they are so nice, and really funny.
•Watch MTV.
But not if I start comparing myself to skinny girls in videos. Which I usually do. So maybe instead:
•Watch Star Trek: The Next Generation.
Übernerd alert!
“I miss Rob,” Sophia said before lights-out.
“I miss Spike,” I said.
Heavy sighs.
“This room is boring.”
“Agreed. Let’s redecorate.” I put my journal aside.
“How?” she asked.
“Rearrange!” I said.
She grinned like the Cheshire Cat: slow, wide, toothy.
I popped out of bed. “What should we start with?”
“The beds.”
“Let’s put them in an L shape.”
“This way.” She motioned. “We’ll put the foot of your bed up against the foot of mine.”
I started scooting my bed, uncovering nasty carpet dust bunnies and who knows what else. “Gross!” I said. “I don’t think these have ever been moved.”
“Not in the history of the Samuel Tuke Center, and whatever hourly-rate motel this was before that. Disgusting.”
We moved our dressers so they were back to back. We put our chairs in a little sitting area made from the space in the L of the bed.
Unfortunately, the headboards, nightstands, and reading lamps were permanently attached to the wall.
“It looks a little odd,” she said.
“Not my best interior design scheme, that’s for sure,” I said.
Still, it was a change.
Thursday, December 29, 1988
A small crash. Something clattered onto the floor. “Ow!”
I sat up. A large, dark shape was hopping around.
1:02 a.m.
Shit! Had Jesus Lady come to get us?
No. It was Beverly doing night checks.
“Ow! Oof!” She tumbled onto Sophia’s bed.
“What is it, Trombone Sam?” Sophia yelled, waking up from a deep sleep.
“Great gosh darn it!” Beverly said. “Gosh darn it.”
Dark shapes wrestled in Sophie’s bed until someone plopped unceremoniously onto the floor.
“Girls!” Beverly said. “What did you do?”
“Um. We rearranged?” I said.
“It is against the rules to rearrange your furniture.”
“Shoot,” Sophia said, her voice croaky with sleep. “We didn’t know.”
“I think I broke my toe,” Beverly said, getting up.
“Are you okay?” Sophia asked.
“She thinks she broke
her toe,” I said unhelpfully. “Close your eyes. I’m turning the light on.” I found my way to my formerly bedside reading lamp and turned it on.
Beverly, in pink scrubs, looked like an enormous flamingo, ruffled and discombobulated, standing on one leg.
“Sit.” Sophia patted her bed and reached for her glasses. “Let me see your toe.”
“It’s fine,” Beverly huffed.
“Sophia’s in vet school,” I said.
“I am not a dog,” Beverly said.
“I didn’t mean you were a dog,” I said. “I just meant—”
“This is a fire hazard,” Beverly said. “You two need to move things back the way they were. Right now.” She hobbled out.
“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Sophia whispered.
“Patients are not supposed to rearrange the rooms,” I answered sternly.
“It’s clearly a fire hazard.”
“Have you no care for your safety?” I asked. “Or that of your nursing staff?”
“Nursing staff that elbowed me in the boob.” Sophia rubbed her chest. “Jeezum. I thought the roof had collapsed.”
We moved the furniture back into place, trying to do so quietly and trying really, really hard not to laugh.
When everything was back in place, I said, “Sophe?”
“Yeah?”
“Who’s Trombone Sam?”
“What?”
“When you woke up, you said, ‘What is it, Trombone Sam?’”
“You’re making that up.”
“I swear to God.”
“I have never heard anything about a Trombone Sam.”
“I swear I’m not making it up. You totally said it.”
“So basically I said something that makes no sense, and that I don’t remember saying.”
“Yes.”
“In other words, what you’re telling me is that this place is making me truly crazy.”
“Yes.”
“I’m ready to go home now.”
Friday, December 30, 1988
Sophia and I were on pins and needles all day. Was Beverly’s toe broken? How much trouble were we in? Injuring staff…it couldn’t be good.
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