It's really getting so I question myself almost constantly. Although I did get some encouragement from Jesus's words about “loving your neighbor as you love yourself.” I got to thinking, now that's not codependent. Maybe that's the reason He said it like that. Because the way I figure it, if you take really good care of yourself and your relationship with God (that's loving yourself), then your won't turn into a codependent when you try to love and help others in the same way. And hopefully they'll appreciate your help. So in a way, it's just really simple. And for that reason, I have decided to stop freaking about this whole codependent thing but to just pray about it instead.
But first one more interesting note. You see, one of my favorite classical authors is Jane Austen and one of my favorite books is Emma (which was also made into a contemporary movie called Clueless, but that's another story). But anyway, I'm thinking that Emma was probably just codependent too. Although I think she got wise and was beginning to finally escape it in the end. But isn't it interesting how much I loved that book and that character? I told Beanie all about this codependent stuff and she just laughed real hard, but finally agreed that I'd probably hit the nail on the head, and that I was lucky to make this discovery now while I'm still young enough to escape turning into a bitter old woman married to some abusive alcoholic. I think she's right!
DEAR GOD, I KNOW THAT YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN REALLY LEAD ME AND KEEP ME FROM MAKING A TOTAL MESS OF MY LIFE (NOT TO MENTION THE LIVES OF THOSE AROUND ME). BECAUSE WITHOUT YOU, I'D PROBABLY JUST TOTALLY MESS UP BIG TIME. SO PLEASE HELP ME TO BE WISE AND DISCERNING WHEN IT COMES TO STUFF LIKE CODEPENDENCY. I REALLY WANT TO HELP OTHERS, BUT WHAT I THINK I NEED TO DO IS TO ALLOW YOU TO HELP OTHERS THROUGH ME. PLEASE SHOW ME HOW TO DO THIS. AMEN.
SIXTEEN
Friday, October 12 (a good day)
At noon, Beanie and I were talking about Jenny (we both miss her and wonder how she's doing), and Beanie said, “Why don't you just call West Haven and ask if she can have visitors or not. And if not, ask why not.” So I just marched over to the pay phone, looked up the number, and called. And dontcha know, the receptionist said, “Sure, Jennifer Lambert can have visitors. In fact, we encourage it. Visiting hours are three to five every day.”
So it's settled, tomorrow both Beanie and I will visit her. Beanie thought I might like to go alone, but I told her I thought it would be better if she came along too. I think Jenny could use a good support of friends right now, but of course, I haven't mentioned any of this to any of her old friends, who are so wrapped up in their own lives, they don't even seem to notice she's missing. And even if they did know what was up, I'm not sure how much help they'd be. I mean, some of them actually act as if having anorexia were cool. Too weird.
Then an interesting thing happened in my psychology class today. We were supposed to partner up with someone for a project, and I was about to ask Anna Parker (a girl I've known since grade school) but then this guy I barely know (but seems nice), Trent Ziegler, asked to partner with me and I said, “Sure, why not.” So we went to the library and started working on this fictional case study where Trent is supposed to be suffering from depression, and I'm supposed to be diagnosing him. It's pretty silly, but our teacher thinks it's worthwhile, and because our grade is dependent on it, we're cooperating.
So anyway, I say all the normal things to him, but then I throw in something like, “But have you tried praying?” or “Maybe you just need to trust God with your life.” Well, I can tell these kinds of comments are really bugging him, but he's being a good sport and answering the questions (for his fictional character anyway). But when it was time to quit, he asked me if I thought those religious questions were realistic or not.
“I mean, aren't psychologists supposed to be sort of impartial about religion? Aren't there laws to prevent that kind of thing?”
To which I laughed and said, “I've never heard of a law prohibiting any professional from practicing his religion.” Then I thought a moment. “Except, perhaps, in school. But I've heard of doctors who pray with their patients, and even attorneys who argue for religious rights. Why can't a Christian psychologist recommend that his patient pray?”
Trent shrugged. “I don't know. I suppose it couldn't hurt.”
“On the contrary, I'm sure it would help.”
His brows raised curiously as he held the library door open for me. “I take it that you must be a Christian then?”
I nodded. “That's right. Do you still want to be my partner?” See, this project is supposed to go on for two whole weeks.
He grinned. “Yeah, I suppose it could get pretty interesting.”
“Well, I'll try not to come on too strong. But I'll do what I think a good Christian psychologist might do.”
“And I'll try to react like a good atheist suffering from depression might act.”
Then I laughed. “No wonder my patient's suffering from depression! I would think anyone who doesn't believe in God would get pretty downhearted. I know I would.”
Trent frowned, but said nothing. And suddenly I wondered if he might actually be an atheist himself. I don't think I've ever actually met a practicing atheist (although Jenny tries to act like it sometimes), but I didn't really mean to offend Trent by saying that.
“Don't mind me,” I said half apologetically. “I just happen to be sold out on God and couldn't imagine my life without Him.”
He sort of smiled then. “Well, then that's cool for you. But it might not be like that for everyone else on the planet.”
“Believe me, I know. It's just hard for me not to want to share something with others that's been so incredibly life changing for me.”
“Yeah, it might be cool to hear a little more about it. You sure don't seem to lack for enthusiasm when it comes to your beliefs.”
By then we'd reached the locker bay and it was time to part ways, but I felt like I still needed to say something. “Well, feel free to ask me anything you like about my relationship with God. I'm pretty much an open book when it comes to my faith.” I laughed. “Or anything else, for that matter.”
“Well, after I'm finished playing the depressed atheist patient, maybe you can play the repressed Christian patient.”
I smiled. “Yes, because as you can clearly see, I must certainly be pretty repressed.”
“Yeah, but the surface can be deceiving sometimes.”
I nodded, not quite sure of how to respond and needing to head to work, I just told him good-bye and hurried on my way. But as I drove to work, I prayed for Trent. Because despite his atheist talk, I suspect he's really searching.
Saturday, October 13 (visiting Jenny)
Beanie and I walked into West Haven at exactly three o'clock. It felt pretty weird too. I mean, I've seen movies with mental hospitals and they all sort of seem alike, and I always figure they just do that for the movies. But West Haven seemed eerily like some of those. It has locking gates and a security check-in, and then you wait in this cold, sterile sort of waiting room, and you hear some pretty strange sounds coming through the reception area (like occasional screams, laughing, and stuff), and it's all a little unnerving. I was so glad that Beanie came with me because she kept making jokes about the whole thing, saying that I better be careful in case they found out about my latest psychological self-diagnosis (the codependent thing) because they just might lock me up too. Which is totally ridiculous because it's not even that kind of disorder. But at least it got us laughing.
Finally, someone came to take us to where Jenny was sitting in a day room. She had her back to us and was looking out a window to where it was raining cats and dogs outside. I was relieved to see she had on real clothes. (I'd been worried she'd be wearing a hospital gown and paper slippers.) But she looked fairly normal in her jeans and sweatshirt.
“Hi, Jenny,” I call out, to give her some warning. Then she slowly turns around, but her face (or maybe it is her expression) just doesn't even look like her. Instead of her usual perky smile, she seems sort of
flat and blank and empty.
But then she smiles (only slightly) and waves and says hello. And Beanie and I make a big deal of greeting her, then pull a couple chairs over to where she's sitting.
“How're you doing?” I ask, trying not to show how nervous I feel.
“Okay, I guess.”
Big, long pause.
“So how's the food?” asks Beanie brightly (and I want to sock her).
Jenny makes a wry smile. “Yummy. That is, if you like eating through a feeding tube.” Then she scowls.
“Ugh, they make you eat through a tube?” I ask, then immediately wonder if that's the wrong approach.
She nods. “Yeah, unless I can start doing it myself.”
“Can't you?” I ask hopefully.
Sadly, she shakes her head.
“Isn't there anything you feel like eating?” asks Beanie. “I mean, how about ice cream?”
Jenny makes a face.
“Well, how are you feeling then?” I ask. “Are you feeling a little stronger now that you've got something nutritious in you?”
She just shrugs. And that's pretty much how the next hour goes. And let me tell you, it's not easy. It's one of the longest, most difficult hours I've ever spent, and even though I feel guilty for leaving before visiting time is over, I'm certain that I'll never last another hour, and am pretty sure Beanie feels the same.
“Well, we should be going,” I finally say. “I hope we didn't wear you out.”
She just shrugs again, for what seems like the hundredth time. But then she says, “Will you come back?”
“Of course,” I say, too quickly. “If you want us to, that is.”
Then she nods and I notice just the tiniest spark of life in her eyes. “Yes, please do come back.”
So we both hug her, and I can feel the tears building in my eyes, but I don't want her to see; I don't want to discourage her any more. So, I tell her we'll be praying for her, and that we'll be back to visit her soon. And as we reach the door, I turn around to see her looking at us with big tears running down her face, but she's not making a sound. Part of me wants to run back and stay, but another part says it's time to go. And when we finally get back out to the parking lot, I'm just feeling totally confused about everything.
“Man, that place is lame,” says Beanie. “Poor Jenny.”
“Did you see her face as we were leaving?” I ask, barely able to talk.
Beanie nods. “Yeah. But I didn't know what to do. It seemed better to just go. But I think we should go back. Maybe even tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I stare at her curiously. But of course, she's made of much stronger stuff than I am. “You want to go tomorrow?”
“Don't you?”
“I suppose so. It's just that right now I'm feeling pretty drained.”
“Then you better let God fill you up again.”
I sigh. “Yeah, I suppose you're right.”
We hardly spoke on the ride home. But Beanie stayed at my house and ate dinner with us, and afterward we went up to my room and rehashed the whole thing. Then Beanie suggested we should pray for Jenny. So we did. And then I felt a lot better. I just hope Jenny does too. I really, really hope our prayers are making a difference because, to tell the truth, it sure didn't seem like our visit helped all that much.
Sunday, October 14 (whose life is this anyway?)
After church, my dad took us to dinner at a Chinese restaurant. And we got to talking about this being my last year at home and how I'd be going to college and everything next year, and then I mentioned that I'd been wondering how important it was for me to go to college. Big mistake.
“You mean, you'd actually consider not going to college?” asks my dad, his forehead creased with fatherly concern.
“Maybe,” I say as I use my chopsticks to pick up a sweet-and-sour sparerib. “You know college isn't for everyone.”
“But it's certainly for you,” says my mom eagerly. “You're an honor student, Caitlin. Why in the world would you choose not to go to college? It sounds absurd.”
“Maybe she wants to be a receptionist forever,” offers Ben. Thanks a lot, little brother.
“That's not it,” I quickly say. “I've just been thinking of other options.” Well, to tell the truth, I've only been playing with this idea recently, and I must admit now, it was incredibly stupid of me to voice these thoughts aloud to my family over dinner.
“What options?” demands my dad, at the same time trying to appear calm.
“Well, for one thing, I'm thinking what if I'm not totally sure what I'm going to college for?”
“But your writing,” suggests my mom. “You could go into journalism or English literature or…”
“Or how about psychology?” adds my dad triumphantly. “You were just saying last week how much you like your psychology class.”
“Just because I like a class doesn't mean I want to make it my life's profession.”
“Well, that's okay,” says Mom. “You don't have to decide right away. You can just take general requirements the first year, and then decide later on down the line. I know people who changed their minds clear up into their senior year or ended up with a double major. It all works out.”
“I know.” I start clicking my chopsticks together in frustration, wondering why it is that parents feel they must control so many elements of your life. I mean, look at Jenny's parents (or more particularly her mom), and where's that gotten her? “Maybe I'd like to just spend a year or two down in the mission in Mexico,” I say quietly. “Maybe I could just work to feed and help the children at the garbage dump.”
Well, now you should see my parents' faces. It's as if I'd said I thought I might start shooting up heroin or become a surrogate mother or sell off my body parts or something. I mean, they're like totally appalled. Of course, they both say they think it's wonderful how much I care about those little kids, but wouldn't it be so much better if I get my degree first, then go help them later? To which I somewhat testily answer, “You know, it's a funny thing. But when you're a little kid and you're picking through the trash heap for scraps of rotten food, you might just find it a little hard to understand why it takes someone FOUR years before they come down and bring you something to eat!”
Well, naturally that irritates them. And I'm getting more than a little upset myself. So since I've already stuck my foot in it, I just continue. “Whose life is this anyway?” I blurt out. “I mean, who gets to decide what I do or don't do next year? What if God is calling me to be a missionary? And what if He wants me to go to Mexico to feed His starving little children?”
Now my dad kind of rolls his eyes (which really irks me) then says, “Oh, great, so now you want to become Mother Teresa?”
“And what's so wrong with that?” I challenge, locking eyes with him.
“Nothing, honey,” soothes Mom, trying to cool things down before we're all yelling and screaming. “But can't you see why we'd like you to finish college first?”
Well, by then my stomach's so knotted that I know I cannot possibly eat another bite. And although I feel just a teeny bit guilty for ruining everyone's meal, at the same time, I refuse to take all the blame for this stupid scene (see, I'm moving beyond codependency!). I stand up and tell them not to worry, but I'll find my own way home, thank you very much!
Then in a calm but firm voice, I say, “This is my life, and I intend to live it however I feel is right. So you better get used to it.” Now I'm thinking perhaps that last line was uncalled for. But, sheesh, isn't it the truth? Then I walk out of the restaurant and down the street to a bus stop, where fortunately (since it's starting to get cold and I didn't wear a very warm jacket) a bus pulls up. And as I ride toward home, I question myself, wondering if I am totally wrong to take such a strong stand against my parents. I mean, they are my parents. And we are supposed to respect our parents. But what do you do if you believe God is pulling you one way and your parents are pulling you the other?
About that time, I
remember the Bible verse where Jesus said that families would become divided over Him (father against son, mother against daughter). And while it's a little reassuring, I still hope that's not what all this is about. After all, my parents are Christians too. I just don't get why they don't understand this or support me in it.
When I got home, I immediately called up Pastor Tony, hoping I could talk to him and get some answers, but unfortunately he wasn't home, and I really didn't want to leave a message, so I just hung up. Then not wanting to be there when my parents got home, I hopped in my car and took off over to Steph's to pick up Beanie since we'd planned to go visit Jenny today anyway.
Apparently, Steph and Oliver were spending the day with Pastor Tony (the reason he wasn't home). So I sat on the couch and told Beanie all about the confrontation with my parents and how angry and disappointed I was in them. And for the first time since I can ever remember, Beanie sided with my parents–against me!
“Cate, if I had parents like yours, I'd listen to them. I mean, just look at them, they're both well educated and responsible and respectable citizens. And if that's not enough, they're even Christians who go to church. And just for the record, I think they're absolutely right about the college thing. You're way too young to think you can go off and be some missionary in Mexico. You need to finish your education first, and who knows, by then you might even want to do something else anyway.”
Well, I felt like I'd just been run over by a Mac truck. I mean, I was totally speechless. But not Beanie. No way. She just kept going. “And besides, Cate, aren't children supposed to obey their parents? And to respect them too? And I don't mean to offend you, but aren't you just a little bit concerned that this whole Mexico missionary thing might simply be your codependent side raising its head again?”
It's My Life Page 12
