1-4-13 2:20pm
Savings bonds are evil. My mom finally found mine from grade school. I thought for sure they would have matured since it’s been awhile. Nope. These don’t mature until 2028. 2028! What the fuck?! Seriously? Why would someone gift these to me or present them with awards? It’s a scam, I tell ya. Why does the government need to borrow our money anyway? Fuck. Stupid damn savings bonds. NO soup for you.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2014
12/22/2013 10:22pm
I am SO frustrated by people complaining about the new healthcare mandate. Oh, poor you, now you have to pay for insurance and you think it’s SO expensive. Um, reality check. It’s no more expensive than it’s ever been. You just haven’t taken the time to learn about it, to care. Then you end up in the ER and want charity care for the tens of thousands of dollars of work you had done when you were there. Seriously? I hear employers lying to their people that Obamacare is the reason they chose to give their employees shitty insurance with higher deductibles and less coverage. It’s not true. I know people who want perfect doctors and miracle treatments for free even though they have money. They have thousands of dollars in medical debt in collections. They just see different doctors and move on. IT MAKES ME MAD. Man up, people. Be responsible. Take care of yourself. Learn the facts. Choose wisely. THEN feel free to bitch around me about your terrible healthcare plans and how they’ll keep you alive.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
11-30-13 9:57pm
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what I’m thankful for and DBSA is on my mind. DBSA San Diego is an org that provides free support groups for people with mood disorders like me. I’ve been with DBSA San Diego continuously since 2006, with a short stint also in 2004. There I found family. The group members get me. We help each other. I always have a place to go. I also have a place to grow.
My outreach work with DBSA is one of the best parts of my life. I have the opportunity to promote the group, to educate the public about mental illness and to connect services and create projects I couldn’t elsewhere. I give a lot in volunteer service to DBSA, but I want to give more and I want to get others to help.
When it comes down to it, DBSA San Diego needs money to provide our free services, and most of our money comes through donations. So, I figured I’d reach out to my people and see if anyone is interested in giving. Any amount helps. I’m particularly interested in getting people to sign up for monthly auto-giving through the Network for Good. I don’t expect people to give $40 a month, but $10 is certainly do-able. It’s the equivalent of 2 drinks at Starbucks or one meal at Chipotle. Think about it. Every penny counts. Go! :)
Ways to Help or Donate:
For a donation of $5 or more on Square, we can send you “Different Voices,” a book of poetry about mental illness by one of our members Jay Mower.
For a donation of $15 or more on Square, we can send you “The Misunderstood Epidemic: Depression,” a dvd about depression produced by one of our members and about several more.
Extra perk (on top of the warm and fuzzy feeling you get from giving) – Donations are tax-deductible! Yay!
It’s been a long time since I sent a fundraising plea. I haven’t really thought this through much. I just know that DBSA has saved my life, given me meaning and hope. DBSA is amazing. Please help me out by paying it forward.
Thanks,
Michelle :)
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
11-29-13 11pm
Well, I feel tonight. Jumbled words in my mind let go with the music. A moment just to stop.
I watched the hall empty, mesmerized, listening to the sounds, taking it in. Streisand-man is annoying. Otherwise a wonderful night. Even the food was good.
The anxiety is trying to escape me but it’s stuck inside my body. Tweet tweet goes the bird dog. Scream. I said SCREAM. (scream)
(deep breath)
Parked in Old Town.
I miss my mom.
Want to run away.
Or just run.
I don’t know why.
Feed the toilet.
Arms not right.
Are you the pumpkin man?
Where am I?
Take me home.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
11/28/2013 10:29pm
Dear God,
I wish it was Tuesday. My voice is stuck inside me and nothing reaches the page.
I’m sitting in the car outside Mesa Vista. Light from Cog lights my page. I feel myself falling in slow motion, like a feather through Jello. Life moves quickly around me. I feel lifeless. Can’t move. Can’t stop. Another holiday out of touch. I need to catch this one early.
December is coming. Tomorrow’s Black Friday. I’m about to break. Double on Wednesday. I need so badly to be held. God? What are you training me for? What do you need me for now? I need you. I need a lot of things. I don’t want to end up back in the hospital and that’s the direction I’m headed.
Red flags
Coping Skills I’m Using
Triggers
What do I need?
Let go.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
11/12/13
Most Christmases I get gifts I don’t like or want or make wishlists of things I want but don’t need and have no place to store. So this year I made a list of things I actually want or need and can’t afford. I am not asking for Christmas gifts from anyone, but if you should feel the need to buy me something here are some ideas. ;)
I don’t have much money to buy gifts for others this year but if there’s something you need, please let me know.
My Christmas Wishlist:
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
11/2/13 12:18pm
(deep sigh)
I feel nervous. I know I haven’t blogged in forever. Sorry about that. I’ve been so busy and unaware of time or space. I’m barely writing at all. I blame this on driving. And partially on the fact that my brain is turned off.
Yesterday my brakes went out on the freeway. I know that God was there. A few moments before I switched into dissociative or crisis mode for no apparent reason. I was listening to my friend apply a DEESC Script to my current situation. It was afternoon traffic and all of the sudden my brake pedal no longer worked. I could press it all the way to the floor. No stoppage. The emergency brake also failed. Yet, I didn’t freak out. I swerved to miss one car and then again to steer clear of the car I’d just swerved in front of. I made it to an off-ramp and coasted into a parking lot. I chose a bush to stop the car with. We jumped the curb, I turned off the ignition. We were inside a bush. So I put the car in reverse and let it roll back off the curb and out of the bush, pulling the key out midway. We stopped.
My friend Sue who was with me had no idea what was going on, other than that I had swerved twice and that we were now friends with a bush. The car smelled like something was burning and I told her to get out. The drivers side panel was smashed so the door only slightly opened. The windshield wipers held decorative pieces of bush. I called State Farm and we walked over to the farmer’s market. I’ll tell ya, like a good neighbor State Farm is NOT there. I even tried singing the jingle. Didn’t work. It took 3 hours of call after call after call, being transferred and cut off. Didn’t help that midway through my phone started shutting itself off whenever they put me on hold. Eventually the tow truck got there and took the car away.
I did everything right. I did not freak out or fail to respond to the situation. I kept myself and my passenger safe. I did not hit another car. I stopped the car with relatively minor damage. I called the insurance company and had the car taken to my mechanic. I’m proud of myself. I also kept my friend calm who had 2 panic attacks and was freaking out. My mom, however, is not happy with me because I called the insurance and filed a claim. In that moment, and now, the only thing that seems to matter is that her car insurance rate might go up. I might as well have smashed into something dangerous and been injured to distract her from the money. I wish she could see that my coping was AMAZING. I even continued on with my plans for the night and attended a zumba party at my gym and had dinner with Sue. I didn’t freak out. Now I am exhausted.
Today I feel frustrated because our mechanic says there is nothing wrong with our brakes and he doesn’t know why the car would do that. IT WAS REAL. I WAS THERE. IT HAPPENED. I want the car fixed. I can’t have it do that again. I could’ve really been hurt. But for him the car is fine. My mom told me I should never call the insurance before calling her. I told her she’s the last person I call because she freaks out. I just really need somebody to say, “Damn, girl. You’re fucking awesome. You did a GREAT job. We’ll deal with the car later.” My mom wants to go to the gym now. I just want to write.
(eyes closed, head down, deep breath)
I haven’t been writing. My writing time is now taken by driving. All of my story is in me, mixing itself up. I joined an adherent DBT program and got a new therapist. We’re laying all my issues out there and it’s freaking me out. I need about an hour of down time after I see her before I can leave. I want a better life. I want to feel good, be independent, free. But I’m scared of dealing with my issues. All those scary things tucked away in neat yellow boxes tied with a ribbon on the back wall of my life. I don’t open them for a reason. Now they’re all in a pile on the floor and I’m freaking out. Do I want to change? Can I tolerate it? I don’t know. I think I trust her but I need to teach her about me. And communicate. I am in an almost constant state of fear lately. Except when faced with a crisis. Oddly enough I wrote the other day that I need the calm of a crisis. Well, I got it. Now I need to run away.
I gotta go. My mom wants to go to the gym and I’m trying to promote her exercising. I’m so tired, physically and spiritually. I’m singing a duet in church tomorrow that I haven’t practiced. I’m excited. It is “Pie Jesu.” Lord, grant them rest. Lord, grant me rest. I have the appropriate feeling state for the song. Now I need to sing it.
Thank you, God, for keeping me safe. And thank you to whomever is reading this. I really appreciate you.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
9-13-13 1:57pm
I am thoroughly dismayed with the California Redemption Value system. I went out of my way today to go to RePlanet to get the actual amount due to me per item, but they don’t accept crushed/smashed cans or bottles. Really? They’d prefer to smash them personally. I paid the CRV. I want it back. Is it really that difficult? Do other states also steal your money for recycling?
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
9-16-13 9:32am
I’m tired. And I’m having money problems. Second month in a row. (sigh) No doubt due to the fact that I can’t think and I’m spending money without remembering. My house is dirty. Literally. There is cat poop in the tub, dirt on the floor, dishes piled up, papers and blankets everywhere. Not due to my mom at all. Usually when she goes out of town the house slowly looks wonderful. This time it’s looking more like my dorm room close to the end at USC. I don’t know what to do. My calendar is chock full. I need rest.
I have an assessment today to join an outpatient DBT group. I really just want a nap. And to wake up to a magically clean house. I am tempted to ask for help with my home from my FB or group friends. I just haven’t. I don’t want to be in this situation. I feel like a hypocrite – the one
(stupid fucking blender refuses to work)
– who helps others learn to clean and organize but has fallen to ruin herself. I need help. I need God.
I feel the need to cancel everything on my calendar this week. It doesn’t seem possible. I need the Comfort Drive stuff OUT of my living room. I love the drive, love the movement. I need it gone. It is a wall, a literal wall. I feel like my eyes are melting. My doctor thinks maybe I’m falling apart because I’m on birth control. I don’t care why I’m disintegrating. I just need it to stop. I need. Please. Please.
(quiet)
I bought new lamps yesterday. They make me feel grounded. A miracle is happening here. The lady in the mirror is different. She is catty and brilliant. I have not seen her in years. Just breathe. It’s time to meet 15, hold her hand, bring her closer.Teach her how to live healthfully. Bring her out of shame.
I am sleepy. I need food. I need to go shopping.
I need the boxes out of my living room.
Time to be me.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
9-3-13 2:22pm
I was thinking about my life today while driving to Eastlake for a pickup. My doctor says I’m making so much progress, that he knew I had potential but never expected me to come this far. But where am I? Where am I going?
I’m not headed in any particular direction. It’s a day to day struggle to stay alive. I’m not in school pursuing a career. I don’t have a husband or kids. I’m floating, stagnant, goal-less. Well, I do have 2 goals but I’m not doing very well on them. I’m temped to starve to death or maybe just walk in circles. When I think about it I freak out. (deeep breath) Is this the end of the yellow brick road?
The word incubation came to mind followed by hibernation. I have stopped almost all events and responsibilities. I am tired. But I don’t think I’m hibernating. I am largely motionless but I am being nurtured and growing. This pause in my life is productive. My mind is catching up to me.
I feel very nauseous, head pain, weak.
I am incubating. If I don’t die, I’ll hatch. I will arise into my new life and follow the path wherever God leads me.
I’m scared to leave this place. I’m not moving forward. I am being carried. The angels are around me. My breath…
Incubation is painful like physical therapy. I am stretched and molded and melted, filed and rearranged. My body is trying to kill me. Maybe I need to die to live.
I really feel faint.
I need to lie down.
And see Dr. Collan.
Right now I feel panic like last night. I’m hovering on a subject so painful, raw. I want to go back to USC.
WHY did you take that life from me?
Why even show me or care?
My life is over. I want a new one. I want to die.
FG – If the new life was different but as fulfilling as the old one, would you stick around?
Hell, yeah.
I need. I just don’t know what.
Jesus.
I’ve walked right out of my shoes. Now I walk on air – off-lifing. Where am I headed, running in circles in an incubator. I’m not ready to leave. But I’m close. I want a better life, to be free. That’s progress. In hibernation I shut down and rest. It rarely involves conscious growth.
I’m helping S- tonight. I’d rather be working on the Comfort Drive. I need to prepare for my mom’s trip and I need someone to help me improve my backing.
I feel overwhelmed but I’m here, incubating. I will be here as long as it takes. God help me.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
8/13/13 3:18pm
What’s different now than in ’09 with Marc? I’m embracing the fact that I’m alone. Dr. N taught me that not all people leave and that I can be safe. Jim taught me how to face my fears through ERP instead of cognitive reasoning. DBT gave me a set of skills to use when I’m freaking out that work. I became closer to God and reassessed my priorities and relationships when I thought I was going to die. I started developing a sense of self. Now I am not so desperate and needy. I started developing systems to get me through the day and track my progress. I faithfully attended DBSA both sharing and learning new tools. I surrendered the pain and defined acceptance. I started doing things for me, in particular attending jazz gigs and making friends with non-crazy (or at least non-diagnosed) people. I gave up and found life. My mom is nicer to me now. I rarely scream or freak out or run away. I use assertiveness daily. I don’t take bullshit anymore. My need for an intense attachment to one person has diminished greatly. I feel more safe, supported. I’ve learned and practiced more boundaries. I’ve moved away from the cognitive approach. I stopped going to school. I found a doctor and therapist who meet my needs. I need the hospital less. My HD phase has passed. I am free.
I forgot to tell Dr. N today that I’ve been thinking about school. I want my degree. I think I’m ready. I think I’d like to major in social work. I should try WRAP and PET first both as prerequisites and to see if I could handle it. I think I might. I don’t think I’m ready for full or part-time. Maybe one class at a time. I have scholarship money I need to use…
(walk around)
I stood up for myself when threatened at Scripps. I walked away stronger, determined. I took care of me.
I learned to say no and to say yes. I’m doing much better with change – if you can imagine. I’ve dealt with health issues bigger than me. I’ve been broken and risen up again, not through ashes but rules. I learned how to observe and listen, to practice empathy. I catch myself earlier in the process so I don’t blow. I’m learning to stand on my own.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
8/18/13 5pm
This is my day list. I use it every day. Today I updated and prettified it. If you’re trying to make one and want customized bullets, use Word instead of Publisher.
My day list has been so helpful for me. I have memory problems and things an average person would have no problem remembering slip my mind and run away. Like somehow it’s a trap and they finally escape. So awhile back I decided to make myself a list of things I need to do every day to remind me. I put it in a page protector (clear plastic cover) and mark off each thing with a dry erase marker as I do it. I made a space on my wall to hang it last night because I keep losing it. My day list gets me through the day.
The day list has helped me keep up with self-care when I’m really depressed and make sure I come back to basics when I’m manic or agitated. I find that when I’m doing better I don’t need it as much and when I’m doing exceedingly bad I don’t even remember I have one. Thankfully, my psychiatrist reminds me.
I feel accomplished when I do everything, which is pretty rare. I am grateful it reminds me what to take with me. I made it. I love it. I’m proud of myself.
Recipe for making your own day list:
Ingredients – 1 sheet protector, 1 sheet of paper, pencil or pen, 1+ dry erase markers
Just a note – some people think my list is stupid. My mom doesn’t get it. She hassled me about it at first. Why do I need a list? Can’t I just remember that? Honestly, no. I’m glad I kept using it. If it works for you, do it. Let me know how it goes. :)
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
8/17/13 1:21am
I’m really glad I went to my reunion tonight. There’s always a reason. 4 cookies, 2 brownies, 1 bottle of water and a cocktail glass of bacon were worth the $75. I got to reconnect with a few friends I’d forgotten about. I met some new ones. I danced the ChaCha slide.
I kept getting distracted from my need to pee and when I finally got to the bathroom there was an emergency in progress. I immediately jumped in. I didn’t know the girl. She was drunk and had thrown up in the sink and somehow ended up on the floor, unable to get up, crying, slurring her words and continuing to throw up. When her husband left the room she begged me and the staff not to send her home with him, that she had to get away. She said yes when I asked if she wanted us to take her to a shelter. When he came back he tried to convince her to just go home. They had been hitting each other earlier. His presence elicited a visceral response from her. She immediately resumed throwing up and crying, repeating over and over again, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m a bad mom,” and gave in to his ruthless and repeated requests to just take a cab home.
Thankfully, I communicated with the hotel staff and they called the paramedics. He was pissed. She really did need medical help. And I believe that she needs to get away from him. I just don’t know how.
(breathe…)
When that was over, I said goodbyes and left. Emotionally exhausted. Spent. That’s why I was there tonight. I hope she’s okay. I’d like to follow up but it might not be safe for her.
I’m tired. Tonight I made it rain bacon. Literally. It was awesome. I got it in my hair, a piece stuck on my cheek. I admired the moon. I prayed. I didn’t drink. I dressed up for me. I didn’t lie. I took the trolley home. I’m proud of myself.
A lot of people remembered me – a nice memory. Long live the queen.
Quote of the night:
“I can’t even think as fast as you can move your feet.” -Shawnna
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
8/16/13 8:04am
I feel sad. Tonight is my 10 year reunion – prime time for comparisons. In typical me fashion, I wish there was an RSVP list so I could plan out my night. There is no agenda. I don’t know what to expect. I posted on FB last night in the reunion group asking what “casual cocktail attire” means – the official dress code. Several people I know replied they’re wearing quite fancy cocktail dresses and that their husbands are dressing up. I was just planning on wearing a dress I like, nothing fancy.
I have my doubts about even going. I anticipate it being a huge trigger. I wanted to be successful, to have degrees and a car and family. I am successful. Just not by my standard. I’m like that firework that shoots off in unexpected directions. Dazzling yet unpredictable. I only like it in the sky.
Who am I?
I will be faced with many questions if I engage tonight. Where do I work? How many kids do I have? What degrees did I get? What am I doing with my life? I don’t know. And I don’t really care. I wish this was a barbeque picnic. Too much hype. Too much pressure.
I’m very tired. I woke up at 7:30, even though I went to bed late. In sharp contrast to the past several mornings, I do not feel bright, chipper or productive. I don’t want to be alive. My body is heavy. I don’t want to move. Yet, I’m awake. Is this from skipping 2 doses of my Flexeril yesterday or not sleeping? Why did I wake up?
I don’t know who I am.
I feel angry.
I want to sleep.
Whatever I decide to do tonight will be okay. I don’t have to share my secrets. I don’t have to be strong. God is my date. All powerful. He will lead me.
PS: Compare me to me if you must. That’s the only change that matters.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
8/8/13 1:44pm
I’m on the trolley. Not sure how I got this far. I just saw a really cool house, or cluster of houses, perfectly visible from the Mission San Diego trolley stop. Slanted paradise high on a hill.
I’ve been feeling agitated all morning. I took a few moments to breathe with my eyes closed. I feel more settled, cold. Now there is pain & exhaustion. I can’t track this new pattern yet. I can barely stay awake and remember to eat. I want a nap. The trolley soothes me.
Benefits of Public Tranist
Benefits of Driving
I started driving long ago. I’m getting used to but don’t really like it. Lifelong drivers tell me how great it is and expect me to be excited. They also expect me to drive everywhere and give others rides. I don’t see it this way. For me it’s somewhat of a loss. I feel exhausted and isolated, like I’ve done something wrong.
When I was younger I wanted a car. I needed to get away. I do still need one late nights and on weekends. Maybe spellbound 16 passed me. I like sitting. Public transit is a way of life.
(Amtrak passes by)
My daddy worked on a train. The longer Don lives with us, the more I find my thoughts changing, his image creeping in. He’s not bad. I rather like him. I’m just thrown off guard when I think of “my parents,” which I never have before and see him and Mom. When I think “Dad” I see him in my head. But he’s not my dad. My thoughts do deceive me. My mom is happy with his family. I’m happy with me.
I don’t think driving is good for me. It allows me to do 15 things in a day when I can maybe tolerate 3 or 4. I can’t self-regulate, though I’m learning. I can’t imagine the number of things I’d have
(conversation with Gary)
I have goosebumps. Long conversation with a man who just got kicked out of his program for drinking. He is quasi-suicidal, crying over the death of Junior Seau. Such a blessing. Another lady sat down and encouraged him. This is what drives me. This is what public transit is about. Changing lives, meeting humans, just being. A simple transit cop spreading encouragement and hope. (sigh) What a blessing. Being alone in a car doesn’t drive me.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
8-7-13 7:42am
I woke up early today. Mom and Don left for his MOHS. I ate oatmeal outside. My body is tired but I’m awake. Two of my fingertips are part numb. I am lounged on the couch.
I did something risky last night. I listed my Voyage 200 on Amazon. If you’re not familiar, the Voyage 200 is an incredibly fancy gadget, also known as a calculator.
For me it was a status symbol. Only a few of us had one. I would often borrow the teacher’s. Then I convinced the Department of Rehab to buy me one. I treasured but never used it. It’s still in the box. It’s been 5 years.
I love math. I always have. I got an award in the 5th grade for being the only student to ever ask for “more math please.” It was a puzzle, a game. It could twist my brain.
I loved calculus – especially my teacher. She was great. She made learning fun and turned it into a small group experience. I had 2 semesters with her. Then we had a falling out. It was more of a nuclear detonation. I had been in the hospital and was unable to drop her class. Instead of giving me an incomplete, as we’d discussed, she failed me. I haven’t gone back to math since.
I’ve held on to this calculator as a sign of hope, of what could be. I don’t want to let go of the dream. I was smart. I wanted to finish school. But every time I try I end up back inpatient. Yet the calculator is always there in the corner of the living room, both taunting and reminding me of what I could’ve been. What I still might be.
Now my need for money has surpassed my need for memory and it’s time to let it go. (deep sigh) It’s the only thing I own that’s worth anything. That’s a little disheartening to me. I think I’m ready to let go. I’ll most likely cry when it sells.
Voyage 200, here’s to the separate voyages ahead. May you find a safe, loving home. And may I find peace of mind.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
8-6-13 8:40am
I am SO frustrated.
(close my eyes, breathe, listen to the wind chime)
I have a problem with debt. I also have problems with memory and confusion. I thought I was doing well with the debt until I got a statement in the mail today. I put $1745 on my credit card last month. What?! (deep breath) I remember shopping at those places. It isn’t fraud. But I’ve little idea what I bought. I remember 2 picture frames and a pair of shoes. Where did it go? What the hell? I thought I was doing well.
I’m not sure what do to. It’s all an illusion. I could cut up that card, but I would have to give up my life. Then again, this life belongs to the bank anyway – and probably the next life too.
I don’t know what to do. All sane minds would say, “Live within your means, dumbass.” That requires acknowledgement & acceptance of my means. I don’t want to be in debt. I just want what I buy more. I want that life. I could rent a room for the amount I pay in minimum payments every month. What an expensive lie.
I am poor. I live with my mom. The government supports me. I ride the bus. Without the aid of credit I would have $130 a month to live on. Some months less. I certainly don’t live like it. I finance smoothies and yogurt. I live a lie. (pause) It eats me.
The most plausible solution is to stop spending. I’m not sure I have that in me. I’d rather die. That’s how scary it is – admitting to myself that no matter what I wear or eat, who I know or what I accomplish, I’m still that poor little girl from the ghetto sitting in the corner wanting more, praying to be like Jane, to live like the others. Money covers that up well. The smell of poverty. It can’t cover up sad eyes.
I’m angry at myself. I didn’t want to be like her. I should’ve known better. Yes I should. But I didn’t. What do I do now? What do I do now?
I’m so tired. I woke up at 8 o’clock because I accidentally took my night meds at 6 last night. I ate oatmeal. Now I’m tired. I was going to go to the gym. Then I opened my mail. Now I wanna die. Brilliant. I’m tempted to go back to sleep.
I took a moment to pray and walked myself mindfully through the whole process of getting oatmeal to me, seeing it in my head.
Please, God. Bring me peace.
—
9:06am
I’m ready to change.
Pay off my debt.
Get rid of things I don’t want or need.
Tell the truth.
Die.
Take care of me.
I’m going to the gym.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
8-5-2013 12:25pm
It is officially that time again – Comfort Drive season. I’m excited. The Comfort Drive is a drive to collect needed comfort items for inpatients at Sharp Mesa Vista Hospital. Mesa Vista is a local psychiatric hospital I have spent much time at that has many times saved my life. Often patients end up there from an emergency room or unexpected route and are without the many comforts of home. Simple things like a hairbrush, outfit or art supplies can not only make someone’s day but change their outlook on the hospital stay and their life. After all, many of us are there because we want to die, have tried to kill ourselves, or have come close.
I wasn’t sure what would come of the drive last year. I just put the flyer out and prayed. The support was amazing. I delivered 27 boxes and 6 bags of clothes, shoes, hygeine products, art supplies and random fun stuff. The stories that came back were striking. One in particular sticks with me. A teenaged boy came in with very big feet and shoes with holes in the bottom. His parents wouldn’t buy him new shoes and he couldn’t afford them. Staff said he had literally walked through his shoes. Someone found just his giant-sized shoes in the drive boxes. They said he cried when he got them. It takes a lot to make a teenaged boy cry. The stories kept coming in.
When I’m a patient I try to bring everything I’ll need and I usually end up giving to others who didn’t have the option to pack. Comfort is so overlooked. I can change a life with a chapstick or a shirt I no longer want. I can bring somebody hope.
I created this project last year and the response was overwhelming. I’m hoping this year it will be also. The drive runs through the end of August this year and the flyer, with a list of items to give, can be found here http://www.dbsasandiego.org/resources/Comfort-Drive-2013.pdf. Please give if you can or share the event with your friends (Facebook event https://www.facebook.com/events/295755200568357/) Put a flyer up at the office or church. Get together with friends and hit the dollar store. You could even make teams and see who can gather the most comfort.
I am on the hunt for donations year-round so don’t worry if you can’t help out now. Keep me in mind and send things my way! Thank you SO much for your help. You can’t imagine what it means.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
8/4/13 12:54pm
I feel the need to write but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m scared. Everything’s changing.
Today I stand tall, walk confidently. A bug sits on my pen. I feel grounded. Diane gave me jewelry. I got many compliments on my appearance, my dress. I feel calm. My head doesn’t hurt yet. I can write without pain. I am removed from me. Watching. It all goes away.
Yesterday I went to a party. I was severely depressed & moderately agitated to begin with. I lied on my floor barely moving, begged myself not to go. But I did. I’m not good at being social. Small talk annoys me. I wanted to leave but I came for S-. I forced myself to participate, to observe. I ate the food, though it scared me. I pet the cat. In my journal I wrote, “I will end up in the hospital soon if I don’t get this under control.”
Today I feel like I’m floating. I sit in a parking lot hugging the sun. A ball of desperation has been growing in my throat causing my voice to be crackly. My body has been weak & riddled with pain. I’ve wanted to kill people all the live long day. The pain has seeped down from my head through my body and into my soul. My thoughts are tainted. They are often not mine. I feel the tears burn my face from the inside. The screams, they live in my forehead. And somewhere deep inside is me trapped in a dungeon surrounded by fire on an island of hate surviving solely on ice chips. She’s going to die…
T- says I look worn down, that she can see the sadness and pain in me. Sometimes it is too great and she must look away. Sorrow runs deep.
I have so much to be thankful for. I am ashamed that people can sense or see my pain. I’m not doing it right. I’m supposed to be perfect and happy. Someone noticed last night and mentioned it. I was devastated.
I am an emotional trash compactor that rarely gets emptied. Sad, tired eyes often imply wisdom. I’d like to let it out. And take these shoes off. I want OUT. I want out.
I went to see about a debt consolidation loan on Friday and the guy talked at me for an hour. Yes, I’m not in the best situation. No, I don’t know how to fix it. I feel thoroughly TRAPPED. I think I could do it from scratch, learn, change my ways. If only I could get there. Someone please help me. (not really) I’m not wearing the right underwear.
My feet hurt.
I’m hungry.
There are so many tasks to do. They will never all be done. I just work as I can. Futile. And eat Chobani yogurt. I need a fan. (not really)
Five of my toes are numb.
I want to go home.
I’ve spent a lot of time lately mapping out how to map out my life. I’ve not had the energy to put the plan into play but it’s coming along. I need to play. And pee. I’m scared.
I need structure, achievable goals, and rewards. Music, dance, art, exercise. SLEEP. I’m a ball of need. And I just keep giving. I feel lonely, alone, even around people. I’m very bothered by things out of place. My other-energy boundaries have eroded. It all comes in. And then I seem pissy and want to kill people and they say I’m rude. Well, you try it, bitch. (deep breath)
I want to sleep and wake up feeling better. My head hurts. I’m hungry. It’s way too hot.
(sit. breathe.)
I breathe the evil out of me. Don’s off beer for 2 weeks for MOHS. We’ll see how that goes. I started NuvaRing today. I hope I don’t gain weight. If I tolerate it well I may be able to decrease or cut out a few other meds. (wave of nausea) I need meds now… Done.
I want to get a FitBit. My therapist is concerned about my sleep and I want to lose weight. I think a monitor and program will help me. Hopefully. Even as just a reminder. I want to be Me again. She is thin. She loses weight. She’s amazing.
My face, hands & feet tingle. My stomach protrudes, despite lack of food. My head hurts. I do not move, but for my hand. My eyes are weary above a faint smile. God is good. Amen.
(fall asleep)
PS – My thyroid biopsy came back normal. I’m waiting on the other one. I’m quite sick for being so healthy. I guess I’m ahead of my time.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
7/28/13 8:45pm
1 Awesome thing – Weeds. 
Weeds are amazing. I know they have a bad rap for appearing in unwanted places, but have you ever considered their character?
A weed is hearty, a rebel. It roots itself wherever it can, often going to great lengths to survive. Sure they grow in grass but they are different. They hold on. They own the land, claim their own. They are strong.
Weeds are mighty. I find them in treacherous spaces, pushing through the cement, reaching out down the path – rooted along the way. They don’t just fight. They survive. They come back from the dead.
My favorite flower, in fact, is a weed. Dandelions. A wish on a stick. I use them to wish and pray. A co-habitable abomination, I say.
On occasions I am blessed to see a single blade of grass or forming leaf appear through the sidewalk or far into the road. It made it! I can too! I want to be like a weed. Hearty, filling, true.
I also like pulling weeds. It is strenuous yet relaxing to be in the dirt, one with the earth making peace. I see my results. I feel the struggle. I absorb the release. I feel it let go. We are free. The soil is turned. My preferred get more nutrients. I can sleep.
I say ’til death do us part and I love weeds all the way.
I feel so happy here on the floor.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
Writing Towards Happy 