Category Archives: Journal

Shoutout to the Jedi

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12-25-10     11:04pm

I’m so grateful for Dr. Collan. My symptoms have improved drastically since seeing him. For those of you who know me, you’ll understand how much that means.

  • I’m not as tired all the time.
  • Not sleeping as much
  • Much less agitated
  • Less pain
  • Fewer headaches & migraines
  • Very few zaps/tics and zap storms
  • Less nausea and vomiting
  • Dizziness is rare
  • No tingling
  • Few tremors
  • Feel calmer
  • Less mood swings

Since I’m not freaking out about my body I don’t want to die. I’m not cured but I feel human again. I climbed stairs at church without stopping and without pain. I walked to 7-11 and lifted the turkey today.

I still have symptoms but they are less intense. Mostly cognitive and psych stuff. I feel mostly calm and pleasantly out of touch with reality. I need structure and can’t handle being rushed, but I get things done in my own time.

I ran across Dr. Collan quite by chance. (Dr. Collan Koeppen – aka Upper Cervical Jedi) Met him in a free check at a walk. I won the most fucked-up patient of the day award. I like that. ;) I bought a discount visit certificate and figured if no one else can help this couldn’t hurt. I never go by those booths and I don’t have lots of money to pay, but I’m so glad I stopped at this one. Glad I took a chance and believed.

Dr. Collan is kind and gentle, quite knowledgeable and rather funny too. Check out his website and try him out if your body ails you or you need a great chiropractor or you know someone who does. Tell him Michelle sent you. ;) Six weeks ago my body was falling apart and I was freaking out and wanted to die. My neurologist actually gave up on me. He said, “This is where the science ends.” Today I celebrated Christmas with my family, cooked and rode in the car for awhile and I didn’t freak out AND I wasn’t in pain – except when I hit my elbow on the door. ;) Miracle-worker I don’t know. But he’s damn good, that’s for sure.

Thanks, Dr. Collan. You’ve made my life worth living. I’m so thankful for you.

1-5-11     3:03am

Update – Saw my primary doctor today. He was both impressed and flabbergasted by the improvements. Lol. Said he’ll have to remember chiropractic really does work and remember to refer people. I certainly hope so.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Disco Heaven

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1-2-11        2:19am

So, I found my cassette tape player in a box I was going through today and put on my FAVORITE tape – Disco Sweatracks. Euphoria ensued. ;) I was texting a friend and sent her this. I just have to share.

I’m experiencing a series of involuntary timeless choreography complete with jazz hands, the airplane, disco fingers, the pony, swimming… even those 50s circle arms. The twist, boogie fingers, a little Richard Simmons, running man, peace fingers, Grease, the YMCA, fake ice skater, bad ballerina twirl, bad melodramatic singer… Daniel Boone searching for a coon to You Light Up My Life… Ahhhhh. Wow. That was awesome. WAY better than sex. My doctors should stop telling me to exercise and just throw on some disco.

I told her I look like a drunk 50 year old Jazzercize instructor – complete with brown yoga pants, a Solvang hoodie from the 80s, rainbow slippers and a red plastic cup of OJ. Lol.

(sigh) I have so many memories of that tape. Road trips with my mom – many a day drying my hair out the car window on the freeway to it. Palm Springs. Lots of Palm Springs memories. I taught to a song from it in Idaho. HD dance always opens with We Are Family. Made friends with the moon… (smile) Good times… Good times.

Now I know where these odd dance moves came from. They were involuntary musical reactions that stuck. ;) Man, I’m tired. :)

-Michelle

Messed Up Morals

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12-22-10    1:51am

Have you ever examined the morals behind songs and fairytales? I was considering Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer while wandering hopelessly lost through Walmart today. It’s a messed up story. The moral or message or conditional-belief lesson is basically:

Don’t fret if you’re a social outcast. You’ll be loveable if you’re just perfect and save everyone. Otherwise you’re worthless and will be alone forever.

If that doesn’t put you in therapy, try having a label for a name. That’s like naming your kid Judy the One-eyed Retard and having Lady Gaga put out a single about her pathetic life and one glory day. Really? Alright then. Merry Christmas to you too.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Tree Philosophy

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12-21-10    6:19pm

I just finished decorating the tree with Mom. Lance was here earlier. S-’s boycotting Christmas.

I feel partly calm and part very tense, like the vibrations of a very high note on a harp string. Inside of me trembles. The cars are so loud outside. It’s been raining. I love the rain. I want to go out in it, to watch, to play, but I’m here on the couch. Time fades away.

I approach tree decorating like an all-you-can-eat salad bar. A little bit of a lot of things comes out to a reasonable sized meal that doesn’t make me sick. My mom’s philosophy is to take as much of each thing as you can eat, leave nothing behind, and go home feeling like you’re going to die. She did leave one box of ornaments in the garage (thank God), but our tree has 3 other boxes of keepsake ornaments, 4 strings of lights, and about 150 glass bulbs. We’re skipping the garland this year. The star is held on by rubber bands. Our tree tried to commit suicide twice last year. Simple is good. It’s beautiful though – filled with memories.

There’s nothing to distract me. No activities today. Nothing on the calendar. Mom wants me to clean and organize and move boxes. i want to bake and to get out of the house. I’m supposed to be moderately busy, remember? No structure is the death of me.

I’ve been thinking about sidecars…

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Just One

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12-21-10    3:01am

People don’t get it. It just takes one. One tiny thing to change my mood. A look, a thought, a smell, a word, a song. Just one.

I work really hard to maintain my sanity, to balance all the people and memories and places, to refute the distortions, to pick out what’s real from what’s not. It’s like walking backwards on a tight rope 100 feet in the sky blindfolded during Santa Annas in the desert over a pit of hungry tigers and fire. Most days I do okay. But it just takes one thing.

Today was very stressful. I made it through my group and my meeting, enjoyed dinner with a friend, worked on the Thursday Poets Rally. And I had found a bit of peace. The sound of the rain. The feel of my breath. And there it appears – a Facebook message that reads, “Thanx for nothing!” Really? Do you have to be such a bitch? I can’t control the fact that you have no tact but I also can’t control how you make me feel. I can attempt to use logic to change that feeling, but I can’t change the seething anger in my soul. You take perverse delight in waking the colicky child I had finally calmed for the night. Just because you can! And for what reason? (Don’t reach) It’s all about you.

People don’t think. Most people I interact with don’t take the time to wonder how what they say will affect the next person. They don’t care if I’m teetering on the edge. Not their problem. I might be able to handle just one. But they’re everywhere.

I want to move away, get a new phone number, change my email and my FB, and my blog. I can’t take it anymore. People are making me crazy. I am too tired to put up with their shit. It’s too much.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Insufficient Funds

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12-20-10    12:10pm

I fucking HATE PEOPLE! Oooooooh! I just want to scream. All they ever think about is themselves. You should read the messages I get – email, text, IM. They tell me their problems, what they want, why they’re mad. Why I should care, say “poor baby,” kiss it and make it all better. Most days I can handle the rush. Not today. I’m not afraid of the storm but don’t shower me with shit.

There are some people who are predictable – like the girl who texts me symptoms. Not “Hi, how are you?” but things like “my scalp is really itchy”

(call from a stupid person)

or that she’s having horrible heartburn. There is the one who calls but doesn’t want me to answer, the ones that are 99% of the time mass messages, and the ones from people who always want my immediate attention. I am surrounded by people in various states of disrepair.

And then there are people like J- who send multi-text rants to me about my friends, complete with insults against me, with not so much as a forward and are CONFUSED when I’m upset. What? About 10 texts in I texted back, “J- I don’t need this right now. You just randomly text me to bitch about S- and then insult me for no apparent reason. Leave me the fuck alone. You didn’t even ask how I am today.” His response? “Are you ill? If so, my apology.” Ill or NOT this is ridiculous. He continued his rant and said he’ll text me later.

I have a board meeting tonight. My mom is freaking out about our mostly bare Christmas tree and her online bill thing not working and the rain. She said to eat cereal for breakfast but when I was eating it changed her mind and said I should eat a bagel. I open the door to hear the rain. She shuts it and goes back in her room. I’m gonna make brownies. She decided maybe she should make them. Maybe we should NOT decorate the tree we fought so much about (because she refused to decide) because of Zoe. Or MAYBE since it’s raining we should only put on the generic glass bulbs that shatter instead of the breakable ornaments we love. I don’t get it. Then she cries because she’s making me mad and if I’m mad it must mean she’s a horrible person and she should just die.

**NEWSFLASH! I have feelings too!**

I don’t mind helping friends in need but it’s not my job to rescue you. And if I do and you jump back in the water, don’t expect me to happily risk my life for you again. I woke up to a call from Illinois about this woman’s brother who is bipolar and has a restraining order against him (blah, blah, blah) for threatening to kill his wife. Do you think that’s a happy way to wake up? Everyone wants something from me. There’s not much left to give.

I’m so angry…

Now Mom’s bitching about food. She’s upset that I don’t want to eat because she told me to eat cereal and I did. She said that’s not what she said, then that it is. Is it too much to ask for a little peace? When the walls of my castle are under attack it would be nice if the people inside didn’t add to the stress.

There is a board meeting tonight. I hope it goes off without a hitch. I’m tired of people saying they’ll do things and bailing, doing things that require damage control, or being all bitch and no work.

I am tired. I feel weary and beat. I want to be alone. Just leave me alone. I want to go somewhere on the bus in the rain, to get wet, to listen to music. To feel my jaw unclench itself, my eyes let go. I want to ride the train. Get out of my way. You’re cramping my brain.

The bank of Michelle has insufficient funds. Please seek help elsewhere.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

The Storm

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12-20-20    2:16am

S-’s grandma died tonight. It’s got me thinking about storms. Helps that it’s raining. I texted, “I know right now it’s a tornado. Just remember I’m not afraid of the storm.” She took it as me thinking she was afraid. It had nothing to do with that.

I like storms. All kinds of storms. Most people hate them or are afraid. But I don’t mind getting wet. I also don’t mind putting myself in danger most of the time for a good cause. I stop on the freeway to help people who are stuck. I talk to homeless people. I give money to strangers. I salt the chickens and empty the whitehouses. I search for people who are in danger. I listen. Instead of running from the fire or crisis, I walk towards it.

When I am in crisis or someone I love has died and I am devastated I find that most people are afraid of the storm. They mean well and say things like “they’re in a better place” or “I’m here if you need anything” or “I’ll pray for you.” But when it’s 3am and I’m pissed at God ‘cuz it’s not fair and I haven’t showered in a week and am a mess from crying, calling them will not yield support. I don’t need to hear that it will all be okay or that time heals or that they know how I feel. They don’t. And it makes me mad.

I do my best to be the friend who brings an umbrella for you but is not afraid to brave the storm. To sit with you in the rain until you’re ready to come inside. I’m no stranger to hospitals, 3am phone calls, people crashing on my couch, safety missions, long text or IM conversations. And I don’t bullshit. I choose my words carefully. Silence is often more powerful than words.

I know what it’s like to walk alone in the rain. To have someone who walks with me for awhile, who listens, who’s not scared of my plight and respects me – that is a Godsend, a gift I pay forward.

I may be terrified of my own storm, but holding hands through yours makes me stronger.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

God is So Good

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12-19-10    3:35am

Good is so good. I had a wonderful day today. Stressful in the morning getting everything ready for singing at SeaWorld tonight. Phone calls, coordinating people and such. The weather was gloomy (my favorite) and everyone made it safely and mostly on time. The Shamu show had some extra help tonight. ;) Afterwards my mom and I and the two girls we were taking home stopped at the bay and watched the boat parade and then at InNOut…

Right now I feel kinda spaced out. Well, more than kinda. It is 3:30am. But that really has nothing to do with it. Lately I’ve been in a sort of haze. I’m either really stressed and agitated or pleasantly tuned out. I don’t feel particularly down. More like drugged. I just sit and stare. Staying home usually drives me crazy. I was sick this week and home a lot, but I was ok. It’s like half of my brain is turned off – the half that freaks out and cares. I feel very tired, very mellow, and I can’t understand what you’re saying. Sometimes it concerns me but mostly I’m grateful. It is a reprieve from the crazy, from the agitation. From the times when I can’t stop moving or rocking or repeating words. A resting time. A much needed break.

I’m grateful today for the people in my life. For getting to sing last night, and today with the choir. For having my mom who is my biggest fan and my best support. And for my God who makes it all happen. I feel joy. And I feel tired. God is so good. So so good.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

The Trolley Chronicles

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12-18-10     12:18am

Wow. The trolley chronicles raw data is shocking tonight… And refreshing. :)

I sang with Sacha tonight. I didn’t want to. It was so wonderful. Like a drug I have missed so much. People loved it. I was trembling, but I loved it too. I felt like me. I miss feeling like me.

She asked why I don’t go back to theater or singing now, to be on Broadway. (sigh) It’s such a tough question. There are the logistics, but I think it’s more about faith. I don’t always believe. I’ve seen the castle crash down so many times that I don’t believe. Stuck in a dream between what I could and can do, held back by the fear of what I can’t and won’t.

I open my mouth to breathe so my face doesn’t explode. The last show I did was at the La Jolla Stage Company. I was not cast. I was an addition, choreographer needed help. I couldn’t think, was fresh out of Cog, had a job. I had gained weight and I wasn’t me. And the show was a nightmare. I walked away knowing I was done. I felt shame.

In the past 9 years I have been hospitalized 8 times, spent 24 weeks in Cog, 8 weeks in DBT, 9 months at Scripps. Now that my mind is mostly under control, my body and brain are failing me. I don’t have the energy to dance very much. I don’t remember things. Some days I can’t move. And the days in between are quite a ride. How does one do a show without dancing a lot, memorizing lines and being healthy enough to show up – not to mention able to get to rehearsal? I don’t know. I just don’t know.
—-

1:19am

S-,
I’m sorry for leaving for awhile. Thank you for singing my song. It’s very special to me. I sang it to my dad at his nursing home in the 4th grade. People rarely sing it and it always makes me cry. And I don’t like crying in public so I retreated to the bathroom for awhile. I wrote through a series of flashbacks. I thought I was okay but cried some more in the lobby. I’m scared. And I need a dad.
—
The trolley ride was amazing tonight. I spent most of it listening to and bantering with a guy who just got out of jail. He had tattoos everywhere. One side of his head said, “Don’t fuck with my head and I won’t think with my dick.” His right temple said “Ass-Hole.” I asked why and he said because he can be one.

It was a lot of talk about jail and ghetto drama and life. Some of it was pretty ridiculous, but he shocked me at the end. He was telling me about how he had built his life up from nothing after 6 years in jail for something he didn’t do and now that he’s lost everything again he’s not scared because he knows he can do it again. All he wants is to see his twins born. I admire this man. He is a lesson in adversity. (shift)

I feel very tired and sound is bothering me. I’m hungry for tater tots. I should go to sleep. I need –

I’m sorry I let go. I really had to pee.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

I’ll Be Home for Christmas

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(written during flashbacks of my dad after listening to I’ll Be Home for Christmas)
12-17-10 10:15ish pm

I’ll Be Home for Christmas

See the color
Feel his fingers, his breath

Bathroom floor
Tears flowing
All I want is a family.

I want someone to take care of me
To love me
To fight with
To sit quietly with
My dad.
I just want my dad.

Little trees
Pine needles
Running Away
Space People
Nurses’ Stations
Wristbands

The floors
The ceiling –

Laundry.
(deep breath)
Laundry.

I miss my dad.
For What he was
What he wasn’t
What he could’ve been
What he taught through the silence I’m not sure I’ll ever learn
But I’m still grateful for it.

Why didn’t you stay on that mountain?
Why did you choose to come home?
Your life from my view is a map I don’t want to follow
But it’s my map.
I don’t get to choose.

Did you like jazz music?
What helped you get through it all?
I’m pretty sure it was your space people.
Crazy keeps us alive.
When I hugged you, could you let go or did you not want to?
I love you.
I want you to love me too.

So I put on a face and everything seems alright.
But inside I die
A little more each night.

I am sitting in a bathroom terrified of my life.
It’s just life
But it’s so much more than that.
This is IT.
Don’t you get it?
I’m not coming back.
There aren’t any do-overs.

I’m scared…
So scared.

S- wants me to sing tonight.
She knows it makes me feel better.
I don’t want to be on display.
I just want to be held.
Please, God.
Comfort me.

I am a child in need. –

I am worried about S- leaving.
I’m so scared of losing her.
So scared.
So scared.

Last night at the W-?
I am scared.
And I can’t seem to pull it together.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

The Prayer

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12-17-10

I said a prayer yesterday. I’ve been sick for a week and I was laying on my mom’s bed staring at the ceiling. It started out a standard prayer – thank you for this, please help me with that. But then I stopped and it changed. And I just said to God that I don’t expect any of it. I don’t expect any of these things I ask for and I know they are out of my control. I know and I ask for help accepting that none of this is up to me. I am part of a plan too big for me to even imagine, serving a purpose I might never comprehend.

When I’m supposed to understand, I will. Until then, I’ll wait and know that my life is in His hand.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Some days I’m just crazy

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12-1-10 6:47pm

I’m sitting on the sidewalk at 30th and Laurel. My hand is so cold I can barely write. My heart is on fire.

I went to the art show tonight to find that none of my art was displayed. They neglected to tell me this. Apparently, the gallery chose 1 piece from every artist and they chose that I read my poem instead of taking up space with my art. I did not want to read that poem, especially tonight, and I left.

I know I’m not Picasso. I don’t paint huge masterpieces. I use markers and crayons. But I don’t paint or create for fun. I put my heart on the page as it is, what my feelings look like on the inside. And I don’t share what I create because it is so personal to me. But I took a chance this time on an art show that didn’t ask for brilliance. It asked for me. And I felt proud of what I had created.

The message given tonight was “there’s no room at the inn.” Not altogether disturbing. But the message received is “you’re not good enough.”

I am good enough, just not tonight. Just not long enough to stay and pretend to be happy and read a poem about my dying inner child, whom I can’t save. Not enough to not be crushed and hurt. I don’t have a collection of glass bowls or silver jewelry. I just have me. That’s it. A- thinks she offended me. I’m not mad at A-. She is a pawn in the game. I thought for a moment, “Why, God? Why?” But it doesn’t matter why. It just is… It just is.

—

7:16pm

I feel like a horrible person. It is the silent car ride home after a behavior – walking out of somewhere or screaming or telling someone off or running away. It is what I need to do in the moment to stay alive and sane, but no one else understands it. They want to know what’s going on and why and what the hell I’m thinking. Does it matter? No. All that matters is I’m not okay. But it’s not me that they care about. It’s the behavior. God forbid I embarrass myself or anyone else.

I have learned well that in the moment I want to scream or am beginning to tremble or cry I need to leave. If I stay, bad things will happen. People other than me will be hurt. And no one cares to see a tantrum or a meltdown. Nobody cares. And few are truly equipped to be helpful.

Now my mom is angry. I’d like a banana smoothie but we have no bananas and she broke the blender – a year ago. I don’t want to go home. I miss Sarah.

I should’ve gone to the Grant. I need music. I need to be free.

—

11:35pm

I don’t understand why this is happening. I don’t understand why this is me. Why things don’t make sense. Why people are mean. Why I can’t tolerate change or surprise or defeat.

A little over 5 hours ago I left an art show I was very upset about. I walked until I could walk no more, then sat on the sidewalk to write. Mom picked me up and I bought comfort food and stuffed my face while surfing FB. I was SO upset about the show. And then I forgot. I knew I was upset but not why. I’ve been typing blog posts and tonight’s writing feels ages away. It’s not important. I mean it is. I don’t understand.

I don’t want A- to be mad at me. If I had stayed there would have been a scene. Me crying and screaming is not art show material. There is no one to be productively angry at. Just a bunch of people I like and want to keep as my friends. I can’t do that if I’m screaming at them.

I wish I was the kind of person who could take it in stride, just roll with the punches and move on. But I’m not. I can’t stop the feelings, especially when they’re at 100%. And when I’m already upset. I don’t want to be the crazy person. I work really hard not to be. But sometimes I am. I can’t stop. But I can move it away from the people. I’m sorry, A-. I just couldn’t do it today. I just couldn’t do it today.

Some days I’m just crazy.
I am out of control.
Not everyone’s, just mine.
I wander the streets.
I walk quickly.
I have a destination but it’s abstract.
I never quite make it.
I talk to myself.
I talk to God.
I talk to whoever it is that’s bugging me.
And my feet carry me away, quickly away.

I don’t usually know to where I am heading.
Some place I can hide or be alone and cry,
Where no one will bug me or find me.
Somewhere safe.
Not in the literal sense of the word but the feeling.
But nowhere’s safe.
And eventually somebody finds me.
And eventually I have to go home.
And face the fact that everyone thinks I’m crazy.

Well, not everyone.
There are a significant number of people who believe nothing’s wrong with me.
They believe I’m not sick, that I don’t have problems.
It’s all make believe.
But whether or not they believe, to most the wandering is not okay.
The anger’s not okay.

I don’t know what she told them.
Rationally, I am a mental health consumer who left the art show without reciting poetry due to a mental health event that I had no control over.
To me, I’m a horrible person who ruined A’s night and made a fool of myself. A crazy who’s not worth saving.
I feel awful.
Did I have to remember this?

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

The Sick Cycle

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12-1-10     1:29pm

I am so cranky today. I want to be outside but I’m supposed to watch the soup so it doesn’t boil over. Would it not make more sense to just put less soup in the pot? (SIGH)

I feel bitter today. I’m a few days into a sick cycle. I will feel confused and pissy for several days, have major mood swings and be more tired than I should be. I will then have unexplained agitation with lots of movement & bad headaches, and small windows of euphoria. I will then be extremely tired for several days and then have a somewhat normal productive few days or week before it starts again. I will think I’m losing my mind and have urges to die. I will hate everyone and everything and not know why. I will feel desperately alone but not want to be touched or around people. I will be overwhelmed. Life will be more than I can handle. And I will be exhausted.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

I can’t fix it

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11-26-10     1:26pm

I can’t fix it. No matter how hard I try. I am only worthy if I can fix it. Therefore I am worthless. I can’t fix it. I can’t.

Today my heart feels like it’s on fire. There’s no oxygen left and I’m suffocating. I went outside because my toes were numb from the cold. Dichotomy of lives. I had planned on Black Friday shopping. Instead I am here with my family. The guys are working. Mom’s raiding the house for stuff to send back. I’m not going with them. J- is close to starving. G’s house is infested with rats and mice and God knows what else. There is no money. There are few jobs. No hope. My heart, it hurts so bad. I love them and I can’t fix it… I can’t fix it.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Stuff, Love & Family

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11-29-10     1:03am

I feel like my heart has a whole in it. My room is empty and so am I.

I worked for several hours with M- today on organizing my room. We moved my chair into the living room and the bulk of my journals onto my bookcase. Now there is a large open space of floor. (breath) I hate it. I don’t want it there. Something should be there. I can’t handle the nothing. It’s too much.

I don’t have people (or historically haven’t) but I do have stuff. It doesn’t leave me. It doesn’t tell me I’m unworthy or make me feel like shit. I have stuff and the stuff are my memories. Most of my stuff is stuff I don’t need but I need the memories. And I need to feel safe, to be surrounded. I NEED love. But instead I have stuff. And when I get rid of the stuff it reminds me I am alone.

S- posted this week that she is grateful for the unconditional love of her grandparents. I don’t know this thing called unconditional love. I try to give it to others. I do my very best. But it is not something I learned as a child. Love had boundaries and rules, none of which were clearly explained. But the gist was, and mainly still is, that if I do good and act perfectly I might be loved. If not, I will most certainly not be loved. I may be hated and I should hate myself too. But good & perfect are undefined, although they lie just past what’s achievable. And should I achieve them, the consequent love is temporary. We love you and are proud of you. What are you going to do next? And when? We’re getting impatient. I try to love and accept people for who they are or be honest that I don’t.

I was thinking tonight about that nasty email my cousin sent me months ago. If she had listened to what I said, took the time to understand and set her judgments aside, she could’ve been less downright cruel. I did nothing to her. I did not put her down, dismiss her character, or place blame or shame. I expressed my feelings and my story. But she chose to tell me how I’m a disappointment to her and all this other crap. She doesn’t even know me. She shouldn’t even care. But she cared enough to send an email that I’ll never forget, just enough to hurt me out of spite. Such love.

The walls close in. At least they try. I feel like the force of the world is pushing against them and they’re just barely holding up. (I hear “Call the Man” by Celine Dion.) I am so cold. I talked to J- tonight. She is so strong and so scared. I wish I could help her. I wish that it wasn’t so cold.

(Rocking, trying to unnumb my toes with the heater, hearing “Austin,” thinking I am The Giving Tree. I don’t want to be.)

I should sleep. I see Dr. C tomorrow. I found Mr. M’s hundred dollars today. I don’t want to spend it on doctors. I want to spend it on me. I know that he’s helping but I can’t afford him. His helping is hurting me, as it helps me. Weird.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

It’s all a game really

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11-27-10     4:35pm

If you don’t want me for what I am, I don’t want you for what you’re not.

It’s all a game really. I just got off the phone with S-. She’s got a date tonight she’s getting dolled up for. I have a headache. We had a conversation (well, more like an argument) about the institution of dating and expectations. She believes and plays along. I play along but I resent the game.

She was telling me how it’s important to look your best and how you can tell a lot from how a person looks about what they believe, who they are, their character. In reality these are assumptions & judgments. The thoughts are real but not necessarily accurate. She was saying how it’s important not to put all your cards on the table in the beginning or they won’t want you. I know that well. But anyone who doesn’t want me because of who I am or where I’m from or how I dress is not someone I want anyway.

I KNOW it’s a game. I dress the part. I play but I don’t follow all the rules. And the last thing I need to do is reel some guy in who thinks I’m something I’m not, fall head-over-heels for him and have him leave me when he finds out who I am. I also don’t want to fall in love with someone who’s not all of him. I want to see the unacceptable side, to know what I’m getting. Show me the CARFAX.

Her interpretation of me based on my dress is that I’m meticulous. I am, but not about my dress. What she sees is what I choose to show her in the game. What she believes based on that image is her interpretation. I have no control over that. I know very well that people are looking, for the most part, for a sane well put-together self-sufficient mate with little drama, little debt, and a rosy disposition. I am also aware that I am not that. I may play the game to get what I want (or close to it) but in a mate I want someone who loves me for me. Someone who loves that I put my hair in a clip and carry Play-Doh in my purse and walk my cat, who’s not scared that I’m sick and doesn’t roll his eyes at my food rules. In return, I can accept imperfection, unpolished shoes, “bad” feelings, and annoying habits. Just love me for me. In the words of Meredith Gray, “Pick me. Choose me. Love me.” I’m tired of playing the game.
—
I want someone who loves me when I don’t love myself. In pearls and in sweats. When I haven’t showered in a week. When I can’t stop throwing up. When I’m inpatient. When I’m angry. And when I’m not.  Because that’s me. There is more to me than just what you see.

S-,
What do you see when you look at me? What goes through your mind? Sometimes I think you get it. Then there are days like today when you’re so far away. (deep breath) So very far away…

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

I am scared

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From my journal tonight. The dialogue is between me and me and me.

11-18-10     2:12am

I keep hearing the chorus of “You are More” by Tenth Avenue North. I feel the urge to say I’m sorry over and over again. Please. Just please don’t leave me.

I’m cold. I’m lying in bed. Today was the ninth anniversary of my dad’s death. It wasn’t much different than any other day. I saw my therapist, had dinner with Mom, took a nap and went online. I recall going to choir but that wasn’t today. I wanted to go to the cemetery but we didn’t. It closes at sunset.

I feel so angry, and sad. Helpless. Watching an illness is good training in codependence. It compeletely control you and is out of your control.

I’ve been napping in the early evening. I haven’t felt good and I have nothing to do. I can’t handle working on the endless tasks for the group. I need the group to leave me alone. To give me some space. You don’t own me. I don’t appreciate waking up to calls from strangers, urgent FB chat crisis pings, or 75 emails in a week about stupid shit I don’t care about from 1 person. LEAVE ME ALONE. (sigh) I need some respite.

I feel guilty tonight for telling a friend I wish her learning curve was steeper. It’s true but it’s selfish. It has to do with fly paper – a model of my feelings. Whatever she feels I feel. I can’t control it. If she’s happy, I feel joy. If she’s sad, I feel pain. When she hurts, I hurt. It’s like voodoo magic. Whatever’s there sticks. I should be angry at myself for not being able to control this phenomenon, but that reminds me I have no power and is scary. And I’m already scared enough. So I hope these people who affect me avoid pain. Because I feel that pain. You know? There’s no fix. But avoiding pain is impossible. I don’t understand.

I’ve been thinking about independence.
___

I am so scared. I can’t run away. I can’t get away from me. But I can’t stay here with me either. I will kill her, put her out of her misery.

Who is she?

She is that girl, that little girl playing and crying for her daddy. The one who wishes on dandelions and smiles and swings.

I love her.

Yes. She is beautiful.

Why does she have to die?
Why are you going to kill her?

Because she won’t stop crying. She is hurt and there’s no way to fix her and I can no longer handle her crying. I can’t take it.

Girl: I’m scared. Daddy, please. Make it go away. Please, Daddy. Why aren’t you listening? Why can’t you help me?

How often do you see her?

Every day. She keeps tugging at my shirt. Play with me. Hold me. Comfort me. Please, just make it go away.

I can’t take it. She’s driving me insane.

Do you love her?

Yes! That’s why I have to kill her. She deserves peace and so do I.

What would bring you peace?

If she wasn’t sick.

SHUT UP! I’m not talking to you.

If she wasn’t sick. And she wasn’t stuck in time. And if people understood that she’s only 7.

She is the hope. Why kill the hope?

So the rest of me can die in peace.

Do you really want to die?

No. I want to be free. I want to heal her with a magic hug. I want to never feel alone again. To never feel helpless. To be taken care of.

Can you give her comfort?

I wish.

Girl: Please, Daddy. Don’t leave me. I don’t understand. Please. Somebody help me. Get off the phone and pay attention. This teddy bear can’t cure me.

She sounds distressed.

She’s almost always distressed. Except when she’s exploring or brainstorming. Then she’s happy. Or spending time with people she loves. She’s like a cat. She needs comfort.

Does she get it?

Sometimes. Not enough to survive. I give her drugs to numb the pain. But they can’t fix her. She’s going to die.

She is broken.

Yes. She is broken. And she is all that I have. And when she dies I die. I want to hold her in my arms and make it better but I can’t. But she still keeps tugging on my shirt.

Where is my daddy? Why doesn’t he love me?
How do angels fly?
Can I have an ice cream? …
Hello?

I can’t save her. (deep breath) I can’t.

But you can’t kill her either.

I know. I love her too much. She’s all I’ve got.

Do unicorns fly?
Can I get one as a pet?

She still believes, you know. In hope and God and love and faith. And unicorns. She loves everything good and beautiful, always stops to smell the flowers. She believes in Santa and knows that people are good.

And you don’t.

I try… I try.
It’s like trying to believe you are blessed as you watch your house burn to the ground.
I am blessed. I just can’t.

She is your bunk mate.

She is my best friend.

A dilemma.

Quite. (long pause)
I feel rage and I am scared.
I am scared.
I am scared.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Dear Me

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Journal entries – Dear Me is a fight I had with myself today.

11-15-10     11:48am

Today’s show is brought to you by the letter F, as in flashbacks – the experience of re-experiencing something, usually something you prayed never to experience again. Splendid. Tomorrow’s show brought to you by the letter S, as in sarcasm.

1:02pm

Why am I wearing sequins? Ask me why I’m wearing sequins today. Because everyone will say I look beautiful and not ask how I feel. Actually, I thought they’d make me feel better. The brush-off is a secondary benefit. It’s not making me feel any better.

I wanted to walk to catch the bus to lunch. But I missed that window of upset energy. Too much FUCKING planning. Now I’m tired and want to sleep and cry. I posted on my FB “I can’t do this.” P- said, “Do what?” Does it really matter?

Dear Me,

Stop saving me. I don’t want to be saved. Ya hear? Why aren’t you listening? Why can’t you DO something? Paralyzed by pain and fear. I don’t want to be here.

Yes you do! You just want to be loved. And YOU can’t give that to me. You fucking failure.

ME? I keep you alive. Every fucking day you don’t want to go on and I pull you out or put you to sleep or find you whatever crazy food will distract you long enough. You are the failure you. You NEVER change.

That’s right. I’m the failure. Saving lives and managing crazy people EVERYWHERE I go is failing.

Yes. You’re not doing what you love. You are withering.

I’m not withering. I’ve already died.

Then why are you still fucking up my life? WHY do I keep having to save you? to find reasons for you to go on?

Because I don’t want to die.

Can we make up our minds? I thought you were already dead.

I am.

No you’re not.

Yes I am.

Then how are you writing?

It’s you that’s writing, remember? You’re the one who keeps saving me.

I hate you.

I hate you too.

I’m still hungry.

Pizza?

You’re on.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

How are you?

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11-7-10                2:07am

I shall continue my wee hours pissed off rant with some thoughts about the phrase “How are you?”

I think it should be stricken from the English language, from any language actually. It’s an AWFUL phrase. Who the Hell came up with it? Seriously. 99.9% of the people who ask me that don’t give a fuck how I am. They don’t care about my day, nor are they equipped to handle it if I told them. They want me to say good or fine or great. Some of them don’t even stop walking. Why can’t they just say, “Hey.” And if they do stop, “Hey, Nice to see you.”

It doesn’t make any sense. You’re supposed to ask me how I am and I’m supposed to lie. And I’m supposed to ask you back and be satisfied with your non-answer or lie and then move on with my life. What? WHAT IS THE POINT?! And then people get all flustered when I actually want to know how they are, how they’re feeling. Gosh, that’s so personal. And if I should choose to say something other than one of the few acceptable responses there is shock and awe. WHAT?! You’re not OK?! What ever could be wrong? (subtext – please don’t tell me.) Someone asked me the other night if I was okay. I said no. He said, “Be okay. That’s my motto,” and walked away. I had a meltdown. Don’t worry. I cried where no one could see me. Couldn’t risk not being okay in public. (roll my eyes)

Acceptable replacements: How are you feeling? How’s your day? What’s going on? Anything you actually want the answer to.

I just don’t understand. The How are you? interaction makes me feel separate. Like there was an opportunity for an actual connection but it just didn’t happen. It was “fine.” I’m pretty good at reading past people’s non-answers but they usually aren’t as invested in reading past mine. What’s the point really if it’s nothing that will ever be said? But I would rather walk away at “fine” with someone I know doesn’t care than open myself up to feeling worse from their stupidity.

Everyone asks and nobody cares.

How are you?
Go to Hell.
Alrighty then. I’m fine, thanks.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

What do you do when you’re lonely?

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11-7-10                1:59am

I hear “Without You” tonight from RENT in my head. I’m not sure what to do. Sitting at the computer. The time just changed back to 1am. Great. Another hour. What I’m supposed to do with this hour I have no idea… So I’m eating Oreos and milk. My head feels like it’s vibrating.

What do you do when you’re lonely? I asked Facebook and someone asked why I’m lonely. My response: “Cuz everyone I know has a life and no one new I meet seems to understand mine.” Their response was that I have a wonderful life, that I’m an inspiration and make a difference. Blah Blah Blah. I DON’T CARE! That doesn’t make it any better. Doesn’t make a difference. I save lives. I help people. I change things. I make waves. It feels good in the moment, usually. But it doesn’t last.

I come home from my life to my life every night and wake up to it every day. I don’t wake up thinking, “Gosh, I’m gonna save the world today.” I sleep as long as I can before whatever I’m doing and when it’s over I need something else to do. But there isn’t anything to do. Now don’t fight me. I made a list of people this week, most of whom are local, that I could ping to do something with. People far off my usual radar. I need people who don’t need me. And I don’t have them.

People think I have “a wonderful life.” But what is a wonderful life? What you see on FB is not my life. What you see on my blog is not my life. It’s the parts of my life that are acceptable enough to share in public. I don’t even share with my group. The only person I actually talk to is my therapist. There are people I would like to hang out with. But they have lives. They are the people who can meet for lunch 8 weeks from next Thursday but only if the babysitter doesn’t cancel or they’re not out of town or they don’t fall asleep that day and forget. They have families. They have people they come home to voluntarily and hang out with for fun.

It is when I am lonely that I wish I had family. Not the friends I consider my family but blood. My family. The people I never see. At 1:30 in the morning when I’m sitting in my quiet house bullshitting on the computer wasting time I am at a loss for what to do. I found some Oreos in my pantry tonight – comfort food. I’d like an actual meal but there’s rarely food here that I’m willing to eat and I ate the last of the pizza for breakfast.

It’s not my wonderful life. I’m just a character in it. Marc used to talk about having a “life worth living.” That was the goal. I never really understood that. I don’t spite the people who point out all the wonderful things I do or change. They mean well. But it’s what I feel that’s important. If you were to triage a patient in the ER who came in with chest pains and was wearing a beautiful diamond necklace, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t say, “Gosh that’s such an incredible necklace. You must be rich or have someone who loves you very much. Your fabulous life is so much more important than those chest pains. Scurry along now.” Right? It seems unrelated but it’s not. Like there are people who call me to ask how I am but not because they care what the answer is or want to hear it. The purpose of their asking is so that I will ask them back. I want validation. I don’t need reassurance about my life…

I’m sorry. (sigh) I just don’t understand. Meetup can’t cure a broken heart. I could just go do things by myself, which I love to do, but I have no money. So I just am. I go to appointments and to groups and to choir when it happens. I take care of business, listen to music when I can, and Facebook too much. And I pray. And I sit in my kitchen wondering what do you do when you’re lonely?

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010