Category Archives: Journal

The Cat & Breakeven

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6-15-10                 2:27am

“I’m falling to pieces” from Breakeven keeps playing in my head. I feel like crying. I am sad. I miss my cat. I got a new kitten tonight. Psycho kitty. It’s afraid of my hair and the ceiling fan and is determined to eat my bed skirt. I think it’s sick. It’s fine when it’s awake, sort of, but when it’s sleeping it’s breathing way too fast. I called the vet who said to bring her in tonight but mom’s pulling her denial shit again saying the cat’s just tired from playing and that it’ll be fine. It’s the same line of thought that almost killed her with her gallbladder, made her tell me my dad was fine, and made me sit with my own dying cat for almost three days before taking her to the vet to be put down.

The last time I sat with a cat on my lap that was twitching and not breathing right it died, violently. I still see it in my head. You can’t rouse this cat from sleep. It breathes normally when awake but when it sleeps it hyperventilates. 180 breaths per minute. If you startle it awake, which is not easy to do, it takes a big breath, holds it for a few seconds, then dozes off into hyperventilation again. Eventually it sprang awake and stared at me all crazy. It was scared of everything, which it wasn’t earlier. It stared right at me and I stared back and something creepy happened. No light change, no turn of the head. Her pupils went from tiny to really big, just while staring at me. Then she looked away for awhile. When she looked back they did it again, but not right away, after several seconds. Freaked me out. There is something not right with this cat.

Mom calls her Trouble or Crazy Head. She is now, when on break from eating my bed skirt, curled up inside my box spring. Downside to having a mattress set older than I am. At least I think that’s where she’s at. I’m hoping she’s asleep and not dead.

I took my first assignment for Broadway San Diego today – a concierge something or other at the Midway tomorrow night. I’m excited about it (not at this moment) but I found out just a bit later this afternoon that tomorrow night is the only night E- is available to do dinner. I text him every day or every few days. I miss him. Haven’t seen him in forever. He’s another one of those busy people, but he texts back occasionally.

I didn’t go to group tonight. I didn’t feel like it and I was working on a project. I’m almost done with it. But the cat has interrupted that. And the song in my head. I feel so lonely but it’s not my group I wanted to be around tonight. I don’t want to hear their stories of illness and strife. I don’t want to be the hero today or the resource. I’m tired. “I’m falling to pieeeeeeces. I’m falling to pieeeeeeces.” It plays over and over. To finish this project I feel  like I need to be happy. I need to feel like finishing the project. It’s sending love not pain. But I don’t feel love tonight. I just feel sad. “Cuz when a heart breaks. It don’t break even… I’m falling to pieeeeeeces.”

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

So, how’s it goin’?

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6-10-10                 3:15am

I reached two milestones recently that I’m proud of myself for. I’ve been blogging now for 4 months (131 posts so far) and June 23rd will mark one year out of the hospital for me. Two major things.

Last year at this time I was inpatient for my longest stay thus far, 28 days. By this point in the stay I had reached East Wing 2 and was a bit better but I was seeing things and hearing original electric guitar music and thinking in pictures and all sorts of shit. Since then, I’ve managed to shake most of the craziness. I spent 8 months at Scripps and now I’m just with my doctors and the group. And FB, of course. And the blog.

Blogging has been such a gift. I’m grateful for Sacha and Traci and Andrew’s encouragement. I have a band of mostly silent invisible followers. It’s like having friends that listen and never talk back. Sometimes frustrating but mostly comforting. I’m so honored to know people read this. Blogging gives me a place to put my thoughts that I have no one else to tell, and gives me something to tell the people I have no thoughts to give. Lol. Nice. :) It’s exciting for me, gives me a point of reference, helps me remember. And it’s been big in helping me share with people.

Sharing your innermost thoughts with the entire world is scary. But less so when you don’t care what they think. I’m addicted to my stats page. Since only like 3 people ever leave comments it’s a gamble to see how many hits I have each day and what people are looking at. While it loads I guess. What number will it be today? Sometimes it’s predictable, but there was a day a few weeks back when I had a TON of people and I hadn’t posted anything in several days. Weird. Oh well. Made me happy. Blogging is good for me.

So if I ask myself how it’s goin’, it’s goin’ well. I’m healthier mentally, sicker physically, and have a different perspective on life all around. I’m happy with who I am even if I’d like some things to be different. I’m taking steps in the right direction. I joined the Broadway San Diego Street Team this week, though I’m still not quite sure exactly what that means. I joined Jazz88 last week and bought an all-fair pass today. I also bought Sea World passes for me and my mom. Don’t tell her. She won’t know for a few more hours. I’m trying to add structure to my life that’s fun, not related to mental health or illness, and gives me something back. (big yawn) I’m proud of myself.

-Michelle

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

It’s the Music… (and other stuff)

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6-10-10                 2:35am

Sorry I haven’t been writing. I just haven’t had the energy. I had a good week and now it’s time to work again, on illness that is, or with it. I’ve been inundated with symptoms. Another day of no moving or talking, constant exhaustion, weakness. In the past few days the large movements have come back. Today I was a buzz of zaps and weakness and sticking my tongue out all the time. In between I managed to do things. I went to therapy, then to Quizno’s (couldn’t breathe), then to the beach. I lasted about 20 minutes and climbed the stairs. Quite a feat. Went to the bay to see the big ships with Mom. I walked all over Target and made it almost to the checkout at Albertson’s before almost collapsing. That was nice. Zapping all over. Crashed in the car. Some more movements tonight and now I’m okay again, minus the frequent unwarranted blinking, grimacing and sticking out my tongue. I wrote on FB tonight:

In between God’s version of invisible lightning dances and frog imitations, today I saw Jim, went to the beach, looked at that big old ship that’s here from Portugal and went to Target and Albertson’s. Long but very good day. Tomorrow’s Mom’s birthday. Hopefully it will go well.

My primary goal, after staying alive, right now is to have fun. Followed by being with the people I love and staying away from the people who bug me. On any given day, just one is enough. But two or more is great. I told Jim today it was frustrating thinking I was going to die Saturday night (due to fucked up vital signs and the inability to breathe) because I actually like my life right now. He said he’d never heard me say that before. That was powerful. I’ve been with him for a year. And I don’t think I’ve felt like this before. I like my life when I’m doing things I love. I don’t WANT to die right now. And that’s a good thing.

I said that I’m trying to make the best of it, of being sick. I don’t know what it is and even if I did or when I do there’s probably not much I can do about it. He said, “It doesn’t sound like there is a best.” But he’s wrong. There is. It’s the music.

My mom doesn’t understand why I go out when I can barely walk or breathe. I keep trying to explain it to her. I don’t need more sleep. I could be sick anywhere. It doesn’t matter if it’s here at home or at a restaurant or concert. But I’m so much happier when I’m sick to live music than when I’m just sick at home. The music is healing. Just for a moment, nothing else matters. I can just be free. I can’t dance right now. But I can still hear the music. And trust me, I need it.

I’ve been working on this project for a few days for a friend. I’ll post all about it when I’m done. It’s meant to provide comfort, but it’s providing comfort to me. We talked about codependence today and giving versus receiving. Jim asked if the drama is really worth it. And right now, I think it is. Cuz if I can’t have what it is that I need right now, having something is better than nothing. My friend was telling me about the 5 Love Languages last week and I took the quiz on the website. In descending order, mine are: Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, Physical Touch, Receiving Gifts, and Acts of Service. I think it’s kind of a pecking order because if I can’t get quality time or words or touch I give gifts or do service. I need to give. But I need to receive as well.

I was listening to Celine Dion and crying last night with the main part of the project I’m working on. There is this song of hers that always gets me. “I Want You to Need Me.”  (whooooooooooo…) Just listened again. Makes it hard to breathe. Sometimes I just want to scream, “What do you want from me?! Please, whatever it is, just tell me. Let me give you something or do something for you so you’ll spend time with me.” But I’ve realized the people I want to need me, they don’t want anything from me. There is nothing I can give to get the time that I need. And they don’t have that time to give. I’m just along for the ride. But until I find or get something, it’s a ride. The music. It helps.

M- posted today “Make a Wish!” and I held my breath in anticipation and excitement, then paused. What should I wish? I was torn between two things – my friends in pain being happy or my health. I wondered if not putting them first made me selfish or if I could find a second thing to wish on, but I settled for wishing for them first AND me. I’m getting there.

Tomorrow is Mom’s birthday. The gift I got her requires energy, which I don’t have, so I hope she okay for postponing it. Thanks for reading and sharing your time.

-Michelle

PS – I attempted to read a book today. Remind me not to do that again for awhile.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

I Don’t Want to Die

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6-6-10                   2:26am

Tonight confuses me. I think I’m okay with dying but when I think it’s happening I’m scared again. Why? (sigh)

I’m pretty sure I’m not dying, but only cuz I’ve thought this many times and I’m not dead yet. But tonight I’m not breathing much and I can’t make myself breathe any more. I feel very weak. My blood pressure is higher than I’ve ever seen it and my pulse quite low. It’s scary. I don’t like feeling scared.

I paged my doctor, my primary. I woke him up. Poor guy sounded like, “WHY ME?!” He gave me his standard 2am answer. Take a Xanax and go to sleep, call him in the morning if I’m not better and good luck. I don’t need luck. I need you to tell me what the fuck is WRONG WITH ME!

I don’t want to go to sleep because I don’t want to not wake up. Is that so irrational? I had a great day today. My life is just becoming something I actually like. It’s not perfect, but there are days that I’m happy. Moments like tonight when everything’s right. When my face hurts from smiling. A few months ago I didn’t have that. I didn’t get it. I actually WANT to live now. You know?

Xanax. Please pray for me. I feel sad.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Quiet

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6-6-10                   1:04am

I sit here quiet tonight. I just don’t have the right words.

There are a few people I feel very connected to. I’m not sure why. I just do. They have this energy. I just know that they’re special. There’s something about them I can’t quite shake. Like B-. When I first met her at an HD convention years ago I was in her group and I just kept staring at her. I didn’t know why but she was one of those people. And she kept staring back. There are three in my life right now. When they hurt, I hurt. When they’re happy, I’m happy. It’s like there’s a soul-connection. I don’t understand it but I know that it is.

Tonight I am quiet. I don’t know what to say. One of them is hurting and it is a heaviness I carry with me. I don’t get to choose it. It’s just there. It makes my face hurt, makes it hard to breathe. If I could just be quiet with this person. It is more powerful than any words. A hug. I know. And I’m here. It’s hard to send that over email.

Do you have a person or persons you’re just connected to? People who for no rational reason can take you on an emotional ride? People you believe too much, no matter what they say, just because they’re them? From whom a single text or picture can change your entire day or leave you thinking for weeks? And people who’s pain that has nothing to do with you can make you physically hurt? I am so grateful that I have these people. I would do or give anything for them. But tonight it leaves me quiet.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Old Maid

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My Old Maid Card

6-4-10   4:13am

Looking at this makes me so happy! :) So many good memories…

My mom is going through her dresser looking for my savings bonds. In the process she’s pulling out all this family history stuff I’ve never seen. Like both of her parent’s marriage certificates, grandpa’s pipes, the newspaper announcement of her birth. Really cool. When she brought my old maid cards in the kitchen I screamed. I love Old Maid! It’s a lame game but the pictures on the cards were always special to me, especially Old Maid. I know if you end up with her you technically lose, but she’s my favorite. She’s pink and she’s awesome. :)

She reminds me of my aunt. And I remember playing in a hospital waiting room while waiting to pick up the landlord of our old apartments that we moved out of when I was five. Gladys. I said, “Let’s play!” and my mom was confused. She said, “How come you never want to play with me and now you do?” Ummmm… Old Maid?

The cards smell so wonderful. It made me think. I’m actually old enough that now MY things have that wonderful old book smell. Weird. Could just be ‘cause they’re in the middle of a drawer of actual old things. Either way they smell great and they have that yellow tinge to them. Those characters are like friends. Call me an Old Maid any day. ;)

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

A New Name for Dip & Kids Movies

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6-4-10                   3:23am

I think we need a new name for dip. I love the substance. It’s the name I have a problem with and that has me scouring my kitchen tonight looking for something to DIP in the dip. But why? It’s the dip that I want. I don’t need the extra calories from the bag of chips I devour because I want to eat the dip. I settled on carrots tonight, but I don’t want the carrots. And the weird thing is I’m dipping carrots in onion dip. Yes, I’m dipping a vegetable I like the taste of in a dip flavored like a vegetable I avoid at all costs. Really? I don’t get it. I don’t like onions. I hate the way onion dip smells. Yet I crave it. And last night I ate most of a bag of sour cream and onion chips, dipped in my onion-flavored sour cream. (shake my head)

While we’re on the subject of things not making sense, what’s up with kids movies that aren’t kids movies? I watched Wall-E tonight. It was so depressing! And I can’t fathom any kid I know understanding what the movie was actually about, the implications and messages. I wouldn’t have understood it at say 8 or 12. And UP? Good movie. WAY too deep. Everyone I know who saw it cried. I had trouble following it. The first 15 minutes were enough to make me wonder what the fuck I was watching. Love, miscarriage, death, eminent domain? It’s a KIDS MOVIE! It shouldn’t put me in a funk for days. Does anybody else feel this way? When I put in something from Disney or Dreamworks I want to come away feeling warm and fuzzy inside, not confused and bewildered and very very sad.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Watching & Core Beliefs

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6-4-10                   1:24am

I saw my therapist today. He had several bits of advice for me, the two most relevant being “Don’t be the mama” and “Maybe your job is to observe.”

I find myself observing a lot lately. I hate it. I’m good at it, but I hate it. Because I do it so often and so much I see things that other people don’t and things that other people don’t want to be seen or noticed. And they affect me. I see patterns in behavior and FB posts, put things together. It’s not that difficult if you never stop thinking and rarely stop watching. I don’t have a place to put the things that I see. They just swirl around in my head until they dissipate or cause me to melt down. There are situations that truly worry me. They end up in my dreams and make it hard to breathe. But I can’t not watch. I can’t not see.

I’ve been thinking a lot about core beliefs lately. I went to a lecture about them Tuesday, which made me think more. I realized that my core beliefs are an explanation of a situation. And it all comes back to the wire monkey – Harry Harlow’s study with monkeys. I drew a diagram to make more sense of it.

Confused yet?


If you’re confused looking at it, try living it. I am a much different person now than I was 6 years ago before starting cognitive therapy and 9 years ago before entering the world of mental health treatment. I am assertive. I don’t take much shit from people. I think differently, act differently, see things differently. I know why I think what I think, what’s distorted and what the rational responses are. But it doesn’t change the source. I realized this week that the core beliefs I’m fighting are a rationalization of a situation, a situation that doesn’t change.

Let me explain. (see diagram) I experienced a wire monkey life, which led me to the conclusion that I am alone. I know that alone is a state of being and lonely is a state of feeling. I experience them both. But alone is a more powerful word. And in trying to understand just WHY I’m alone, I’ve come up with these core beliefs, that lead to the conditional ones, the automatic thoughts and behaviors. I fight these beliefs. I mostly know they’re not true. But the situation doesn’t change. I still feel so lonely.

I told my therapist today it’s like I’m missing essential code. He said that’s like “I’m broken.” But it’s different because it came before that. It’s not a thought. It’s like I lack the ability to feel connected to people. Those monkeys, Harry Harlow’s monkeys, the ones with the wire mothers? They were fucked up monkeys. They didn’t get better and they never learned. They were programmed wrong and they couldn’t change. But I wonder if they knew. I have the odd privilege/curse of understanding, but I can’t fucking change it. (sigh)

So I watch.

I watch and I try all sorts of things. I help people, and don’t help people, and watch, and wait, and try to figure out just how to feel connected, to find someone who’s not crazy, who will listen to me, who isn’t stupid and who’s not too busy to spend time with. Someone who gets it and doesn’t give too much back. Someone I don’t have to pay. I have yet to find someone like this. This is why Jim says, “Don’t be the mama.” I need someone to take care of ME.

One of my friends quoted me in group last week. She reminded me I had said a few weeks back that I need the space on the couch next to me not to be empty. That is so true. But I also need it not to be filled by someone that bugs me.

So I spend a lot of time alone. Most of the people I’d like to spend time with are super busy. I used to be one of those uber busy people. I still am sometimes but right now I am almost unscheduled. It’s very frustrating when every time I ask someone to do something they’re busy and I’m not. I guess when I’m busy I don’t notice as much how unavailable people are, but I notice now. And I feel very lonely. I go many places and I meet a lot of new people, but the feeling doesn’t change. Oddly enough, I feel closest to people I can’t get close to, people with whom most of our relationship exists in my head.

Maybe it is my job to observe.

A wire monkey-driven Facebook life.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

A Facebook Life

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6-4-10                   12:57am

I’m pretty sure some people think I live my entire life on FB. I don’t. But I guess I come close to it. I don’t follow everyone’s posts, but there are a few people whose posts I make sure to read. I get them on my phone. So even if I’m out I know what’s going on. Last  time I unsubscribed from someone I missed something important. And yes, I’m on or near FB many hours a day. But it’s only because I have nothing to do and when I have something to do I’m usually avoiding it. And when I’m out I want to tell people what I’m doing.

I ask myself what this FB life means about me? Am I a loser? No. A techy? No. Really, I just want to feel connected to someone, to something. I want to belong. And on FB I can pretend to do that at any time of day or night. Thanks to FB, when I’m out about my day alone I have someone(s) to share things with, good and bad. Reading the texts I get of posts is like hearing from people, even if they’re not speaking directly to me. It’s a reminder that I’m NOT alone even though it feels like it.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Thinking

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5-30-10                 4:29am

Is this what pretty girls feel like?

I’ve never had a problem with guys. They simply have not been interested. Except the over 40, creepy, crazy crowd and the dirty old men, but they’re easy to deal with. Not so lately. The guy I really liked might as well be dead. But for some reason everyone else, or at least a good portion of else, is now interested in me. I don’t know what changed.

N- asked me out last week, which really threw me off but now I like. But so did two lesbians, whom I turned down. Tonight it was the drunk guy who thought I was married to Uncle Dave. There is a quasi-business contact I have that I need to keep who woke me up today to ask me to a Padre game, or a movie, or dinner, or to go square dancing, or God knows what else. I can’t stand this guy but he’s so overly happy to talk to me. And I’m talking to a friend online now. I said that I’m craving Vienna pickles and that I hate feeling hungry. He comes back with, “And I’m craving you nake. [sic]” What? What a way to make a girl feel like a piece of meat.

I don’t quite understand, maybe because I’m not a horny guy. But these types of advances are not a turn on, they’re not pleasant, and they’re not welcome. Sure, I like compliments and I like to feel sexy (crying), but I can’t. I just can’t. I need someone to realize that I am not okay. I’m not.

I told him about a piece of meat and he says, “no. not a piece of meat. I would say more like a piece of art. something special. one of a kind.” It’s these things that make me cry. It’s beautiful. But hearing it reminds me that I’m sick. He wants the one thing I cannot or will not give him. I just want not to be ill.

When I was out with N- last week, as I listened and watched I noticed he was full of hope. Me, not so much. I am tired. So tired. And I would like to spend more time with him, but he’s exceedingly busy. I am exceedingly sleepy. And I need more than a few text message every few days.

There are these constant reminders of what I’m not. I didn’t want to go to that party tonight. Not because I don’t like my friend, but because it’s really hard for me to be around people who have what I want and people who are asking me what I do and if I’m in school and all those normal-people questions. I don’t drink, I don’t work, I don’t want to talk about my group, I don’t drive or have a boyfriend, and I don’t want to talk about any of it.

Gosh I hate myself right now. I don’t want to be having this conversation. (on FB) He asks the tough questions. They remind me of who I am and who I don’t want to be. I feel sad…

Ah damn. Light out already? Gimme a break, sun. I hate Daylight Savings. And I still want a Vienna pickle.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

My Hypothalamus Hates Me

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5-30-10                 1:22am

Not being able to regulate my body temperature is driving me insane. Like tonight my body is very hot and I can’t stand anything touching me. Not even my bracelet or hair clip. Yet I have goosebumps and feel cold. And hot. The other day when I walked a mile I was exhausted. It was too much for me. I should have been hot. I couldn’t breathe but I was freezing to the touch. My coldness astounded me. And sometimes parts of me are cold while others are hot, for no apparent reason. I get fever blisters from my lips being so hot. My hypothalamus hates me.

The hypothalamus doesn’t just affect temperature though. It also controls hunger, thirst, memory, blood pressure, pupil dilation, circadian rhythms, heart rate, bladder contraction, sweating, hormones. It’s the Grand Central Station of the brain. The fact that mine hates me could explain my cravings, funky heart rate, weird memory, odd pupils, vampire hours and a bunch of other things.

I’m going to name my hypothalamus Happy. Happy the Hyper/Hypo Hypothalamus. He’s bipolar. I love him anyway. But I wish he would settle down. So fickle.

I wish I had a name for this. Happy doesn’t always make me so happy.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

A Good Party

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5-29-10                 10:35pm

I’m so exhausted. Just got home from Jenny’s graduation party. I got to watch a family.

Tonight I watched beer pong, listened to a lot of loud drunk people and held Jenny’s hair as she puked and then yelled, “I can do whatever I want. It’s MY graduation!” Lol. I was mistaken for Uncle Dave’s wife (whomever Uncle Dave is) and then stalked by the guy who thought that. Fun. I watched a very talented 3 year old dance hip hop. The kid is amazing. I hope he sticks with it. I watched people take care of each other and I enjoyed the experience. I also got an idea for a business that I think could be very successful.

I’m utterly exhausted but feel good. Congrats, Jenny. Here’s to remembering your party. ;)

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Money

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5-27-10                 3:41am

I feel so very tired tonight, and sad. I’m here with my book light again. Tomorrow marks one year from my last admission. It’s been a long year.

Tonight I think about money. How it affects and limits me. M- asked awhile back on FB if you’d rather grow up rich or poor. I’ve thought about that a lot. I’m glad I grew up poor, that I can truly appreciate. But I could use some money now.

It’s like being trapped. My mom drives me nuts. She is my x-factor. I can’t stand her and I can’t change her, but I can’t move out. Why? No money. I’m not going to get more money. It’s not going to change. I have to figure out how to deal with it.

I don’t want lots of money, so much I don’t know what to do with. N- was talking Sunday about the average starting salary for his dream job. It was in the hundreds of thousands. I asked what he would do with that kind of money. He said, “I know. Really.” But I mean it. What does a person do with that? I don’t even know what that looks like.

I just want to not have to worry about money, to be able to be free and not tied to so many things. I don’t enjoy scouring a menu for the cheapest thing or not going out ‘cuz I can’t afford it. Money may seem trivial to some but it changes things.

I don’t claim it would solve all my problems, but even my life at USC was better. If I didn’t have to worry about the cost, how would my life be different? What would I do or change?

  • I would be less dependent on others, less limited
  • I would move out
  • I would get new glasses for me & Mom
  • I could get the dental work I need
  • I could dance (body pending)
  • I could order food I want instead of food my wallet wants
  • I might be able to get an answer to my medical problems. Doctors are NOT motivated by Medi-Medi
  • I could buy things like M’s bag just because I want to.

That bag has caused me much grief today. It’s beautiful. I want to be able to just buy it, but I can’t. He said it’s a bag “you” can afford. I’m not a part of that you. An affordable designer bag is still almost 20% of my income for the month. I could buy the bag with the last of my credit, but instead of feeling pretty while carrying it I would be plagued with guilt. That’s no way to carry a purse. My current purse cost $9 at WalMart and has taken my abuse for the past 5 months. I’m impressed. But it doesn’t decrease my desire for this purse or my anger and sadness that I cannot indeed have it. It also doesn’t make me any less aware that I do not NEED that bag.

When I look at something I want there is this fight in my head. The question is not just can I afford that? It’s do I deserve it? Because if I can’t afford it, then surely I don’t deserve it. But there’s a part of me that believes I do deserve it and gets pissed that I can’t have it. Why can’t I have x? I’m a good person. Why is this happening to me?! It becomes more existential crisis than shopping trip.

What I can afford affects how I present myself and how I’m perceived, defines a part of who I am. So I never know just who I am. There are these many different parts in different clothes with different roles, that eat different foods & wear different shoes. And I’m treated differently for every one of them. They’re all me but in different tax brackets.

I just want to be me and free. But that requires money.

—–

5-29-10                 1:41am

I thought more about money yesterday and what it can’t buy me, what it can’t change.

Money can’t change my health. It can’t take away the days I can’t move or talk. It can’t bring me closer to the people I love. And all the money in the world couldn’t buy me someone who cares about me like my mom does. She may drive me nuts but she’s always there.

I’m grateful not to have many days like yesterday. I’m so exhausted. So sick. I had some good hours today & a long nap. But money can’t change that. It can’t bring me back.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Will I?

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5-26-10                 2:46am

“Will I?” from RENT keeps playing again and again in my head tonight.  It’s such a powerful song. It’s a many part round of this phrase:

Will I lose my dignity?
Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?

RENT was my soundtrack for several years. When I was living with Mary I listened to it for days at a time while pacing her backyard (when I wasn’t crocheting and watching Law & Order.) It speaks to me. At the time with being at-risk for HD it was particularly relevant. I was constantly wondering what would happen to me. The show is still relevant. I’m just less scared now.

I think practicing mindfulness and acceptance has really changed me. I know I’m going through something I can’t change, something I can’t fix. But I’m not scared right now. Just for today, I’m okay.

“One Song Glory” also speaks to me.  Especially the line that says, “One song, before the virus takes hold.” I think I’m writing that song. I think that now is my time. You know?

Do you ever feel like something really big is happening in your life? Like you’ve gotten to this very moment for a reason and you’re about to find out?

I’m pretty sure I will lose my dignity. And I don’t know if someone will care. And I probably will not wake up tomorrow from this nightmare. But it’s okay… It’s okay.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

What to do with a day…

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5-26-10                 2:08am

So, I don’t do well with unscheduled time. Days off are like poison. They drive me insane. But when I wake up with nothing to do, I can’t seem to figure it out. What do you do with a day?

Choir ended with the festival last Friday. It doesn’t start up again for several months. And now on my calendar I have groups and appointments. Sacha Sundays starts again in a few weeks, which I’m looking forward to. But that makes 13 scheduled hours for the MONTH. AHHHHHHHH!

When there is nothing on my calendar, my mom assumes that time will be dedicated to cleaning the house or helping her move things around. No. If she could never leave this house again that woman would be happy. But I can’t stand to be here. I need out! I need stimulation and material for thought, movement, food. I am not low-maintenance. But I don’t know what to do with a day.

I’m not in school and I don’t want to be. I can’t get a job. Don’t ask why. It’s a long explanation. And I need not to be volunteering in a hospital or around children or anything depressing. So what do you do with a day? I really need to be around people but I don’t know that many people to meet up with or who would actually do lunch. Everyone I ask always seems to be busy. And everywhere I go costs money. I’m not rich. I can’t afford to be shelling out money every day. What do you do with a day?

There is a lot of work I can do for my group. But I need to get out of my house to do it. I need an office, some place I can go to work, and a place I can LEAVE my work. You know? I’d like to volunteer somewhere I enjoy being that doesn’t require me to be super reliable. My body cannot handle steady work, but I have lots of skills. I can get shit done. I make cool things happen. What do you do with a day?

When I think about things to do, the things that come to mind are groups. But I don’t need any more groups. I need normal people activities. I belong to several Meetups but I rarely go. They just don’t interest me. It’s like I’m waiting for something. I’m just not sure what. It will happen, eventually.

God seems to drop things into my life when I least expect it. When I think there is nothing else left, something appears seemingly out of nowhere. It’s there for a reason and right on time. I just have to wait. But in the meantime, I need something to do. What do you do with YOUR day?

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Cold Ketchup & Toilet Seats

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5-26-10                 1:41am

So I’ve been wondering for probably a week now just why we keep ketchup in the fridge. Maybe it’s just in my house, but we keep all our condiments in the fridge. Even those ones that need no refrigeration. And while I’m fine with most things being cold, ketchup is not one of them. When I eat a hot dog, I’d like to actually taste the hot dog and not be thrown off by cold ketchup. Yes, I eat ketchup on hot dogs. Get over it. I also don’t like cold hot sauce. It’s just wrong. It doesn’t make any sense. I can’t taste the sauce. I just taste the cold. And I can’t even taste what I’m putting it on. I guess if I’m trying not to taste the food that’s good, but I generally like to taste what I eat.

I’ve also been wondering about toilet seats and the battle to get guys to put them down. Just why are they lifted in the first place? That’s a pretty big hole to be aiming at. I imagine it’s kind of like crayons or target practice. You start with a big target and eventually, as you get better, the target or the crayon gets smaller. But it doesn’t seem to work this way for toilet seats. Why? Why can a man who has been peeing for say 15 years or so not get that tiny stream of pee into that big hole? I can’t imagine how tall a guy would have to be to have a stream of pee so large it couldn’t be reasonably directed into the hole of a standard toilet seat. What’s the deal? Really. I can see lifting the lid to vomit. When you’re sick or drunk what comes out of your mouth can be unpredictable. But not pee. What’s the deal? Really.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Exhausted

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5-26-10                 12:37am

The music is so loud in my head tonight that it hurts my ears. My right eye is being pushed out of its socket. I’m down to one of the four lightbulbs in my fixture and even that’s too bright. I need to bring back my bed umbrella.

I am exhausted. I did too much today. And now my body hurts. I need desperately to sleep but don’t want to. I’m also very agitated. At least my left foot is. It won’t stop moving really fast, which makes falling asleep next to impossible. It’s like my body’s plugged into a power grid, and yet I feel exhausted.

This umbrella in my living room helps me tonight.


© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Exercise

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5-25-10                 10:39pm

So, all those people who always try to convince me to eat healthy are always trying to get me to exercise as well. While I’m not against it, I don’t do it often. At least not their version.

Today I got in quite a bit of exercise, my way. Warmed up with some cardio (anxiety). Then walked to the bus stop, and up the stairs at the trolley, and to another bus, and down to Dave & Buster’s where I had a salad and a soda. I was tired.

I don’t care what anyone says. Whac-a-Mole is cardio. I was so exhausted, had to sit there and breathe for awhile.

Basketball & skee ball for strength training and coordination. I LOVE skee ball! I even made that little 100 hole in the corner once and I made a few baskets. Woohoo!

I love this view. Skee ball is good for the soul.


When I left, I was exhausted. The internet told me the bus still ran but it didn’t, so I walked to the trolley (a mile). When I got there I sat down in Panda Express and could not move or breathe. Too much. Way too much activity.

I wondered as I played skee ball with a smile why it is that I pay my gym $40 a month and never go if I have so much fun playing skee ball and Whac-a-Mole takes everything out of me. It might be smarter just to make a date with Dave & Buster’s. When I left I felt happy and tired. I felt calm. I could use more of that. Fun.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Beyond Complicated

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5-20-10                 2:30pm

I had a relationship this past winter. It was so far beyond Facebook’s description of “complicated.” It ended badly. I work with this person and I didn’t talk to him for awhile. But recently we’re civil again. He gave me a ride home this week and said something I can’t quite shake.

It’s a long ride and toward the end he apologized for what he’s put me through. He said he was following his own agenda and motives, that he realized I wasn’t keeping secrets. He just wasn’t listening. Then he said it. “I hardly even noticed it was you.” I get goosebumps when I think of that.

I’ve known this person for a very long time. At one point we were close friends. I shared with him almost everything. I’m not sure why he shared this with me. “I hardly even noticed it was you.” It’s kind of the equivalent of “I was just using you” or “I really didn’t care.”

Nice to know he realizes he’s an ass.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Please Remind Me It’s Bullshit

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5-25-10                 3:51am

I’ve been thinking a lot about relationships, as well as the two songs in “This is My Time & I Decide.” Saturday I wrote this in my journal:

Core Belief: I don’t deserve that.

I decide not to be afraid anymore, to say bullshit even when the voice in my head is screaming so loud, “You don’t deserve that,” that I cannot sleep or breathe.

Please remind me of that occasionally.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010