Category Archives: Journal

The Candle

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I went to Survivors of Suicide Loss Day this weekend and everyone lit a candle in memory of their loved one(s). While the conference itself was great, it was the candle that moved me.

As I stared at it I felt & thought many things.

The Candle

5-22-10                 11:31am

  • Guilt – I’m supposed to do something to save it but I don’t want to.
  • Fear – doing something to help it will hurt me or draw attention to me.
  • Helpless – there is nothing I can do to affect the time this candle burns, what I do won’t matter, won’t make a difference.
  • Hopeless – It’s not my place
  • Life – As I watched I noticed a brown speck near the wick just twirling, a sign of life.
  • The Pain of Waiting – I don’t know when but I can’t stop it. I just wait. Like D- and the bus stop. I just want it to stop. I want to blow out the candle. Just make it stop. Please.

I’ve noticed no one else at my table is watching the candle.

When it was lit, I didn’t pay attention. As it burned, I didn’t watch. But I noticed when the white candle was completely clear. Now there’s nothing I can do but watch. If only I had noticed. There’s nothing I can do. This candle is going to kill me.

I want to protect the candle. Fear of someone blowing it out. Wondering if that would be more therapeutic.

I don’t want to eat lunch. I don’t want to leave it.

People eat lunch and talk.

I just watch…

I miss my dad…

I’m tempted to ask how long these candles burn. But no one can know.

I’m angry I can’t change it.

—

Didn’t want to leave but had a good conversation.

Automatic Thought – I shouldn’t be here.

—

Angry. Damn it! Go out candle.

—

Angry – my perspective is so different. I shouldn’t be here.

—

I forgot & went back to blow out the candle. The effect. And I walked away.

I know the people around me did not experience this candle as I did. But it was so powerful. To go through so many emotions and stages of trauma and grief in such a short time with a candle is amazing. It’s powerful and difficult but good. Thank God for the candle.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

This is My Time & I Decide

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5-24-10                 4:52pm

Just for this moment I feel peaceful, calm. I have this song in my head. It’s so powerful & true. Listen.

This is my time to shine
This is my place to find
All that I have inside
I never knew
This is my time to show
What I must have always known
That nothing’s impossible
And dreams come true.
And dreams come true.
…
Overcoming all these things
Here I finally find my wings
Now I know I’m ready to fly!

I may not be a corporate executive or a research scientist, or on Broadway or a doctor. But this is my time. I’m successful and loved. And I love myself. I am making things happen. No, God is making things happen. I’m seeing change. And I get to decide.

I have overcome a lot of things and now I use my choice to decide. Listen.

I may not have control over the outcome but I have control of my actions, the decisions I make. I decided this week to push myself. There’s only now. I’ve got nothing to lose. Everything is a choice, every choice an opportunity.

I get to decide to stay in my house and feel bad or go out. I ate goat cheese yesterday, and golden beets, and cucumber. Wow. I never try new things. And I liked it. I liked being eagerly uncomfortable and the tremendous feeling of success.

This is my time to realize that I can make a difference and that there IS power in persistence. I’m tied to little. All I have is time.

I decide today to go out with the guy who’s not dark and twisted, the one who scares me with his normalcy. And makes me smile. Because I want to. I decide to go out by myself and eat good food and take in great music just because. I deserve it. I decide not to let myself fester, not to lose this momentum by being idle. I decide to take care of myself and to take chances. And to sleep. Cuz I get to decide. This is my time.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

A Good Night – Croce’s & N-

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5-24-10                 3:12am

I had an awesome night tonight. For those of you who are always hassling me about not eating healthy, I did. Certainly tastier than a burrito but much more expensive.

I went to Croce’s downtown, had to get out of my house. I got off at the 12th & Imperial trolley stop and asked valets and hostess people along 5th Ave where I could find food and jazz that wouldn’t break the bank. They pointed me there. I’m glad they did.

It was such a great experience. I had a table in the corner right by the piano. The waitress was attentive and helpful. The food was amazing. I couldn’t figure out just what to order since I don’t eat most of what was on the menu. Not because it’s weird food. I just don’t eat much. So I settled on the goat cheese salad. New things are scary to me but I tried and loved it. And, save for leaving off the onions, I tried every part of it. Even the beets and cucumber.

Note to self: I LOVE fried balls of goat cheese!

I overheard the person next to me order potato soup, which I didn’t see on the menu, and I love potatoes so I ordered that too. It was more like puree than soup but it was good. And she didn’t look at me like I was crazy when I asked if I was supposed to eat the leeks in the middle or if they were just for decoration.

Much more soup than it looks like here. Warm & filling.

I also got a piece of cheesecake. I got strawberries on the top instead of their fruit topping that had orange liquor in it. I don’t do alcohol. It was so divine. Tiny bites of delicious cheesecake and strawberries with my eyes closed to good jazz music. Amazing.

Mmmmm... Heaven on a plate

Even the silverware intrigued me. The forks are anorexic but the spoons make up for it.


And as I sat there I watched the staff. They interacted and joked with each other and with the musicians. They smiled and laughed. Most of them didn’t seem to hate being there. The manager was welcoming guests and the musician introduced him as a fellow musician. The musician gave props to the bartenders. It was a cool environment. The team worked.

It was very different than my experience at Bing Crosby’s where nobody talks, the wait staff is invisible and there is a general attitude that they’re better than the customer. At Croce’s it wasn’t like that. It was warm. I felt at home. And when I left I felt full of something other than French fries and regret. I missed Sacha though. The music tonight was good. It was fun and upbeat, but she’s powerful. The two together might make me melt. ;)

I wrote in my journal, “For $32 and a tip tonight I got a goat cheese salad, potato soup, cheesecake with strawberries, a Sprite, the perfect corner table, great service & some awesome jazz music. (big sigh) The happiness is worth it.”

When I left Croce’s, I took the trolley back to East County and met N-. We went to Fridays. I had a strawberry lemonade and some mashed potatoes. I love potatoes. He talked about cars and airplanes and school and family. Mostly I just listened. And I wondered what he thought of the listening.

As I listened to his thoughts about school and the future and his schedule I thought about how different we are. I didn’t really have anything to say. At least nothing that was relevant. And I had taken some meds on the trolley so I wouldn’t throw up that were making me tired. I literally said almost nothing, except for something about the origin of blue raspberry and asking a few questions. (AT – I have nothing to offer.) I was witnessing his stream of consciousness. He seems so happy. And determined. And figured out. I felt like an observer.

I like N-. He’s like the perfect guy. Family-oriented, studying to be a doctor, loves music, goes to church, doesn’t drink, sings. I don’t know if he dances. He even lives in east county. Go figure. I don’t want to feel so separate. I don’t want to feel so empty.

Tonight was a good night.

©Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Family

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5-23-10                 6ish pm

I invite – to do things occasionally. She never comes, which is fine. She does a lot of things with her family. She mentions her grandmother and godmother. It makes me wonder.

What is life like with a family? What is it like to have holidays and birthdays? Gatherings of people you will always have some connection to? I know families can get stressful and ugly, but I’d like to experience one that’s not.

I don’t really know how a family’s supposed to work. It was just me and my mom and eventually the cat. I would steal Mags’ words that my mom is an emotional cactus, but cacti are predictable. My mom’s more like a Venus fly trap. She’s all nice and beautiful until you get close enough to touch and then she eats you alive.

—

Dad was always a stress and seeing G- rarely less than traumatic. Holidays involved driving and guilt and many gifts. We spent some at my adopted grandma’s with her crazy family, some at home, some at my best friend’s house. But I never belonged. They’re not my family.

2:25am

I don’t know what it’s like to have more than one blood relative to choose from to list as an emergency contact, to have children around, or to witness a relationship of any kind. I have a family. They just don’t have me. You know? I don’t understand how it’s supposed to be.

No Peace

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5-23-10                 5:36pm

I wish my mom would just let me be. There is no peace in my house, little when I’m out. She’s constantly contacting me. Last night she sent at least ten texts wanting to know where I was, what I was doing, if I knew how to get there, what time it was over, if I got a seat, if I was still there. For God’s sake. I sit at the computer and she’s constantly asking me questions and to do things that are neither her tasks or related to what I’m doing. She “thinks” (assumes) I will do things or magically know what she’s thinking or wants me to do. Then she gets mad when I don’t do what she thought. THOUGHT. Key word.

She says she’s mad because I never help her around the house, but she never asks me to do anything that helps or affects HER. Like today she was mad I didn’t put my makeup in the bathroom. But it’s MY makeup on MY floor in MY room. It’s MY business. She always wants the table cleaned off, though she is constantly moving my things and adding to piles I’ve worked hard to pare down. So I started to work on the table today and she got mad about where I was putting my papers. I said, “If you want this stuff off the table, you don’t get to say where it goes. It’s not yours.”

She’s finally stopped yelling at me most nights. That’s good. But nothing’s ever good enough for her. My shirt is too low. My pants are too long. I spend too much money. Yes, she bitches about MY money too. I can’t do laundry. She asks me for directions but refuses to follow them, then gets angry at me when we’re late. What? There is no peace.

And when I cannot stand being around her and leave she calls and texts again and again. It’s fucking insane. People wonder why I stopped taking her calls when I moved to LA. This is why. There is no peace. It’s also why I like going places alone and why the peace of the hospital is comforting.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Health & Dreams

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5-23-10                 4:28pm

I feel so overwhelmed today. The tension is so high I have to breathe through my mouth or my face just might explode. My cheek bones hurt.

I caught the early bus, the one that takes twice as long to the trolley. I can’t stand it in my house or around my mom. She drives me nuts. I don’t know when she forgot how to have fun or started believing fun is bad. But no matter what I do it’s wrong to her, makes her mad. (Our bus driver doesn’t know where she’s going.)

I knew today would be difficult because the last two were wonderful. I had two healthy days. And in those days I did a ton of stuff. I went to a ROCO meeting, toured Edgemoor, saw my neuro, ate Chinese food twice, sang at the gospel festival, went out to dinner, attended a suicide conference, got my hair cut, went to Body Rock and enjoyed The Shout House. I walked farther than I usually can. My body didn’t hurt. I lifted things, felt happy, had energy. I even took the stairs at the Civic several times. I felt normal. I felt happy.

Going to Body Rock last night was an exposure. I’ll admit I cried through the first number and wanted to leave but I’m glad that I stayed. I had a great time. I’m proud of myself. I did something new, out of my comfort zone, sat through the anxiety and enjoyed it. And I went to The Shout House and sang. It was great. I hadn’t been there since my 21st birthday. On the way home I was gifted a horrible headache that made it hard to breathe, but the night was worth it. So were the days.

I woke up today feeling calm and happy. Warm sun feels good now on my back. I feel trapped. A good friend posted on FB last night about giving up her dream. I want to help her, to listen, but I can’t if she won’t let me. I need that magic dress. Not being able to do anything hurts. My body feels heavy. I tingle. I just can’t get it out of me. If I could tell her anything it would be not to give up her dream. She might not get it back.

As I watched Body Rock I needed to dance, and having two mostly symptom-free days I let my mind wander, hope. I thought about dancing again, taking classes, performing, watching shows. All the stuff that I love. It seemed possible. Just maybe I could have that again. It didn’t escape me that 2 days is 2 days, but it felt good just to dream.

When I gave up performing I didn’t think it would be forever. I don’t mean singing in a choir. I mean being a star. I didn’t think that I couldn’t have it back. That I would see myself someday singing at the bar of The Shout House just to sing. I didn’t see that. It’s kind of like giving your child voluntarily to the foster care system and just hoping they treat it well. It will never be the same. They say going back to school is harder the longer you’re out. It’s nothing compared to losing or hiding or pausing a dream. Because the dream never goes away. It haunts me. I’m different now, but it’s still the same dream.

I keep thinking of the Rainer Maria Rilke wisdom from “Letters to a Young Poet” that if when you wake up in the morning you can think of nothing but writing then you’re a writer. Or of dancing you’re a dancer, etc. When I don’t do what I am I’m not happy. And when I’m not happy, I’m not me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Lunch

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5-19-10                 1:20am

So, M- was at it again today making me think. Today’s question:

What are you having for lunch today darlings?

A simple question, I thought. However, the complexity of an answer lies not in the question itself but in who’s answering it. And the answers astounded me.

  • Poached eggs
  • Miso soup, edamame and green kombucha tea
  • Coffee
  • Leftover dim sum goodies – sticky rice, turnip cakes, a random siu mai
  • Grass
  • Banana cream pie yogurt
  • Country stew chicken
  • Fried chicken
  • Kung pau chickin
  • Chicken Katsu
  • Wallaby raspberry yoghurt (followed by existential question about the spelling of yogurt)
  • granola bar

My answer?

  • Lunch? I haven’t made it to breakfast yet. I’m debating over Honey Nut Cheerios or hot dogs.

Now, I’ve thought about this on and off all day. And I pondered it as I ate the microwaved hot dogs I finally settled on for breakfast. What does the food I eat mean about me?

I don’t know what half the things those people named are. I’d like to be in the category of people who eat them, but I’m not. Grass? Really? I don’t understand why people pay lots of money for organic grass to eat like a starving child in Africa. Do they even eat grass in Africa? Animals eat grass, right? The raspberry yoghurt existential question response made me laugh and then gag. Like, really? Wow.

My main foods are hot dogs, burritos, tacos, an occasional sandwich or frozen dinner, ramen, and whatever I can find in my fridge in the middle of the night. Tonight it was milk and cheese. I eat like a bachelor, and a poor one at that. But I really don’t know any different. And I wouldn’t be caught dead eating grass.

I don’t quite understand foods that are out of my price range or out of my class. And every class has their foods. I went to a dim sum restaurant in LA once with my friend Shana. She was so excited to take me there. I told her I don’t do ethnic but she was convinced I’d love it. She and her boyfriend and I waited outside for like an hour for a table, during which time I noted the B rating from the health department displayed proudly in the window. I was compliant. I tried things. Hated them all. Left starving.

Maybe it’s in my genes to like poor-people food. I don’t know. I’d take a corn dog from 7-11 any day over dim sum. I’ve tried sushi several times trying to convince myself that eventually I’ll like it. No luck. And word to the wise – do NOT buy sushi from 7-11. ;)

It’s kind of tricky because I WANT to try new foods (even though I hate trying new things), but I don’t want to find a new food that I like and cannot afford to eat. You know? And I don’t cook. And I don’t want to cook…

(sigh) My head hurts. I can’t think anymore now.

Lunch. Such a complex thing.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Thank God for Dr. N

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5-17-10                 1pm

I appreciate my doctor today. He’s awesome. He may not know what’s wrong with me but he certainly does care.

I left him a copy of “I don’t know” is NOT acceptable at the hospital on Friday. I knew it was him calling this morning super early but I was too tired to pick up the phone. When he called again I knew I had to. I was so tired I was having trouble understanding what he said but the parts I got make me smile. He said he can see I’m very angry and that I have reason to be. He said, ““It’s not usually my practice to make stuff up and lie to people.” Lol. He said he’s not trained in neurology and therefore can’t help me with that but that he’ll do everything he can to help me with the psych stuff and that I can call him any time. (smile) I just want to hug him!

I hate phone calls when I’m sleeping but this one was good. :) Thank God for Dr. N.

©Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Never Break the Sunrise Rule

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5-17-10                 12:50pm

So, if you didn’t read my last post, there’s a sunrise rule. Never break the sunrise rule. Grrr. It’s never good.

I can stay up all night every night as long as I go to bed before sunrise. I can fall asleep to the birds chirping and the glow outside, but if I don’t go to sleep then… First I get really happy, hypomanic. Then I get very agitated, then exhausted. I used to be able to just stay up for the day. Not anymore. The happiness also used to last. Also not anymore.

So I went to bed around 8am. Set my alarm for 9am because I really wanted to go to this free concert in La Jolla at noon. I ignored the alarm. Then my phone kept going off. Really? Why do people call me in the morning? It’s evil. At 11am my pdoc called for the second time so I answered the phone. I could barely understand what he was saying. I layed back down and the phone rang again. My neuro’s receptionist arguing with me, trying to convince me that I did NOT call twice last week. Really? Cuz I think I would know. And I checked my phone. Going back to sleep is not possible since it’s now light out and I did not take my Seroquel, since that would make getting up in less than eight hours almost impossible. So now I’m stuck with this dilemma. I have energy though I’m tired and I’m up. It’s only almost 1pm. I have nowhere to go. I need to write minutes and an agenda for the board meeting tonight and write a letter and mail some packages, but none of that is interesting. I’m hungry, but for some reason my mom’s not awake. I don’t know why she’s still sleeping. And she got angry when I asked. She said, “You sleep ALL day. Why do I have to be up?” Geez. I don’t care if she sleeps. It’s just out of character.

Note to self:

Never break the sunrise rule. Always take your Seroquel. And learn to cook so you don’t stave. Otherwise, you’ll have nothing to do, too much energy, and go crazy.

Michelle

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Breaking the Sunrise Rule

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5-17-10                 6:36am

WAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!! :D

Good music + breaking my rule about staying up past sunrise = hypomania. YAY! Lol. It’ll only last for a few hours, but gosh it feels good.

I feel accomplished today. It’s not something I feel very often. Thirteen pages of Excel documents later I’ve finally made sense of my org’s finances. Maybe not the way an accountant would but it makes sense to me and they refused to hire one. It involved screaming, Xanax, laying on the sidewalk outside watching the ants for awhile and imagining the cars whizzing by were waves, a 5 hour nap, a taco salad, and a very long night. But it’s done! (big sigh) And it wasn’t done on the energy of hypomania either. That came after.

I’m debating on whether I should, no whether I will, sleep this morning or not. I know I should. But I feel so God damn great. Full of energy with the morning coldness and glow. (dreamy sigh and big smile) A few hours ago I was leaning on my clothes line repeating “I hate my life. I hate my life.” Now I love my life. It’s more like I love this moment. Life is beyond me.

Board meeting tonight. There’s a free concert I’d like to go to at noon in La Jolla, which means I’d have to catch the bus at 9:40 and walk a ways. Still have the minutes and agenda to do. Also need to get started on this month’s newsletter. And get a hold of Ken to get all the info I possibly can about the concert this Friday that I have done NO promotion for because I have no information. ACK! It’s fucking crazy, I tell you. Crazy.

When there’s this much energy coursing through my body it’s hard to decide what to do. Sleep is relatively impossible. But I don’t feel like sitting in one place to type an agenda or think about minutes. I just want to walk in circles or bounce up and down and giggle. If the things around me were organized it might be easier to find something to do.

(sigh) Grrrr… The energy also adds to my ability to be easily pissed off. I got this HUGE project done last night and mom wants to know if every other project that crosses her mind is done and why not. AHHHH! SHUT UP! Just sleep. Just sleep and pretend I’m not here. Okay?

Do they make radios without commercials? They’re so annoying.

(very agitated, leg tapping incessantly, eyebrows furled) Grrr… (6:48am)

I shouldn’t break the sunrise rule. Gonna be a long day.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Can pigeons float?

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5-15-10                 4:15am

So, it’s 4 in the morning and I have “For Now” from Avenue Q running quickly through my head. I have yet to see an earwig tonight, which is making me worry that something’s wrong. I’m not sure what. And I’m wondering if pigeons can float.

Yes, pigeons. I was at the beach with my mom the other day just watching. Birds, dogs, people, and of course waves. This group of pigeons discovered a patch of seeds on the ground and after eating for awhile flew off together. They circled around a few times before flying off toward the sea. And I wondered, can pigeons float? Cuz I know ducks can. Or at least they can swim. But these pigeons, they didn’t come back. You know? I know that birds can fly really far without stopping, but pigeons don’t migrate. They just eat fish. (I think.) So once they get out to wherever in the ocean they’re going, what to do they do? Can a pigeon eat a fish mid-air? I can’t imagine flying all that way to eat a fish mid-air and then flying back without stopping. So I’m wondering, can pigeons float?

©Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Maybe it’s time to dream

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5-15-10                 2:55am

My friend posted this today:

Is wondering what’s more important love or a dream? What was the biggest thing you had to give up to pursue your dreams? –S

My original response:

I gave up my dreams to pursue me.

But I’ve been thinking. Why does one have to be more important? Can the dream not be love? Can you not love the dream? Do you really have to choose?

I did give up my dreams to pursue me. But maybe I’m thinking of the wrong dream. I gave up my dreams of being on Broadway and of getting a Ph.D. and of curing disease and having a family, of owning a dance studio and having a place and a dog. But the dream I followed was me. The dream of stability, of enlightenment. Okay, so I wasn’t after enlightenment but it would be nice.

The biggest thing I gave up in my pursuit of happiness has been control. I am pretty successful at what I do and in my recovery. And the biggest thing I keep giving up is control. Accepting that I am not in control is uber hard to do but so important. It’s not me who’s driving my destiny. I can’t control others or my body or the world. My life is in God’s hands. I still like being in control of things. Just not everything.

I also gave up thinking I matter so much and giving a damn. I used to care what everyone thought. It was so stressful. But now, there are very few people whose opinions I respect and whose criticism can throw my whole world off. I just don’t give a shit. I can’t afford to. I don’t have the energy and it doesn’t help me. Realizing I really don’t matter that much is hard but it’s helpful. That thing I said that’s stressing me out probably DIDN’T ruin his life. My late bill won’t kill me. Missing the meeting is NOT the end of the world. And without me, life goes on.

I also gave up love. I’m not sure I can say I gave it up though because I never had it. I don’t think I’ve given up the dream of love, just the hope that it will ever happen. I don’t stress about it most days. It’s out of my control. I’m just doing what I can.

I used to dream big. I remember dreaming about a party for my sweet 16. I remember it included ice sculptures. Lol. In reality I got a banner at Possum Trot and a dance with Jeff Driggs. Not quite an ice sculpture. The retreat was dreaming big. REALLY big. So is the movie night event this summer and the studio. But they’re not dreams I actually expect to happen.

I gave up my dreams to pursue me. Now that I’ve found me, maybe it’s time to dream.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

“I don’t know” is NOT acceptable

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5-14-10                 6:03pm

“I don’t know” is not an acceptable answer from a doctor. It might be if it was followed by a referral to someone who DOES know, but it’s not. I am going insane. My neurologist refuses to call me back. I just spoke to my psychiatrist on the phone. He said he has no idea what’s going on with me or how to help. He said it looks like a little bit of everything and he doesn’t know what to do with it. He also said that every doctor who sees it is equally as confused and therefore ignores me or refuses to return my calls. This is unacceptable!

I am so fucking tired of “I don’t know.” He told me today his observation is that I do well when I’m moderately busy and terrible if I’m overscheduled or bored. Yes, that’s true. But he also said that he thinks since I have little to do now that I should do more and distract myself, that having extra time is making me hyper-aware of my physical symptoms. (pause) Really? Cuz when you’re head hurts so bad you can’t stop crying or throwing up or half of your body is tied up in twitches and zaps or you can’t think straight, I’m pretty sure YOU are going to notice it whether you’re busy or not.

The hospital is the place I go when I don’t feel safe. Times when feelings like now don’t pass. But this is the guy who treats me at the hospital. And every damn person’s answer is “I don’t know.” How am I supposed to accept this? The song on the radio keeps repeating, “I’m fallin’ to pieces.” Yes. What do you do once you’re IN pieces already?

“I don’t know” or silence are not acceptable answers. This is a crisis. This is NOT a drill. I guess I’m the only one who hears the alarm.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

What Happened – A Wire Monkey Life

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5-13-10                 2:22am

Tears. They run down my face. An old friend just said, “Keep smiling. You’re prettier when you do so.” I keep hearing “I Will Rise” by Chris Tomlin. It’s merged with “Slow Fade” by Casting Crowns. A few moments earlier looking at this picture he said, “You looked so happy and cheery… What happened to you?” It caught me off guard. I laughed, then fell silent. It’s a powerful question. What happened?

(breathe)

I could say I don’t know what but I do. A slow fade. The chorus of the song says:

It’s a slow fade, when you give yourself away.
It’s a slow fade, when black and white turn to gray.
Thoughts invade
Choices are made
A price will be paid when you give yourself away.
People never crumble in a day.
It’s a slow fade.

What happened? A slow fade. That picture was taken around 8th or 9th grade. I know because of the earrings. I wasn’t always happy and cheery but it was Possum Trot, Scotty was there, and I was way more dedicated to faking it.

Life happened, simply put. A long succession of losses and disappointments, a constant unfulfilled need for comfort and striving for perfection. Over time it eats my spirit. It breaks me down. I erode like a malt ball in your mouth. A teacher described me as “gracefully weathered” in high school. I’m still not sure how I feel about that. I guess it’s like broken but beautiful and not made with Crackle.

I think there’s only so much one can take. It was a slow fade into madness, a quiet but not uncommunicated one. There were letters. Thousands of them. I wrote through everything. Not a single letter answered. The silence, and music, and dance, and theater, unrequited love and loss, and watching, and waiting, and writing, helping and working too much, sleeping too little, people fucking with my head and school. They unraveled the bit of me I had put together. When life doesn’t stop there’s no chance to recover. And when it stops completely, that needs recovery too.

I don’t know where along the way I lost me. The me that giggles and growls and cackles when excited. That believes in fairy tales and believes that people are good. I see her sometimes but she’s not happy… I wish I could make her happy.

If I had to pinpoint what happened I’d say a lack of love & understanding, of comfort. A wire monkey life. I just want to be loved. To be held. To feel safe. (pause) To have a person instead of a book.

The picture he was referring to

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Comparison & The All-Perfect Person

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5-11-10                 2:46am

I don’t compare myself to other people a lot. Or at least I don’t consider it comparison. But I observe almost everything. And I think. A lot. I remember when I was younger saying, “I think, hope and love too much.” I think I still do. But I find myself processing my observations and wondering what they mean about me.

I was supposed to be going to New York in two weeks to sing at Carnegie Hall. At first announcement it would be covered by grants. As time went by it would not and I have no money. I hate hearing about this trip to New York because I will not be going. I don’t want to know. Just don’t tell me. And please quit asking if I’m going. Another friend is going next week. Another is there now. I don’t understand. I get the logic. No money, no trip. But I don’t get the reason behind no money. Why life is what it is, why I’m here. A distant friend died last week and in the email I got it said he fulfilled his dream of singing at Carnegie Hall last year. I almost screamed. WTF!

I look at the lives of the friends I grew up with, what they’re doing. Some of them have totally bombed but most of the people I was close to in dance and theater are still in dance and theater. The musicians are musicians. They’re doing what they love. But I’m not. I guess you could call that comparison, but I don’t want to be like them. I just want to be doing what I love.

I don’t know how I got here or why. I didn’t wake up one day and choose this. But I can’t change it. And it’s dangerous to try. I’m know on a journey towards something. I just don’t know what.

There are people who are very special to me whom I barely know and try very hard not to freak out with my interest. It’s not socially acceptable to be completely intrigued by someone and communicate it. The words that come to mind are obsessed and stalker. But I’m not a stalker. It’s a way of life. It works like this.

At any given time, I need to have at least one all-perfect person. I know this person is not really perfect, but to me they’re pretty close. I find them interesting. They make me think. There is just something about them that is special. And they like me back. I hang out around this person. Not usually with them. I try not to bother them too much. But I help them as best I can and they help me back, sometimes. Just knowing I have this person in my life makes me feel safe. Being near them helps me feel calm. I need this person, would do anything for them. It’s not romantic. They’re usually like a mentor or teacher or counselor type person. Sometimes just someone I look up to. Everything revolves around them. But like I said, they’re not really perfect. And eventually something happens. They make me angry or I make them angry and they die or leave or move and I lose them and my whole world falls apart. And I have nothing until I find another.

It’s a twisted system, I know. I’m really trying to make it different. But I did not have a cloth monkey. I don’t understand how it’s supposed to work. That cloth monkey study is something I think about often. There is such a need…

I’m constantly scared of losing people. People I don’t really have. I need them. I need the fantasy. I really just need.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Swinging – On the Other Side

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5-9-10                   2:27am

When I read posts from M- I feel such compassion. I don’t know just what draws me to him. I’ve never met him. I only know him through FB. I think it’s the fact that he’s genuine. (My stomach hurts.) And the volume of genuine posts. If you make me think or occupy enough of my think-time, you become a close friend, whether I know you or not.

I noticed tonight he seems to swing a lot. Mood swings that is. Extreme highs and lows. Joy and strife. I was riding with my mom thinking about this. I felt concerned and wondered if he’d ever sought help. I realized it’s not really my place to ask but also that it’s not my place to kill the dream.

I realized – I’m on the other side. If I could go back to my days of creative highs and performance and laughter and joy and strife and craziness, would I? I have given up so much in the pursuit of not happiness but stability. And what do I really have? Not stability, less happiness, I guess less strife. Less psychosis. But there is little traveling, almost no dancing, no theater. My grand ideas are mostly limited to mental health and don’t usually happen. I have no degree. I have talent but I’m not doing what I love. I’d like to go to Fresno in a few weeks for a convention but I can’t afford it, have a choir performance and Survivors of Suicide Loss Day. I’d much rather do midnight workshops and dance all day.

I didn’t know what I was signing up for when I started taking medication. I just needed to get the Hell away from what was happening. I think if I’d been accurately diagnosed things might have been different. Maybe not. I remember the first night I heard voices. It was the scariest night of my life. I’ve been through a lot of scary things, but that tops it. My psychiatrist told me it was “normal” for people with depression to hear voices and not to worry, did nothing. (deep breath…) I would not go back to my days of skinniness and days of dancing and top of the world highs if it meant taking back the voices and the visions and the feelings and everything that went with them. But I yearn for those days. If you haven’t experienced them, you can never understand. It’s why we go off our meds. To feel them. Sometimes almost anything is worth getting that back. It’s like trying to convince yourself every minute that eating only peanut butter and jelly for the rest of your life will be as full-filling as eating as much of the best food you’ve ever tasted for a month and then starving.

This bitter perspective is not quite something someone new to mental health should hear or can handle. Would you jump at that? Maybe if you are desperate or REALLY like peanut butter. But it’s something they NEED to hear. But nobody says it. Nobody says to the artist, “This pill may save your life but you won’t paint the same.” No one says to the actor, “The stage might not be your friend.” No one bothers to tell the dancer, “By the way, in six months you’ll either be too fat to dance or you’ll be fat enough that you hate yourself enough not to.” No one says that. They should. But they don’t.

So I find myself on the other side. I’ve been through creativity and performance and crazy wonderful and terrible highs. And I’ve been through years of treatment and its ups and downs and effects. And now I’m here, on the other side. I think I’ve learned all I can from programs. Therapy keeps me going because it gives me someone non-judgmental to talk to. But I usually have the answer or it’s me that has to figure it out. I’ve been on tons of meds. I’m not on many anymore. And I watch people. I watch them feel and interact. I know when something’s wrong and sometimes what. Not much surprises me. Not much other people say scares me. And I want to help. What I have been through helps, but it doesn’t not hurt. It takes from you. It’s not free. Life in entertainment may be crazy but it’s a choice. Everything is a choice. (sigh)

I wish there was a way to get “better” without losing the creativity. Without losing what makes us us. On the other side now. I can’t cross back. Not for long…

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Every Day

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Life hands you things sometimes that you cannot understand. today is one of those days! –MB

5-9-10                   2:20am

Every day is one of those days… Every day.

Every day I wake up and wonder why I’m living the life that I am. Every day I can’t understand just what’s happening to my body or why. And there’s no way to stop it. Every day. There are things I understand less than others, like Randy. I don’t not understand his action. I don’t understand my reaction. But it’s hard to say I understand less crying for no reason in a Taco Bell drive through tonight and shedding my seat belt and sweater and bra and curling up in a ball unable to talk. (pause) That I don’t understand. But I’m lucky enough in that moment to know that, although I have no idea what’s going on, it will pass. And it will happen again.

Every day…

Every day.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Clothes – I Don’t Get Them

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5-5-10                   1:46am

I went shopping on Sunday and thought of Malan. I was so confused. I really don’t understand clothes. I like looking pretty but getting there is a task. I’d settle for presentable.

I don’t get clothes. I tried on a ton of stuff and, for the first time ever, I looked like a bat. A bat! I put my arms out and I had wings. Now why, I ask, would I want that? My goal is to look thinner not wider. Really. Some things are cute on the hanger but look terrible on. So I make sure to pick up things I’m reasonably sure I’ll hate in case they spontaneously look great. Sometimes works.

Then there are those things I just stare at and wonder about. I have no idea what that is. Is it a dress? A shirt? A scarf? How do I put it on and what is it supposed to look like? If I have to ask these questions I’m probably not the target audience, but I’d like to know. If I knew, I might buy it or at least try it on.

I really need someone to follow me around (more like lead me) and tell me what to get and what not to and, “Oh, Honey. No. Put that back.” Like Said in Fashion Valley or my friend Sarah who lives in Boston. I would appreciate some sort of guidebook in the store that tells me what I’m looking at. Like a program at a play. I asked the fitting room attendant at Victoria’s Secret just why I would want to buy the bra I was trying on. She was confused. I said, “I know this style of bra was intended for a particular style of clothing but I don’t know which one or in what situations this bra would be useful.” She had no helpful answer. I don’t understand! I might buy the damn thing if I knew what to do with it!

(sigh) Sometimes I wonder what goes through the head of a designer when he/she is designing. Do they consider what the average consumer, such as myself, will be up against when trying to figure out their clothes? Okay, so maybe I’m not average, but I am a consumer and I’d like to buy clothes less stressfully. You know?

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

I Just Need to Understand

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5-5-10                   1:14am

I’m sitting here tonight eating leftover Fridays mashed potatoes and half-watching the “Are You Happy Now” video on YouTube. Don’t bother reheating potato skins. It’s not worth the effort.

(deep breath) Talked to a friend from high school tonight. It was nice.

How do some people just magically know how long to reheat something for? And how does my microwave’s reheat button know what I’m reheating or how long to cook it? And why is my VCR now suddenly able to display the current tv program name when it lacks the ability to keep correct time or recognize a channel above 35? WHY?!

Like nutrition facts. The math almost never adds up or makes sense. If one cinnamon roll has 180 calories, why do 2 have 300? Or soda. A 12oz can is one serving, but a 20oz bottle is 2.5 servings. What? Something’s not right there. I called Nabisco one day to ask about Oreos. I see they’ve recently changed their label to list serving size in grams instead of number of cookies (which makes even less sense). But I called to ask if the serving size is 2 cookies and there are 30 cookies in the package why there are “about” 15 servings. There’s no “about” needed. 15×2=30. That’s it. I went through several people before she said something about the FDA allowing manufacturers to “estimate” some figures. Hmmm… I just want to scream sometimes but it’s not worth my breath.

I just need to understand why. Nothing makes sense. There are two people I can’t not think about who lack the ability, for whatever reason, to communicate with me. I sent them both emails last night. I need to understand why. I can handle living in a fantasy or rarely seeing people, but I need to have something to tell myself. “It’s okay, Michelle. They just ______.” But I have nothing to put in the blank. I have no idea. And it makes me angry. My empathy does not cover the blank.

I hate commercials. And cold mashed potatoes and earwigs on my toilet seat. And I saw a car that looked like a Storm Trooper today.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Crayola Confusion

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5-3-10                   7:35pm

I went to Walmart to buy markers yesterday. Classic washable markers. But I was so confused by the aisle. I don’t understand the wall of markers I was staring at. When I was growing up, markers were simple. Sharpies and highlighters stained. Everything else was washable. The only thing different was stamp markers that came out around 6th grade. Not so anymore.

Have you ever heard of dry erase crayons? And what the heck is a gel marker? Window markers? Markers that only write on certain paper? Paints activated by light? WHAT? (deep breath)

If I can’t understand what marker to use where, how is a 5 year old supposed to? My mom’s answer – they’ll just draw all over everything anyway. I can’t be the only one experiencing Crayola Confusion. What do you do? I can’t buy them all. And the prices don’t make sense either. The 8-count classic markers and 10-count are the same price but look different and are in different places. Come on! Help me out. Crayola should not be confusing.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010