1/22/12 12:25pm
What’s wrong with you? You’re just you. Nobody else could be you. And they wouldn’t want to if they knew what it meant. And you’re pretty damn good at it. So keep doin’ it. You’re the only one who knows how.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2012
1/17/12 3:44pm
I was thinking about Mrs. Lindsay asking if I want to be a teacher. I would LOVE to be a teacher. But I think my adherence to rules is quite lacking. I do things my own way, follow my own rules. I couldn’t get through college. My options would be plenty if I had finished.
Teaching dance is something I love to do. In my own time and my own way. I get to use my quirks to help others understand. And to understand them on their way. This kid came up to me today and told me his aunt died. I don’t know why. People tell me things. They always have.
In my 6th grade yearbook we all had to answer where we thought we’d be in 10 years. I said I’d be on Broadway or teaching kindergarten. (sad) It’s almost 15 years later. (sad) I am successful in what I do. But it’s not Michelle. How do I find Michelle?
Kids think I’m a teacher. I buy school supplies, love glitter and often carry markers. I color-code, categorize and specialize in creating systems to increase efficiency. I own a billion dry erase boards and use them every day. Systems, colors. I use sticker charts to pay my bills. And I live at Staples. But I’m not a teacher. I’m just me.
I don’t know how I got here. It was so great to see everyone today. I wish I had something great to tell them. I am the kingpin of a local non-profit. I run my own empire. Pretty cool when worded that way. I want to want me.
I miss teaching SO much. But I am not a teacher.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2012
1/6/12 11:28pm
I am so hungry. SO hungry. I can’t BEGIN to tell you how hungry I am. Even though I know I shouldn’t be.
I go through phases where I don’t eat much and am not hungry at all. Then there are times like now when I just can’t stop eating. I don’t have an eating disorder. I’m not on a new medication. I’m just HUNGRY. It’s so frustrating. I’m literally salivating, even after just eating Chinese food and drinking a bottle and a half of water.
I don’t know what to do about it. My hypothalamus hates me. There are so many random things going on with me. And last week’s mania. And my staying up super late now yet sleeping 12 hours a night when I was going to bed earlier and sleeping about 8 hours. And my inability to control my body temperature. And getting fever blisters on my lips again. And feeling SO cold. And now HUNGRY. And more horny than usual. What the fuck is going on with me???
I can’t keep eating and get fat again. I can’t tolerate being fat. But I can’t tolerate feeling hungry either. I Googled around for appetite suppressants and all I found were diet pills. I don’t want to lose weight (although it wouldn’t bug me). I just don’t want to gain it by eating when I couldn’t possibly be hungry but feel starved. This is a problem for me.
If I don’t eat, I continue to feel hungry. If I don’t eat for long enough, I get sick. But not knowing when I’m actually hungry interferes with my knowing if I’m going to get sick. If I do eat because I feel hungry, I don’t feel full. I feel even MORE hungry. Which is worse. But I have to eat something. And if I don’t eat, and eat and eat, it’s like I’m going to explode. What is the solution? Is there one? Or do I just have to wait until my body swings back the other way to eating almost nothing? A few months ago I couldn’t eat more than half of a kids meal at Panda Express. Today I finished off a two entree plate, with the chow mein, 4 spring rolls and 3 sodas. And, while the physical fullness was painful, I still felt hungry. As I do now. I don’t know what to do.
(sigh) I’m hungry.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2012
1/6/12 9:25pm
I remember this feeling…
The feeling with no brain.
It lives in the inbetween, under the eaves.
I rock and stare and wait.
Don’t be late.
There is no time.
I can’t make tea.
I can’t make me.
I remember this feeling.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2012
1/4/12 12:20am
Oh, good God. The race has begun. They interruped my tv show to talk about the Iowa election today. It’s all over FB. Really?
I used to somewhat like politics. I thought voting was exciting. I thought I could make a difference in the world. But it’s not true. I have zero faith in the system. I don’t understand why Iowa and Florida are so important. And I know that no matter who wins they will cut social services and healthcare and try to kill me. And that my entire year will be spent trying to avoid radio, print and tv ads by the people vying for the position of person who can kill me and all the people fighting each other about various propositions.
Was it always this way? This sleazy and annoying? What would FDR think? Would Benjamin Franklin embrace this insanity or climb back into his grave? I can’t imagine him loving our “progress.”
It would be nice if I could just sequester myself until after the election, or at least close to it. Where is the hope? I need some political hope. Is there such a thing?
© Michelle Routhieaux 2012
1/1/12 5:26pm
I don’t know where to find it but there is a piece of research about smiling that I’m using as a coping skill tonight. It says that smiling works both ways. We smile because we’re happy, but smiling also makes us happy. Even when we’re not.
At first I thought it was bullshit but then I remembered doing it in theater and tried it again. Smiling (happy or not) sends a rush of chemicals through the brain. I can feel it. So I’m doing it tonight. Smiling largely while unhappy. It actually works for a few moments. You should try it.
Moments of happy. Free and immediate. No prescription necessary. So what if I look funny? I have moments of happy.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2012
1/1/12 4:30pm
I woke up today hearing myself say, “I have no reason to be happy.” It was strange. Right out of a dream, literally.
There is a light hope in the air. It’s 2012 and new things will be happening. I got a request to be an AVID tutor today. Instead of feeling excited I feel terrified. I already committed to volunteering for 6 weeks to teach dance, which I am thoroughly enthralled by, but it also scares me. I’m not good at balance. I need stuff to do but overwhelm easily and my body just freaks out. I’m scared to live. I didn’t use to be.
I remember when my life was a whirlwind of activity. No one could keep up with me, except my mom. I taught dance and went to school and tutored and wrote and did projects and theater and choir. I had jobs. I had a few friends. I don’t really know what happened. Somehow I lost me.
Now I’m afraid to leave my house some days, terrified not to. I see doctors, go to groups, don’t dance. I write when I can and I live in the fantasy. I live in the fantasy. I want to have a full and productive life. I’d rather be healthy.
I’m frustrated because 2 days ago I was freakin’ out. The pirates were coming and I was happy. Everything was fascinating. I was floating and the world was on edge. But the pirates are gone now. They left me. Why would they leave me? Doesn’t anyone love me? Don’t they understand that I want to go home? My brain feels frozen and hurts. I feel so sad.
(Breathe… Breathe.)
Pervasive sadness has no words. Take me to the pirates.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2012
1/1/12 6:55am
(sigh…) I feel sad.
The last of my guests left an hour ago and I just finished posting pics online. I’m sitting in my chair watching the sunrise out the window. Zoe is playing. Mom’s asleep and Margaret’s online.
I feel sad. Tonight I had a party. Another in a long string of annual ones. Sober game nights with specific friends. I got dressed up. I felt really pretty. We had food and played games and laughed. And of course banged on pots and pans. I shouldn’t feel sad but I do.
There was a little girl here tonight. She was no less than disturbed. She was telling us all about her 5th grade life – specifically the people she hates and their drama. I’ve never felt so old. I had nothing relevant to tell her and was honestly bored. As the night went on we all grew more concerned and disturbed. That child is fucked up, possibly dangerous. I’ve heard a lot of things but I’ve never heard a 10 year old talk so vividly about her need to kill specific people in planned out ways. The kid is evil. And she was freakin’ out. I needed her to leave. I still feel her energy.
(deep breathing…)
I do not look in the pictures how I feel. In fact, I look like a fat hooker. Take back the sands of time.
I think what was most upsetting is that nobody texted me at midnight. No Happy New Years, no FB posts. I didn’t send any midnight texts because Mags was here and my friends were gigging. My best friend disowned me this year and my other friend’s in Ohio. I know it’s annoying to get bombarded with holiday texts from random people, but not even one? The State of Affairs in Michelleville.
I am tired, and I feel sad, and I think my contacts are stuck to my eyes. The pirates came and left without me and I feel sad. Quiet. Sad.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2012
12/31/11 6:55pm
My favorite part of the blog year is the annual report. I think I did great this year. My readership has grown. Last year I had 204 posts and 4,600 hits. This year only 44 posts but 2,400 views. That’s great. All of my posts come from my journal and there was a lot of stuff I just couldn’t post this year.
I’m really proud of myself for keeping my blog going even when I thought it was doomed. It’s scary to go back to posting after long dry spells. If you’ve ever considered starting a blog I say GO FOR IT! Maybe a ton of people read it. Maybe nobody reads it. But you get to have a voice and share it with the world. I took a chance. I feel proud and accomplished.
Check out the report from the WordPress helper monkeys (click here.)
Here’s an excerpt:
A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,400 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 40 trips to carry that many people.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2011, image from WordPress annual report
12/31/11 2:56 pm
I got the most amazing compliment today:
“I just wanted to say that I love your writing. I admire the imagery and honesty in what you write and it is something that I aspire to do in my own writing. I just find it comforting that I can read such an honest take on a day to day life and still feel like I am reading a novel or fictional narrative. Thank you for making me think about my own life when I read about yours. Never ever stop writing, else I shall have one less comforting element to appreciate.”
I haven’t written much or shared my writing in a LONG time and this week it just started pouring out. It’s like pressured speech only in thoughts and they don’t come out my mouth.
People tell me I write like a story. It’s just what I hear. And what I hear corrects itself if it doesn’t sound right. Different moods have a separate cadence and on days like today they just flow. It’s like a rainstorm from a clear sky. As I get more out there everything rhymes and be comes poetry. And then it just stops. Close the book and wait.
I used to write letters. Everything has a story. I listen. Just listen. You might hear writing too.
—
8:03pm
When I write, it’s like having someone to talk to. Someone who doesn’t talk back or argue, who doesn’t judge, who just listens and nods. I have a therapist and a few friends to talk to now but I didn’t used to, and I would write. And write and write and write. Letters to people who never wrote back. And as painful as it was that they never wrote back, it allowed me to just be free. I still write as if I’m talking to them. As if someone kind is intently listening. When I am angry they are angry too and when I am sad they comfort me. All in my head, and on the page.
For a long time I couldn’t really communicate in spoken word. Not that I couldn’t talk. I was just terrified to share my feelings and to speak honestly. And for good cause. I couldn’t even read my writing to the people I wrote to. I was too ashamed. Thankfully, Cog cured me of that. It’s still hard to read my writing to people or to just come out and say what I’m thinking. But I’m getting pretty good at it. I listen to my thoughts and I hear my writing. The rest is what you see. Thanks for reading.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2011
12/31/11 2:30pm
I just sent out the end-of-year giving email for my organization. I couldn’t do it before now. And honestly, what’s the rush?
I get all these letters and emails about how it’s SO important that I give money before Dec 31st. They’re filled with guilt-inducing stories and desperate pleas. I feel obligated to give and angry. Giving shouldn’t make me feel angry. I should want to give.
Dec 31st is not a magic day. There is nothing particularly special about it. Except that it’s the end of the tax year. But come on, if you need a tax deduction that bad you should’ve started giving months ago. But, since someone somewhere decided this day should be special, I am riddled with guilt. Even if I don’t read the solicitations, I feel guilty for deleting them. (sigh)
I am proud to say this year we’re not hurting for money. We’re not broke. We dealt our cards right and we’ve been blessed. We’re doing well. If someone wants to give us money, great. But not ‘cuz it’s Dec 31st. This day was made to party.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2011
12/30/11 11pm
J- was really high tonight. I noticed immediately. It was annoying. It seems hypocritical of me to judge him for being stupid. But everyone knows I hate stupid people.
I got the best compliment from Barbara, whom I met for the first time tonight. I heard someone shout my name (her) then, “I want to be you!” Lol. THAT is awesome.
I’m really hungry. Got the jazz munchies. Need tacos. It’s always tacos. Mmmm. Tacos.
I’m on the trolley. I feel like I’m floating. I’d write on the lines but it’s hard to write at all. My hand wants to dance. Or float. It wants to float. I keep it grounded with the pen. Hmm. I need tacos. (3) I like tacos. :)
I hear strange piano music as I ride through the mist. They should sell this as “an experience.” That it is. Tacos in space. Tacos in space, man. Tacos in space.
You know, when I take my pearls off and ride the trolley with a bag of recyclables, people think I’m a hooker.
The music won’t stop in my head. It just keeps playing, faster and faster. It’s tiring me. Please. I just need tacos. I don’t want to interfere with the tune passing through me. But I’m dizzy and so cold and it’s hard to breathe. Music passing through me.
G, the strange experiences happen a lot around you, when you play. Why? What is it you’re not telling me? You are a portal. I am a seed.
(switch to “I Hope I Get It” from A Chorusline)
—
© Michelle Routhieaux 2011
12/30/11 9:45pm
Some people do drugs. I don’t do drugs. I do music. And not just any music. Jaazzz music.
Funky shit tonight. I feel dizzy & confused. I shouldn’t listen to the flute. Between my eyes hurts. The dose of poison lies in their minds.
Tonight I am waiting on the dawn of a pirate ship. I’m sitting on the floor behind Chuck’s podium. The fog is thick and everything is lit up. The night is quiet and a cool breeze jostles just the leaves. Something is coming. The ship is coming.
I sit here inside Dizzy’s and watch it happen, all without sound – just jazz – through the windows. The energy is here and the ship is coming. I feel paranoid. Oh the energy. Breathe. Invading my mind.
It may be possible the alien ships use the fog to pass in the night undetected by the human eye. No one really knows what lies beyond. I feel dizzy. I think I’m overdosing. Too much jazz. TOO MUCH JAZZ.
AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
I feel frantic. Breathe…
The world is turning now. There is no one here.
They’re coming. The ships are coming.
I need to call Dr. N.
(trumpet stops, bass starts)
My face is hot, whole body tingles. Feel euphoric. Try to breathe.
The sound bends time. Keep light in mind. And I’m the sober one.
Mainlining jazz. I feel dizzy. —
More often than not this happens when Gilbert plays. Spirit energy.
___
Cold. Now it’s cold. Why is it cold?! More flute. GO AWAY FLUTE!
Hard to breathe. In… Out…
© Michelle Routhieaux 2011
12/30/11 3:42am
I just realized what that safe feeling is. Trust. I read through a note I wrote tonight and at the end said, “I trust you.”
I don’t trust very many people. I rarely feel safe. Is trust what makes me feel safe?
People I Trust/Feel Safe With:
I would put my life in their hands. Walk on the water, not flinch.
It takes a LOT to earn my trust, in action and in energy. I am loyal to those I trust. For them I would do anything. They usually aren’t as loyal back to me. Once a person has betrayed this sacred trust they fall out of sorts with me. Kinda like purgatory. S-, S-, T. The “perfect person” has all my trust, and usually breaks my heart. But there are a few safe people I’ll always trust, or want to trust, no matter how bad they hurt me.
Trust. I should think more about this. I certainly don’t trust myself. In some situations I am very sure, but in many I just don’t trust me. Other people trust me, but I don’t trust me to make decisions for me. I don’t trust me. I don’t trust me.
Wow. 4am breakthrough. Pays to stay up late and listen to my thoughts. I should do this more often.
(break to look myself in the mirror and say “I trust you” and hug myself)
Wow. That was hard. And powerful. I think I’ll try it with “I love you” tomorrow. What a night.
-Michelle
© Michelle Routhieaux 2011
12/29/11 9:11pm
I had set out to write three letters and a blog post about Mexicans and refugees tonight. Didn’t quite get there. I’m sitting at Eddy V’s with some jazz friends. I have the beginnings of a migraine and I feel very sad. Almost crying sad. But I can’t cry cuz I’m sitting in a loud bar.
I like M- and I’d like to ask him out. I was looking for some reassurance and I asked a friend if she thought it was a crazy idea. She said yes it is crazy and that she doesn’t think he’d go for that. Cuz I’m crazy. I’m going to cry. Why can’t I be happy? Why do I have to be crazy?
I am flawed, unwanted, unlovable.
I’d like to tell M- I like him anyway, even if it’s just a pipe dream.
Even if it’s just a pipe dream.
I really shouldn’t dream.—
It is so loud in here. SO loud. And alternating hot and cold. I can feel the vibrations of the talking and the music in my head – literally. I smell seafood and soy sauce and my face is tingling. I just want to leave.
It’s not that I don’t know I’m 3 classes down on the pecking order. Can you just pretend for a moment I’m not? Just for a moment that I belong here? Just for a moment.
When class-jumping it hurts to be put in your place, especially when you don’t have a place.
(body freakout)
11:45pm
I feel so sad.
My left hand gave up a good hour ago.
I’m not one of them.
I’m just one.
I don’t belong anywhere. —
I felt like I belonged yesterday.
Today I am groundless.
I hear “Accustomed to Her Face.”
My left hand fingers are swollen. I am cold.
Zoe just slept on me & purred for awhile. It was nice.
Loving me is like adopting a cat. I offer awesome conditional love in return for food, shelter, attention, maintenance and love. —
Someone said in the group on Monday that not telling someone you like them is being rejected. But the worst that can happen if you tell them is the same rejection. It seemed smart at the time, but I don’t really agree. If I don’t tell him, it’s torture but I can continue to dream and scheme. But if I tell him and he rejects me, I just want to die and there are no more dreams. I need dreams.
I like to dream that someone like M- could love me. That I could have a good life and be safe and taken care of. That I would have someone to hold me instead of holding a teddy bear. I’m not 3. I just live with my mommy. And I dream that someday someone who can take care of me decides I’m worth loving and sets me free. I am high maintenance. I’m difficult and I’m sick. But I still love me. Why can’t he?
© Michelle Routhieaux 2011
12/30/11 3:53pm
(big sigh) I am so tired.
Not sleepy tired but weary.
I just spent an hour and 8 minutes on the phone with MediCal – the last 4 with an actual person. They have not processed my annual packet that I waited 3 hours for a receipt for and turned in on time and are therefore discontinuing my benefits as of Dec 31st. (roll my eyes) They did this last year too.
I posted on my FB that I was frustrated and this guy commented about how I should have private insurance and how it’s so much better. Really? I think not. Does he think I want to be a charge of the state? that I enjoy being tangled up in bureaucracy that dictates my life? I DIDN’T CHOOSE THIS! I didn’t wake up one day and say, “I think I’ll be sick for a living. That sounds fun.” I had a life. I’ve had private insurance. I have Medi-Medi now. And honestly, it’s the best of all the insurances I’ve had. Not just Medicare alone or MediCal alone, but both together. It is a magic combination that keeps me alive. I like being alive.
There are so many things wrong with these systems that I could write about if I had the energy, but I don’t. I’m tired. It takes so much work and knowledge and research to navigate the systems successfully. I am tired. I am tired.
My body is weak. My spirit is wilting. There is nothing to do in this moment but rest. Prepare for the fight.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2011
12/29/11 9:49pm
Note to self: Bring a bottle to pee in next time.
(sigh) That was nice. I just walked the entire length of Little Italy from El Camino to the America Plaza trolley stop without freezing or getting mugged or killed. Sweet. I stopped at 7-11 for some tea to warm my hands, but I drank it all and now I really have to pee. Except for tourists by restaurants, there was nobody out. Italian thugs in cars look a lot like Mexican gang bangers, but they left me alone. Even the sole guy walking past me with grocery bags didn’t say hi.
(This is weird. I’m on an empty trolley that hasn’t moved for 5 minutes and no one has asked me to get off. Hmm…)
I had planned on going to El Camino tonight, and I did. Margaret dropped me off around 8:30pm. The staff there told me there weren’t any seats anywhere. Apparently Gilbert’s whole entourage was there. I heard him tell someone it was already packed and gonna be crazy. And then L- swoops in 7 people and takes whomever was next’s table laughing about it. She’s such a bitch. I wasn’t gonna wait forever so I decided to walk randomly until I found somewhere to write or reached the trolley. Now I’m sitting on the trolley that’s not moving. It’s concerning me. But it’s somewhat warm. And I spotted another person. A driver would be nice.
(deep breath) I went on the most horrible date tonight. Parts of the conversation at Target were endearing but overall it was a bust. Who talks about abortion and marriage law over dinner? It’s no wonder more 37 year old gamers aren’t married.
—
I just had the most wonderful conversation with a guy at the trolley stop. He’s a 20 year old military guy stationed here until the end of February. We talked about jazz. He’s from Delaware. It’s nice to meet wonderful people.
I told Dr. N today I feel my biological clock ticking and I want a guy. He said that usually refers to babies. I told him you need a guy to make a baby if you don’t have money. He said I shouldn’t have any babies right now. I agree. But I’d still like to get started. I told him I want to marry a gay guy. He said I should find a gay guy who needs a green card…
Man, it’s cold… It’s quiet though. So nice. There’s a person I keep meeting eyes with who seems to be between sexes. Very Melissa Etheridge-esque but also looks like this guy from my group.
Will I ever get to have babies?
I know I do better when I’m not around or living with my mom. I am forced to take care of myself and I mostly enjoy it. I’m not trapped in the weird web of transactional analysis gone wrong. I am free to be me. Like yesterday when she went to work and I made myself lunch and went to the gym and made cookies and casserole and got some work done. The tv was off, music was on. It was amazing. A total 180 from feeling so stuck. Maybe she’ll work more days. It felt good tonight to walk too. Self-directed. It’s my life. For now. A good now.
I’m thinking of starting a second blog called Care Bear Share about my experience with DID. Semi-anonymous. I’m really scared. The message from my docs is that I need to integrate, whatever that means. But I don’t want to. I fully appreciate me, in all my various forms, and I don’t want to lose that.
It’s true I have only recently explored what’s going on, but it’s been happening for a LONG time. Even back in school I used to talk about the different mes and how they didn’t really cross over. I just never gave it a name. Now we have a name I don’t share with people and I’m not sure what to do.
I’m so much different than I used to be. —
My mom is so annoying.
I’m different. I’d like to get feedback about the changes from people who have seen me, but I don’t really hang out with anyone. I can’t remember.
I want to grow up. We should go on an adventure and find a life we can all live peacefully and happily in. No one left behind. I could do that. No melting pot. Casserole.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2011
This gallery contains 11 photos.
12/28/11 1:07am I had the most incredible experience recently. The day didn’t start out that way. I was in a rush to a meeting with just a few hours sleep and the lady cancelled on me when we were halfway … Continue reading
12-26-11 9:42pm
I told Mikan I’d been transported to ‘Ice Castles’ tonight. He said, “That’s the point.” “To transport me to ‘Ice Castles?'” “No, to another place.” But you do that every day.
And it got me thinking a) that I really shouldn’t eat the shrimp and b) what is another place? And what is here? Reality is subjective but my own reality is subjective to itself. How can I be transported to another place if I don’t know where I am to start with? I don’t know where I am, much less WHO I am. How can I be moved? (easily) And how do I know that I’m moving?
I close my eyes and rock. I feel dizzy, but alive. Which is a much different feeling than dizzy and dead. But I still don’t know where I am. What is am? Can I be am and was at the same time? What about will be and used to be? Does be require motion?
GPS. GPS my ass. Where am I in the great scheme of things? Seriously? If I knew where I was on the great unknown I might just freak. WHERE AM I? (music land)
I don’t know why I think of this just now. I wonder who I am at length often, which I guess is less freaky but equally as disturbing. I don’t even know who is writing this. But I like her and she likes music.
I feel dizzy, high. I smile drunkly, yet sober. I feel planted in my seat yet my body floats. It is foggy and my thoughts are pink. The music moves through my body, eating me, refining me like worms. Need dance me. Need dance me.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2011, drawing by Jamie Shadowlight
12/26/11 2:46pm
Polka Dots. I’m having polka dots. Not the cute circles. Random splotches of extreme moods. Last night I had an intense suicidal polka dot. Right now I’m extremely agitated. None lasts more than a few hours but they can be dangerous. It helps that I know they will pass. But they’re still intense.
What do you do with polka dots? They do not belong to all of us. I was thinking about that last night. When one or more of us is freaking out, the others aren’t. It is not appropriate to change everyone’s meds and you can’t just change one.
I DON’T UNDERSTAND!
I would never give 3 more Seroquel. I wouldn’t give her Seroquel at all. 13 could use some, but I don’t see her often. She wants to kill herself ‘cuz nobody cares. She is so alone.
If I could split it all up I would:
The polka dots make sense if split out, but I’m SO CONFUSED!
© Michelle Routhieaux 2011
Writing Towards Happy 