Category Archives: Mental Illness

Dear Me

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

11-15-10     11:48am

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

1:02pm

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

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

Dear Me,

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

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

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

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

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

I’m not withering. I’ve already died.

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

Because I don’t want to die.

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

I am.

No you’re not.

Yes I am.

Then how are you writing?

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

I hate you.

I hate you too.

I’m still hungry.

Pizza?

You’re on.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Saved

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11-5-10                10:37pm

I found myself in that place a few weeks ago. That place where I could not go on. My agitation was unmanageable. I could not fix it or stop it or understand why. I wasn’t running from a stressor or event. I could no longer stand my existence.

And I realized late one night that this was the mindset in which I should take myself to the hospital. I was losing control and the danger level was too high. But in that moment I realized I don’t want to be saved. I also realized there was no one I could call, no one who could listen and just be with me in that feeling. No one. I had to do something so I doubled my Seroquel and thankfully (miraculously) felt much better the next day. And when I woke up I finished the thought. It’s not that I don’t want to be saved. I do. I want to be saved from what’s ravaging my body & mind, but not from the thing that’s saving me from the thing no one can save me from. That I don’t want.

It’s been a few weeks. The mindbending agitation has not returned. I feel calmer – more confused. More movements. More colors and creativity. Dissociation. I need to dance and paint the sky. I don’t remember my problems, which is both good and bad. The thing I notice is that I am lonely. And it makes me think a lot about death.

The need in me for comfort is so high that I will do almost anything. I made a list this week of why I’m not killing myself and I was proud of myself for realizing that I don’t actually want to die. I want the pain to stop. I want to be held. I did not feel safe Monday night so instead of going home I slept over with a guy I barely know. It saved my life. He doesn’t know that. Doesn’t need to.

I’m quiet tonight in the music and the chaos. Too much stimulation. I need quiet. I need love. Saved.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Coping Skills

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10-31-10              1:39pm

I’ve used a lot of coping skills to get through the past few weeks. I want to share and remember them.

Recent Coping Skills:

Radio
iPod
Play with kitty
Warm water on hands
Sleep/Nap
Play-doh
Writing
Not writing
Facebook
Structure
Deep breathing
Live music
Distraction
TV
Taking pictures
Food
Shopping
Going outside
Comparison
Medication
Hugging my teddy bear
Letting myself feel
Crying
Rocking
Talking to people
Sharing in therapy
Forgiving myself
Forgiving others
Organizing old photos
Cleaning/Organizing/Sorting
Singing
Walking
Finding somewhere quiet
Keeping a calendar
Acknowledging what I’m grateful for
Prayer
KLOVE
Jango
Drawing
Chatting online
I Did It Lists
Texting
Watching movies & crime dramas
Sex
People list – made a list of people in my life (I tend to forget them)

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Rediscovery

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9-25-10                4am-ish

I found this today in a drawer I was cleaning out. I don’t miss the fear of feeling that way but I do miss the fascination of those sensations. I was working as a job coach at the time for adults with developmental disabilities.

4-17-16                9:13pm

I’m feeling really weird today. I’m very anxious and nauseous and I’m disoriented too. Yesterday I felt like I was going to collapse and today too. Mark said to check out the dance and theater programs at UI, that they’re amazing. I was one step ahead of him. He said he’ll only approve of my trip if I have time on the books but can he do that? It’s for a neuropsych eval. I have a brain disorder (and a booger I can’t get out of my nose). I’ll ask Vickie – not that I think she’ll know.

Today is one of those days I don’t really feel safe and probably shouldn’t be supervising consumers, especially in the community. My ears are invisible, my brain is morphing like a lava lamp and light like Model Magic, and my teeth feel like they could fall out of my head just like dentures. My eyes are floating, suspended in their sockets and tingling.

The NAMI Walk and being with D- were big triggers for me. I’ve been hiding my mental illness for so long and denying that it’s there. It is. D’s having a terrible relapse. I feel sad and concerned, for both of us.

The driver’s playing classical music and I’m beginning to dissociate. Yawning but extremely tense then a burst of energy and lightheadedness…..

And everything’s fine.
Yesterday was Easter.
It’s supposed to rain today… —

© Michelle Routhieaux 2006

Why aren’t you blogging?

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8-4-10                  3:12am

FB Status: I feel overwhelmed. And reality is crowding my think space.

I feel so sad and lonely tonight, and there’s no one I want to talk to. I eat white cherries and breathe through my mouth because the tension is too much. Garth Brooks’ “One Night a Day.” Exactly. I miss Fantasia. Zoe doesn’t cuddle. She just looks at me confused when I cry… then licks her butt.

A friend asked today (rightly so) why I’m not blogging. Deep breath. Sometimes it’s too much. I wrote something a few days ago but didn’t have the energy to type it. I haven’t been writing much at all. I’ve been sick.

I had a few better weeks but I’m back to headaches, weakness, dizziness, trouble breathing, exhaustion, zapping (now accompanied by louder vocalizations). Sometimes I’d like to write but holding a pen is too much energy. Other times there is just nothing on my mind.

I know it is my body’s resting/recovery state but I spend a lot of time dissociated, in my own world. I can’t control it. It’s not always bad. I’m just not here. I don’t know what day or time or season or month or year it is, or where I’m supposed to be, or why I am where I am. I go places and do things but I don’t experience them, and if I do I often don’t remember. I really should find someone who can figure out what’s wrong with me, but I don’t have the energy or I forget.

Another reason I don’t write is because I can’t handle what I have to say. I’m not ready for it to be real or it isn’t something I think would be worth sharing.

I have a lot of people in my life and the only person I share with is my therapist. No one knows what’s going on, and no one asks. I got a call from a friend last night and when I hung up I wondered. When I talk to people, what is it that I talk about? What do they hear?

I know when I talk with certain people there are specific things they talk about. The topics don’t change. But what are my topics? I don’t often share back. And I hate not having somebody to talk to that listens. I’m grateful to have had a friend to listen earlier tonight.

I haven’t been blogging about the crazy stress in my life. I am approaching disaster and there is nothing I can do about it. There is drama at the group I am trying to avoid. And more than I can handle at home.

M- said I can’t tell but I can’t hide her secret. It’s eating me alive. And it’s not really a secret. She’s still on workman’s comp for her arm that’s not healed and they stopped paying her. So she’s fighting it. (I don’t know why that’s a secret.) But, consequently, we have enough money for rent and that’s it. It’s not like there’s any slack or cushion. And I’m broke. I took out another card but it makes me wanna vomit.

The level of stress feels like poison in my body. I want to purge, to vomit or sweat it out or to break myself. To make it not hurt. But I can’t. So I listen to music. And pray.

Today we had a fight. Somehow we got on the topic of life insurance. And I said I would be shit out of luck if she died. She said no that I’d have money from the insurance and continue to live here. I pointed out that that would not be possible and why. She got all upset and said she’s sorry she can’t buy me a house to live in after she dies. I said I don’t want a house. Why would I want a house? I said, “I’d like to live in a condo in a high-rise with a maid and a doorman and an elevator.” That sentence felt good. And then she said it. “Ha! Right. Like that’s gonna happen.” (pause) I went outside.

Reality’s a bitch. I know what mine is but don’t throw it in my face. If I want to dream about living the good life, let me. I don’t do it often. It feels good. Even though I know it’s just a dream.

I was nominated member of the month today on a website I’m a part of and they sent me a list of questions to answer. One of them is what is my ultimate goal in life. (sigh) Really? To be happy. To not feel like this. To not be sick.

I want more than anything (at least in this moment) to be able to do whatever I can think up. To be “normal” and have a career and a relationship, a home, a car, some kids, and money. I don’t want to be here, dancing with illness and not dancing, trying to make it through the day. Filling my schedule with stuff. Padding the time. Eating hot dogs. Getting texts from the internet. I don’t want to be stalled anymore. I am withering.

I need to find meaning & purpose.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Hibernate

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7-13-10                11:20pm

I feel sad tonight. Not sobbing-my-life-is-over sad. Just quiet, subdued. I turned off the tv. I’m not online. I’m not texting anyone. The music in my head is soft.

I went to Sea World today with Sarah. Mom made stroganoff for us first. We did a ton of stuff today, but I wasn’t there. I didn’t experience it. It’s like sleepwalking. I’m just floating, vaguely aware of what’s going on around me. I’m back in hibernate mode. And I’m tired…

(staring)

In hibernate I don’t think a lot. I listen. I stare. I want to be alone. It doesn’t help to be with people because I don’t understand what they say or don’t care. It’s not that I don’t like them. I’m just not here. I don’t remember what people say, my own thoughts. I’m exhausted but not sleepy. I am emotionally needy. I am most likely, in hibernate, to make bad decisions about men, to throw things out that I want, and to run away. In the deepest of hibernate is when I have found myself walking in traffic and usually ending up in the hospital.

I would say it’s a varying level of dissociation. I rock. I often can’t control where my eyes go. I can’t look at you when I talk. I am distant, quiet. This is when I miss people the most. People special to me that I’ve lost or never see. I could walk for hours in the night, just thinking. I don’t want to go home.

The daisy bush is half-dead. And it’s hot inside. I’d like something to do right now but I can’t focus. I’m sitting on my patio, rocking, listening to an abnormally loud cricket and the cars. Mom is typing. Zoe’s talking to me. My bracelet, which I often feel is strangling me, feels light. Weird.

I wish I was in the hospital. Not because I need to be but because it’s predictable and safe. I can handle the structure. Nobody asks me to make big decisions and when I lay down in bed at night I know I’m okay. And that I can breathe. And that someone’s on my side.

It’s simple there. It’s outpatient life that’s crazy.

(pause to FB with Mom)

In hibernate happy comes more easily. So does sad and upset. Often for no apparent reason or for a reason no one else understands. My emotions are fluid and pure, unpredictable. And I simple have to/get to surf, to ride. There is no other option. –

I feel exhausted. It’s hard to write. The light gets brighter when the microwave stops. I’m almost to fantasy. I feel confused.

© 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

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

“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

Slow Fade – Breadstick & A Music Rush

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5-13-10                 3am

This song keeps running through my head. I’m nearing the end (I hope) of a fade. I have been falling gradually but significantly in the past few weeks. I’m concerned. Based on history, it shouldn’t be long before I’m quite crazy.

I realized today just how fucked up I am. The choir performance went fine, except for my not knowing which Friday the festival is on, even though I’m planning it. On the way to the taste test the confusion began. Now taste tests are not that difficult – sign in, eat, answer questions, get paid. I’ve done a ton of them. Not easy for me today. I was confused by the signs that said “Panel” instead of “Taste Test.” The software I’ve used for several years I couldn’t figure out. Halfway through I changed. I went from being alert, enjoying the food, and answering fully to very weak and tired, anxious, and unable to think, read the questions or answer clearly.

I went to my therapist’s from there and tried to comprehend his face as I explained that I’ve been convinced that I’m either being followed by spirits or losing my mind and that God is still following me. I’m aware that these are crazy things, but they’re very real to me. And they’re scary. He classifies them as psychotic. I don’t blame him. He asked how much I believe this could be my brain tricking me. About 50/50. I believe in spirits. Apparently he doesn’t.

I left there and had the most peaceful time at the beach. I found a rock that looks like a moray and took it, but I feel weird about that. There’s a spirit in the rock. And morays have always creeped me out.

I knew not to go home so I met a friend for dinner and a movie. But I had 2 hours to kill at the mall beforehand. I returned something and went to the food court to be schooled by a breadstick. There was a guy giving samples. They were scrumptious. He was too talented and smart to work there. So I decided to order some and looked at the menu. It said under Side Orders “Garlic Breadsticks $1.29.” I asked how many are in an order. The non-sample guy said, “One.” Mass confusion. “But there’s an S. That indicates plural breadsticks.” He just looked at me. My anxiety was through the roof, heart racing, confusion rampant. I asked how much this one non-plural breadstick was and he said, “$1.42.” (?) “But the sign says $1.29.” “Plus tax,” he said, as if it was the norm for people to quote the price including taxed. I was poised to have a meltdown, literally…

(continued 5-14-10  5:02pm)

“Pump up the Jam” is playing now and I’m needing to dance. Music is a drug. A wonderful one.

Yes, I am approaching crazy. But for this moment I feel happy. A breadstick made clear the level of impairment confusion is causing me. I think I’m having a plethora of seizures. I’m writing down what I can. I have a journal just for that. Right now I am listening to music. Today I attempted to read a fashion blog. Didn’t work so well. It’s okay. Rocking and dancing in my head, completely thrown off by the sound of the wind chime outside and my mom clanging dishes. My neurologist is again NOT calling me back. Not a smart thing to do. I mean really. Why would you piss off a crazy person whose symptoms are triggered by being upset? My psychiatrist called me back this morning but I was sleeping.

Yes, I’m concerned. No, I don’t have any extra brainpower to devote to it. I have so much confusion and I’m going through these cycles of wide-eyed happiness followed by zaps and face stuff and exhaustion and headaches. The song on the radio now is driving me nuts. I don’t want to leave my computer chair.

(break to go outside)

I love Ricky Martin. I like being in my own world in the music. All the memories and the images in my head. (big yawn) Gosh, I’m tired. Give it about 10 minutes… Nope, just 30 seconds. Tapping, full of energy. Typing correctly is not easy when your arm is resting on your moving leg. ;)

Lady Gaga’s “Just Dance” always speaks to me. It’s so true. “I can’t remember but it’s alright, alright. Just dance. Gonna be okay…” Dance and music make almost anything okay.

© 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

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

Avoidance

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1-26-10                 10:43pm

Homework – Janice

What are you avoiding and how is it limiting you?

Janice asked this question today and she shared a story about someone’s snake phobia escalating into agoraphobia. And she asked what we avoid. I avoid people. I avoid trusting and getting close to people, not just because they cause me anxiety but because they actually do harm. Like the boy confined to his bed from fear, I separate myself from the world. Only I’m still in it, interacting every day disconnected with hundreds of people. It’s an art, a precise skill, a talent to be able to con so many. It requires being constantly alert to other peoples’ motives, even the ones they’re not aware of. Learning how people work, what the rules are, what you can get by not saying and what you must disclose. I’m good at reading people because it’s almost all that I do. Observation, Calculation, Hypothesis, Prediction. But there is little accurate prediction that’s consistent. I’m like a spy. Others get information on a need-to-know basis. When I find a safe person, someone I feel I can actually trust, the floodgates open. There is such an intense need to tell, a need to share. However, that person rarely shares my level of need to know or time and energy to dedicate. Michael’s mom on Burn Notice says, “Loving Michael is trench warfare.” So is loving or being close to me.

Janice asked, “Wouldn’t it be nice to go around inside a big safe bubble all the time?” No! It’s lonely! And scary! And it’s really not safe. It’s just separately dangerous. I avoid people. It limits me by keeping me away from the world. I so desperately desire to be close to people and not get hurt. But I require a distance, a space between us. Written communication is good, something I can look back on. Close proximity. Not necessarily interaction, just closeness and acknowledgement, reciprocation. But I can’t take being too close to people. If they want from me what I want from them and what I give, no more than I give, I run. The excessive neediness of others I can’t handle. I have enough trouble handling my own.

It (my fear and avoidance of people) limits me by keeping me out of relationships. I’ve never had a successful romantic relationship. I’ve had a handful of dates, a manic weekend in Virginia with a 58 year old guy, the traumatic stalking director thing in ’04. My most semi-official and promising futureless relationship was the 47 year old crazy Ukrainian immigrant who is now making my life Hell. Actually, the Hell is only his fault when he’s around or in any way communicates with me, appropriately or not.

What’s the process?

  • I was me.
  • People hurt me.
  • Therefore, I must have done something wrong.
  • Therefore, I am bad and must repent. I don’t deserve goodness.
  • Since I don’t know what I did wrong, I continue to be myself only better.
  • I get praise for perfection.
  • People still hurt me.
  • I must’ve done something wrong. I try to be better.
  • And I stay farther back.
  • People still hurt me.
  • I try to be better and get really good, but not good enough.
  • I stop letting people in.
  • People still hurt me.
  • I hurt myself.
  • I decide that maybe it’s not me. Maybe all people are out to get me and no one is safe.
  • I stop giving. I shut everyone out.
  • I stop being perfect.
  • I stop caring.
  • I feel angry and hurt.
  • The praise or negative feedback to my behavior doesn’t faze me because I just don’t care. But I do. Praise seems fake. And criticism just proves my point.
  • I become jaded, bitter, cold & distant.
  • People continue to hurt me because I can’t get away from them completely. And I desperately miss and need them.
  • If “everyone’s out to get me” is not working out or is too scary, I must have been right. I did something wrong. If I can just do it better, then I’ll get what I need. Someone will love me. Someone will stop everyone from hurting me.
  • I do projects, join groups, take stands, accomplish wonderful things many people are proud of me for. But I’m not proud of myself, at least not for long. When the project is over, I’m still alone. It’s not the project I was looking for.
  • And people still hurt me.
  • I take chances along the way. Some grand and some minor. There are victories, periods where I feel reasonably safe. But then the safe person, the grounding point or points, my anchors turn, leave, die, or hurt me in some other way. Sometimes it’s outward drama. Sometimes they don’t even know.

To be successful in trench warfare you need a team that’s got your back. Hell, you need that to win a game of paintball or laser tag. But when it comes down to it it’s every man for himself. Shoot or be shot. Even with your best friends. I choose to be shot for them. They choose to shoot me. When you study them long enough, most people are predictable.

  • So I reach a point where I can reasonably assume that everyone is out to get me AND I have done something(s) horribly wrong. If it’s not one or the other, it simply must be both. My distrust for others is coupled with my great desire that no one else feel this pain, making things more complicated. I must be perfect enough to gain enough approval to survive but brazen enough to make it known that I hate most of the world and not to mess with me.
  • Some people are intimidated. Some are scared. Some stay away. The people who are awed or inspired flock to me for help. After all, I’m good at providing the affection I so desperately need but don’t get. Yes, I’m bitter. I know what he should have said in that situation, what she most likely was thinking, because I’ve been there and I’m not afraid to say it. I have nothing to lose. I genuinely care about the fate of the people I help, but I also genuinely hate that I care. I hate that I’m the only one that cares THAT much, to THAT extent, and that my life has made me so good at it.
  • I don’t practice what I preach. I’m a cross between Elpheba & the Wizard, Mark & Benny (RENT). The Benny side of me answered someone in the van this morning who asked why we don’t have a cure for bipolar or why we won’t soon by telling him that curing disease is not “fiscally responsible.” What? I know it’s completely true. I tried to explain the orphan disease/drug phenomenon. It was not what the man needed. He needed hope. All I had at the moment was truth.
  • I call myself an opportunist. Someone recently called me a mercenary. My friend’s father (and I use that term loosely) recently died from a heart attack. Later that day his mom suffered a minor heart attack. My first thoughts? Wow. His life is going to get a lot better.

I am not fazed by this Haiti thing. I don’t care! I may seem bitter and cruel. So be it. But I actually had a conversation, well a line of thoughts, during a prayer this week about Haiti. Here’s how it went:

The people of Haiti don’t realize what a gift they’re giving the world. Sure, they lost 72,000 people, but they’re bringing the world together. People are united for a common positive cause. There is hope. People are feeling and talking. This is a good thing.

Then I thought, who does my suffering benefit? Cuz it certainly isn’t me. But I do benefit. I have people who support me. I create many jobs – doctors, nurses, file clerks, people in billing, insurance companies, benefits departments, therapists, the pharmaceutical industry. My suffering benefits so many other people. It would be irresponsible for me to get better. “Fiscally irresponsible.” Heck, I’m even good at my non-job job because of my suffering. It’s made me who I am and made me good at what I do.

It’s a disturbing and not illogical line of though. The system is set up for me to succeed at being sick. Maybe because they know that’s what I’m good at or maybe because they want me there. I add more to the US economy as a disabled person than an income-tax paying citizen.

(sigh)

That’s not the point. What was the point? Oh, that it’s not an illogical or untrue line of thought. The problem is that I don’t WANT to suffer. I don’t’ LIKE, or most of me doesn’t LIKE, feeling this way. I like feeling, but I don’t like not feeling and being cut off. This more of a lifestyle than a set of disorders. It’s a way of life.

M- said the other night that she wants to be ready when she checks back into reality. I’m not sure I want to check in. What if I don’t like it? What if I can’t come back? There is a certain comfort in knowing that people will hurt you no matter what you do, that it’s lonely when your mom doesn’t yell, and that every now and then when you just can’t handle it and your mind and body are freaking out that people you have known for years and feel safe with will take care of you for awhile, even if it does mean a ton of suffering.

The most brilliant, creative, and artistic people are and always have been deeply trouble. My best writing comes at my lowest times, which seem to be the most productive growth-wise and spiritually. My best work in dance and theater came at times when I was losing or sometimes out of control. Up or down. Finding a balance has meant losing many moments of brilliance and creativity. It hopefully has tempered some of the pain, and definitely extended my lifespan. But these moments of clarity and understanding, of breakthrough, are few and far between. It takes something huge to break the stone statue and let out some of the molten lava inside. And there’s just a small window of opportunity when the emotion is accessible, close to the surface. Miss that window and God only knows when it will come again. That’s why crisis is good and urgent. Crises that affect me directly and cut to my core. And it’s why Barb unearthing my family during the Michael situation is so rich with opportunity. Because she happened to touch something deep inside me at a time when I’m able to access my emotions, think clearly and write! Woohoo! But I see her once a week. And I see Janice for a few minutes and in passing. And I send Susan emails. And I talk to you (my journal). I don’t know how to make progress doing that, other than this. Writing and passing it along. I want more. I need more.

You don’t deserve more.

Leave me alone!
Please, just leave me alone…

I breathe and hear the clock tick. There’s a hair on my sheet. I forget if the pattern represents sin or cos. A perfect curve… I miss Terrie.

(sit and listen and stare)

Cocoon to Butterfly. When does it end?

Be happy for my happiness, Spongebob

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2-21-10 4:30am

I just said that to a friend. Be happy for my happiness, Spongebob.

Yes, I know it’s 4:30 in the morning but I’M HAPPYYYYYYYYYY! (said like “It’s Bacon!” from the Beggin’ Strips dog treats commercial). I want to skip down the middle of my street in the pouring rain and twirl around. (sigh) My happiness is tempered by mom’s barking about going to bed, but the rain is simply intoxicating.

I just listened to the whole cd I bought tonight. The music is even better to the rain. My Spongebob friend, whom I’ve never called Spongebob before, made reference to the difficulty in telling the difference between happiness and hypomania. I don’t really care what it is as long as it’s not destructive. Spending lots of money I don’t have, running in front of cars – bad. Bouncing up and down in the kitchen overwhelmed by the excitement of rain and good music and a good day – not bad.

Tonight I finished most of a project I thought would be really hard in about 10 minutes. I don’t anticipate it being difficult to complete. I did a bunch of fun things, took chances. And I feel GREAT… And I know if I continue to feel great it could be dangerous.

I hate the knowledge. (sigh, shake my head) I hate having to wonder when happy is too happy, if feeling happy tonight and then happy tomorrow will mean another “vacation” sometime soon. What do you do when you want nothing more than to be happy, to feel like I do tonight, but when you’re happy the happiness scares you? Is avoiding a dangerous high worth staying sad for? I don’t think so. Be happy for my happiness, Spongebob. And hope it doesn’t last long. I don’t want that to be my motto.

I want to feel free. I want to fly without fear, to run lightning fast without my mind stopping me. To walk on a beam successfully, you don’t look at your feet. You don’t think about dance, you just dance. Close your eyes and let your feet do the work, let your body feel the motion. Sense the people around you. Be happy for my happiness, Spongebob. I feel a little sad.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010