Category Archives: Vent

Life doesn’t come with airbags

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7-26-12     3:01pm

Wow. That is ridiculous. I just called a doctor’s office to request records they failed to send to Social Security. And the lady went off on me. I tried to listen with empathy but finally I said, “Well, I can see how that sucks for you, but it sucks for me too.”

She was telling me how she’s begged and pleaded with Social Security and doesn’t understand why they can’t send someone to the office to copy the records. That she has SO many records she has to do and send and that it’s only her in the office and she’s overwhelmed. (silence) Okay. There are many solutions to this problem. Telling me is not one of them. It’s part of a medical practice to keep records and distribute them as needed. It’s a huge part of a neurology practice that specializes in serious illness. It is unacceptable to be unable to provide the requested documents in a timely manner because you overwhelm your staff and they’re freakin’ out. She literally asked me why they couldn’t just come copy them. I told her that would be a breech of privacy. She said it wouldn’t. Yes it would. To allow access to all patient records by an outsider with copy privileges IS a breech of privacy, in the biggest way. I felt sorry for this lady but I still need those papers.
She said she’d get to them when she can. I said, “Is when you can a month? six months?” She said not six months. (deep breath)

She seemed to think there was a vast pool of resources and available people to just gallivant around town making copies in offices. I’d make the copies myself but she didn’t ask. I’d send her a nice card but I don’t want her to think I’m manipulating her. I’m not sure what to do. The SS guy wouldn’t call me back so I talked to his supervisor today who was so very nice. I was surprised. They’re usually not. (just keep breathing.)

I completed my goals today – make needed phone calls. Email is beyond me. I’m exhausted now. If you’ve sent me an email recently and not received a response, you’re not alone. I’m avoiding it entirely. I just delete what I know is not relevant. I am easily spooked and set off, angered or upset. And I can’t think to deal with business issues. Or any other issues of the sort. I look forward to getting on the bus and riding away. No Acer foreign representatives to frustrate me. No mom on the phone with her boyfriend who is preparing for a tornado, literally. Why do people live in places with tornados? I don’t know. I feel slivly. No, I don’t know what that means.

I’ve been writing a lot. A LOT. I’m glad I see Dr. N next week. I saw him this week too. Dropped off 22 pages of writing yesterday. Too much stress. Life doesn’t come with airbags. I am exhausted.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Rant about politics

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*You may find this offensive.*
4-5-12     6:05am

I don’t understand politics. I find myself up ridiculously late exhausted but reading random political news bits. It’s all such bullshit. Like 3rd grade on a much bigger scale and everyone’s fighting over who’s in charge and who gets to do what and whom is in trouble and what they’re gonna do to him and what they’re gonna ban or unban next. Only in 3rd grade there’s a teacher and a principal and you don’t get to choose who they are every 4 years.

It seems lately that most of the bickering is over how not to treat people equally and money. I’ll make it really simple. If you want to solve your money problem, stop fighting wars, legalize assisted suicide and start promoting suicide and abortion and providing free birth control. It’s much cheaper to kill off the people who cost you money and prevent new ones from existing than to help them. Politicians know that. And I’m not being cheeky either. I’m one of the people they’re trying to kill off. They’re just not doing it effectively. And I take offense to that.

Stop fighting over abortion and gay marriage and whether or not we should have a fort on the moon and why we shouldn’t do what’s right by our people. Just stop. It doesn’t make any sense. And for God’s sake, stop the “war on drugs.” We all know you lost. Let’s regroup. Can you do that? I don’t understand. I’m pretty sure you don’t either.

M

© MR 2012

Bitch, you crazy

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4-4-12     1:48pm

I wonder how many people PMS has actually killed. I have had THE worst 2 weeks, not just wanting to kill other people (pretty standard), but myself. It took all my energy not to do it. There are stressors in my life but the magnitude of this building freakout was not in proportion. Last night and the night before were THE worst. And then today I got my period and I’m crashing. I feel so much better.

I’m accustomed to the physical symptoms of PMS and being moody, but nothing like this. Being crazy as a standard doesn’t bother me but being crazy from PMS does. I feel like it devalues the experience. Oh, it was just PMS. She’s just hormonal. Well just almost killed me. Damn. I already have one diagnosis that means “it’s all in your head.” I don’t need another that means, “Bitch, you’ just a crazy woman.” I believe they call that one PMDD. Like it really needs a name.

(sigh) I’d like to be less crazy. I have enough trouble managing/handling my day to day symptoms. I don’t know why this is worse now. When I was in high school I had horrible cramps and PMS, but since I’ve been on antipsychotics I’ve been fine. I tried birth control once but it made me WAY worse. My doctors tell me I shouldn’t have kids, which makes me wonder why I even have a functioning system at all. I don’t know, but I do. And it’s trying to kill me.

Bitch, you crazy.
Bitch, I know.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

A Guardian and other randomness

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3-30-12     12:55 am

i wonder how the mind works seven in the night. Tonight I went to a bar to hear music. I pondered the plasticity of the brain and soft shoe dancing. And “Mona Lisa” made the joints of my ring finger tingle. I wrote about my feelings and fears, drank tea and ate bad chicken. Altogether a good night.

I was disturbed though by this one waiter. He’s never nice to me. He tries to appear to be but he’s cocky. He asked to see my ID to be in the bar after I’d already ordered. I said since they serve food there’s no age limit. He said I would need a “guardian” with me. Wow. How old do I look? I’m not drinking. I’ve been there many times before. My behavior is not disruptive. I walk around and write. Even 20 year olds don’t have guardians. I felt offended. He blamed it on his manager. I guess tea drinking chicken eating writers are not wanted as regulars there. Quite disconcerting. For the record, I’m 26. And sober.

I talked to Jim today about my trip to GA. I went to Possum Trot last weekend and had a blast, remembered how much I love clogging and how much I need to do it more. The project/idea side of my brain started scheming and I decided I need to take a trip to GA to find myself through clogging for a month. My mom is completely against it, says it’s ridiculous and crazy. My friends and providers think it’s great. I think it’s awesome and exciting and terrifying. But I so wanna do it. I found a craigslist room for rent ad there and actually emailed about it. I want to find me. Wherever I left her she’s waiting.

I took a trip to GA 8 years ago under very different circumstances. I’ve grown a lot since then. It’s something to remember. I want to learn to be more independent, to take care of myself and not have to rely on others. I think this might be like a missions trip. Mission: Find me. Get away for a time from everything here, everything doctor, illness, all the labels and expectations. Write, dance, breathe. I don’t know if it will happen but the planning gives me hope. A thing to believe in. A thing to be.

It’s weird. Today I hear the cadence of what my thoughts should be, but I can’t quite hear the words. It’s annoying. And free. Really it’s not free, but it should be. Knee. Things rhyme but they don’t make sense. Whatever. Just me. I spent $95 at Victoria’s Secret today to get a free umbrella. I shoulda just bought an umbrella. They never have panties that fit me. I know I have a big butt but it’s not THAT big…

Zoe’s on the door and I can’t think. I noticed at the workshop this weekend that I didn’t have as much trouble thinking. Less confusion and thought blocking. And the more days of not dancing the worse it gets. I have to wonder if I danced every day if I’d be less confused. Life processed through dancing makes sense. Life processed through other things is just a mess. Oh yes. (sigh)

I’d really like some peanut butter and jelly. Not so much the bread. Imran. (big smile) I know I’m rambling, but I like rambling, and so do you. Here’s to not making sense. (clink)

I gotta sleep. I feel like someone rearranged all the connections in my brain and it no longer works right.

Happy trails, Michelle

PS – I’ve lost my love of capital letters lately. like wearing pajamas to work.

(happily watching Stand Up For Mental Health videos and random YouTube comedy)

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

I am SO hungry

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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

Is there such a thing?

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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

Dec 31st

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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

Weary

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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

Can’t get the energy out

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11/16/11     11:30pm

I need to take more seroquel. I can’t get the energy and rageful anger out. And I HATE the people that make me angry. AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! Sometimes it’s extreme happiness. I have nothing to do with it. NO place to put it. No dancing or music or LIFE. I CANNOT tolerate people and their stupidity and their nonsense making and their not rightness. I’m very happy that I lost 8 pounds in the last two weeks. I feel skinny again. I like to feel my insides. But  I’M GOING INSANE. Likely already there. Are there levels of insanity? Cuz I think I’ve been in the maze for awhile. Oooh, I like mazes. SHUT UP! AHHHHHHH!!!!! Xanax doesn’t touch it. It’s from beyond. The universe told me. The universe tells me lots of things. AAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Grrrrrr. I have a million ideas I can’t iterate. Or do. I do NOT want to watch the tv. I stood in my living room tonight jumping up and down screaming shooting my arms at the sky then growling. I can’t get the energy out. They think it’s funny in choir. It doesn’t feel funny. It feels very VERY serious. Brain surgery saving the universe serious. Are you listening?! What am I talking about? Yes. That’s the point. I’m not manic. It’s different than mania. Close but no cigar. But whatever you call it, it needs to stop. Or I may just take over the universe. One growling scream session at a time. So there.

I need more pizza.

I’m not hungry but I don’t know what else to do than eat. And eat. And FB, which is extraordinarily boring right now since I’m tasked with saving the universe and all. But I don’t know from what. That could be a problem. I wish I belonged to a 24 hour gym. It flashes in my mind about ever 6 hours that tomorrow is the 10nth anniversary of my dad’s death. I have no way to get to the cemetery and I don’t want to go with my mom. And taxis are expensive. What I’m more concerned about is that I’m supposed to have lunch with this PR friend lady tomorrow and I haven’t heard from her. Life is death and death is ugly. I wonder if it’s possible to make death purple. Then it wouldn’t be ugly OR scary… What am I talking about again?

I need pizza.

(sigh)

I am exhausted. I can’t get the energy out. It’s buzzing buzzing through me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Settled disgust, helpless rage

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11-5-11 6:13pm

Settled disgust and helpless rage.

I’m heading to Dizzy’s. I’d rather just die. I was excited until I opened my mail. The state of CA is cutting all MediCal coverage for Adult Day Health Care. Referring to IHSS – a program on the chopping block – and case management. Right. People are going to suffer and die. Programs will close. More jobs will be lost. And MediCal spending will rise from hospitalizations, skilled nursing placements and severe relapses. But mostly people will suffer alone and die. Which is what I’ve been saying is the goal of the government for some time.

People think I’m crazy, say I’m paranoid. No, I’m RIGHT. I’m right. And I have no way to change it.

I get murderously angry. Anyone who doesn’t should be killed. But there’s nothing I can do. I am a direct-care worker, a human. My Republican friends tell me it’s Obama’s fault. (I know. They lack brains.) My lobbyist friends say I should pursue my constituents and educate them on the facts, persuade them to the right direction. Vote for better people, the “right” politicians. But there are no good or better people in politics or running. Those of us who really give a shit are on the ground working it, doing it. Saving lives, changing diapers, writing reports. For minimum wage. Because we care. I don’t have the heart to be a politician. I have a heart.

So, I sit here on the trolley that MTS fucked up writing a blog about a government I can’t fix that’s trying to kill me on my way to a jazz gig. I’m hoping there’s candy in my bag. My ipod’s dead and I forgot to eat. Fucking government. I don’t even have it in me to rant about the inclusion of a Congrats! MediCal now covers 7 million ways to stop smoking for FREE insert with the By the way we’re killing you letter. (Breathe…)

I should live in England.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

To Eliminate Me

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9-14-11     1:07am

**Vent**

I just got an email from the International Bipolar Foundation. I get emails from them all the time. I get so much email that I don’t pay much attention but something caught my eye at the end of this one. The mission statement:

Our mission is to eliminate bipolar disorder through the advancement of research; to promote and enhance care & support services; and to erase associated stigma through public education.

This is so incredibly upsetting to me. The second two parts don’t apply if they achieve the first, which is the one that gets me. They want to eliminate bipolar disorder. Really? There must not have been any bipolar people on this mission-making crew. To eliminate bipolar disorder. That’s personal. They might as well just say they want to eliminate ME.

There is the whole movement of person-first language and the “I have bipolar disorder” instead of “I am bipolar.” I do not subscribe to this movement. Whether I have or I am bipolar disorder, it is a huge part of my life. Without my symptoms I wouldn’t be me. Being bipolar allows me more creativity. I get to experience higher highs, bigger ideas, grander plans. I sink to depths that are extremely painful but bring intense poetry and understanding. I see things other people don’t. I feel and sense things other people never will. And I wouldn’t ever trade that. Ever.

My psychiatrist even said yesterday, “If you didn’t have these extremes, you wouldn’t be Michelle.” I LIKE being Michelle. I like seeing colors and numbers and being creative and making connections other people don’t. I know I’m not always happy. But I’m me. Why would you eliminate me? Cuz you don’t wanna deal with me? Cuz I cause too much trouble?

Some of the most successful people in the world are or have been bipolar. Would you eliminate them? Would you eliminate the things they accomplished through their extra bipolar abilities? 

I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with. And I know that a lot of my life has been very painful. There are so many times I just want to give up. To actively end this pursuit. But I would NEVER choose to end bipolar. It’s not like curing cancer or AIDS. It’s not all bad. It’s taking a part of me away. And stopping the greatest part of someone else from ever happening. I mean think of it. If they eliminated bipolar disorder eventually it would just be a line in a textbook. What could’ve been, buried in a book. 

It just baffles me. Makes me angry. And sad. That kind of sad where my heart is quiet because I can’t stop these people from hating bipolar for whatever reason they do. And I can’t stop them from trying to eradicate it from the planet, to eradicate me. All I can do is watch. And get angry reading my email. I guess if you have enough money you can attempt to eradicate anything. You should just hope other people aren’t making it their mission to eradicate you.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

I am not a priest!

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9-6-11     6pm

Email is like being God and hearing prayers every moment of the day. I don’t get to choose whose sending to me. I don’t get to censor what they say. But every moment of every day people are sending things to me.

Sometimes I wonder what possesses people to send things to me. I understand with what I do why people share their stories with me. But some days it baffles me. I get emails with peoples’ life stories. I get text messages full of symptoms and disease. Random people call me up for info and share their deepest darkest secrets. People on the trolley share their secrets with me.

WHY? WHY?
Seriously.

I understand why people share with me. But I am not a priest!

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Overwhelmed by Technology

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9/2/11     1pm

I feel overwhelmed by people and technology. And noise and light and everything else. But right now it’s technology.

Can you name 10 things you interact with every day that don’t require electricity, aren’t connected to the internet, and don’t run on batteries? I’m not against these things but they’re taking over my life. My 10 are my journal, purple pen, cat, furniture, backyard… Well, I guess I don’t have 10.

I find myself surrounded by technology, which isn’t always a bad thing, but people use this technology to get to me. Something is always beeping or ringing or my mom’s phone alarm is going off. She sets that thing for EVERYTHING completely unimportant. Between email, FB, phone, text, SoU and Google+ I am completely available to harass all the time. I’ve taken up reading on my phone, which is great for the 15 seconds it’s not beeping, buzzing or ringing. I wish I never got a smart phone. And I got an i-pod touch from a friend recently when mine disappeared. I’m very grateful to have portable music but I can’t stand the damn thing. Touch is not my mecca. Give me buttons. I want to control it with my eyes shut. It adds to the confusion, the overwhelmedness. WHY IS EVERYTHING SO COMPLICATED?

And all these damn things emit their own energy. Energy, energy, energy. Even when they’re silent they make themselves known. And simply looking at them I’m overwhelmed. Everything is on the computer these days. WHAT HAPPENED TO PEN AND PAPER? I’m FREAKIN’ OUT. 

My two phones, i-pod, camera, tv, microwave, computer and radios should NOT be running my life. The first thing I see when I wake up shouldn’t be email. I do not want to be addicted to my smart phone, dependent on technology. I even need my scanner now to communicate with my doctor. The machines are taking over.

I HATE YOU.

I could turn them off but that would be allowing myself to a) admit I’m not important, b) possibly miss something important, or c) deal with my own thoughts. Even more overwhelming.

I am so agitated right now. I need drugs.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

I am not touched

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1/11/11 2:10am

I just got an email that says, “We have all been touched by the tragic event in Arizona.” (sigh… twice) I am so angry to keep hearing about this thing. I’ve been trying to lower my stress level. I get stressed very easily. Confused very easily. I had just succeeded in lowering my blood pressure to a non-explosive level and was calmly sitting in my aunt’s kitchen when she handed me the paper with the headline “Congresswoman Shot in the Head.” Really? I immediately could not breathe and my heart was pounding. Not because I care about this woman. It was an involuntary response. I skipped that article but read a tiny one about Obama and the whole Wikileaks thing. And I was so upset. Why? It’s all out of my control.

I’m not touched by the event in Arizona. I really don’t give a shit. The dj on the radio was freaking out about it, comparing it to the Kennedy assasination and 9/11. What? Do you not have anything better to worry about? Maybe something concerning your own life or family? Sure, I could be a news junky and devote my life to being distressed about every horrible thing in the world. But I prefer to spend my energy on doing things I enjoy and caring for people I love. Is that really such a bad thing?

I don’t watch the news. I don’t read the paper. If it’s really that important someone will tell me. I take a sweater and an umbrella if it’s cloudy. Everything else will settle on its own. Why can’t people understand that? Do not assume that I am touched.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Just One

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12-21-10    3:01am

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

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

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

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

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

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Insufficient Funds

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12-20-10    12:10pm

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

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

(call from a stupid person)

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

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

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

**NEWSFLASH! I have feelings too!**

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

I’m so angry…

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

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

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

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

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Some days I’m just crazy

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12-1-10 6:47pm

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

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

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

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

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

—

7:16pm

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

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

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

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

—

11:35pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Dear Me

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

11-15-10     11:48am

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

1:02pm

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

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

Dear Me,

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

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

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

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

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

I’m not withering. I’ve already died.

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

Because I don’t want to die.

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

I am.

No you’re not.

Yes I am.

Then how are you writing?

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

I hate you.

I hate you too.

I’m still hungry.

Pizza?

You’re on.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

How are you?

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11-7-10                2:07am

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone asks and nobody cares.

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

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

A Little Less Blessed

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7-5-10                  12:25am

(unspellable groan) Why, God, do you bless me with so much shit?! I swear hoarding is the disease of the blessed. Tonight I’d like to be a little less blessed.

Today I went through some purses. Now my room is a disaster, more so than usual. My bed is engulfed. It’s more reorganizing, repositioning, than purging. I managed to give up two sweatshirts and a purse – to the couch that is. Who knows if they’ll ever make it out of the house.

I’d like to be blessed in ways other than possessing the talent to possess so many different things and the lack of talent or ability to get rid of them. I know why I do it. It’s a big part of my life. But sometimes it can get overwhelming.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010