Tacos in Space

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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

Mainlining Jazz

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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

Trust

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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:

  • Dr. N
  • Dr. T
  • Scotty
  • God
  • Jane
  • My Mom and Aunt
  • M-
  • SPS
  • Chuck

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

Just for a moment

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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

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

No melting pot. Casserole.

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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

Killing Demons

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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

Polka Dots

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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:

  • Give 3 a hug and a meal & sleep plan
  • Put 7 in school
  • Put 13 in therapy and on an SSRI
  • Get 25 a job and a diet
  • Do anything necessary to lift Fairy Godmother’s depression.

The polka dots make sense if split out, but I’m SO CONFUSED!

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Happy People

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12-21-11     10pm

Seeing happy people makes me really sad.

I sang at Sea World today. Major stress getting everything organized but the singing part was fun. Now I’m crashing – exhausted and sad.

There is a person who works the event that I really like. He is gay and taken, but I like him anyway. He has such a warm energy. I just watch him and I dream. Lately I feel very homely. I’m not sure if that’s the right word. I’m getting old. My life time is kicking in. I want to settle down. I want a partner. I want a family. I want to feel warm and safe, not as a child but a me. And when I see people like this guy, I wish I had one just like him in my life.

(Breathing…) But, I am me.
For some reason that cannot be. I don’t understand and I feel angry. And I eat more Chinese food. Then I just feel sad… So sad. That sad where everything is quiet and the tears don’t roll down my face. Even bad people have families. Why not me?

Happy people make me sad.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Christmas & Shopkick

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12-17-11     8:07pm

I hate Christmas.

I went to a Christmas variety show today at a church and God spoke to me. He told me to buy a Panda Express and gave me a great idea for churches. A section for those of us who can’t sit still called Fit Church where we can walk on a treadmill or ride a stationary bike during the service. I would totally sign up for that.

I have a love-hate relationship with my new fake tree. I had finally decided to keep it and that it was perfect when my mom decided to flip some sections around. Um, HELLO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Now the tree is dead to me. It feels sad, I feel sad and Mom is angry. I hate Christmas.

I’ve been Shopkicking a lot. It’s an app where you earn points (kicks) for going in certain stores and scanning specific items. Then you can get free gift cards with your points.

It’s really helping me, in more ways than you’d think. It gives me a trackable goal and incentives, gets me out of the house and gets me walking. SO much walking involved, which is good because my doc wants me walking and it feels good. Also, I get to go shopping and feel the rush without spending any money. Great catalyst for change. I recommend trying it for anyone who’s bored, wants to get more active and earn free stuff (and has a smart phone).

Oh, I wanted to tell you I tried the Honey Walnut Shrimp at Panda Express the other day, which you know is big if you know my food rules. I resisted the urge to cough, choke or puke. I’m proud of myself.

I’m so tired. I feel myself drifting. My face is tingling. I hear a song I can’t identify and cars on a wet road. I gotta go.

Love, Michelle

12:19am

PS – I made peace with the tree and put some bows on it. We’ll see how long it lasts.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Space Camp

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12-6-11     4:35pm

Hi Mom,

Guess what! Outer space is COOL! I’m weightless up here so no worries about wrinkles. Poor earthly folk and their wrinkles. I want to stay here forEVER. For just $49.95 per week I can! They take Visa, Mastercard, American Express and Discover AND I can earn Diner’s Club rewards on food!! Of course this doesn’t include the cost of oxygen, food, supervision, medical expenses, waste management or transportation. Just the glorious right to occupy space for a time.

Oh Mom, I just know you’d love it. They have a parents package too. I’ll send you that too. I wonder if space has a postal system yet…

Anyway, my new friend Max and I found a field of lilies FULL of tiny blue martians. Awww, they’re SO CUTE!!! Can I keep him PLEEEAAASE??!!!

I named mine Max, just like my new friend. He’s blue and fuzzy and mostly toilet trained. Of course his ACTUAL name is Maxemillion Cornelius Barnaby the 3rd of the Order of Planets, 3rd Division Purple Line. But we just call him Max. Oh, Mom. You’ll love him. Just make sure to wear your industrial grade orange goggles when you look at him or his glow will melt your eyes.

Have you ever tried salmon fried by the death rays of a monster alien? I’m not sure how the fish got up here but it’s SOOO good. Mmmmm. :) You can even eat purple glitter here and the snowflakes taste like roses.

We have a complicated waste management system here. We learned all about it yesterday. You’d be amazed what they can do with shit. You know that phrase “Eat shit and die?” Well not anymore. Meet the ShiTron 5000. Turns any size, shape or consistency shit into good-for-you rainbow jellybeans. Magic! Eat some for a snack or sprinkle them on your garden. 100% environment friendly with 0% toxicity. We could get our own ShiTron 5000 for only $800, per month, for the duration of the existence of space. Definitely on MY Christmas list. What’s on YOUR Christmas list?

Oh Mom, I have to go. Max and Max and I send our love and a package of jellybeans. I want to stay here forEVER.

Love, Michelle

PS – I’m not coming home until I at LEAST see a butterfly in space.

Love, Mom

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Bring back the mail

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12/8/11     2:40am

I like regular mail way more than email these days.

It only comes once a day six days a week; doesn’t beep, flash, or otherwise fight for my attention; and for as long as I leave it in my garage it doesn’t exist. I feel accomplished when I throw a whole pile of it away. There is no possible way for someone to expect an immediate response. I get to buy stamps – beautiful, wonderful, colorful, sticky stamps. I can decorate envelopes. I get to walk to the mailbox or visit the post office and talk to actual people. Have you ever noticed how post offices always smell like Play-Doh? I can never figure out why. I’ve asked. They don’t know either. Or at least they’re not telling.

There’s something magical about mail. Anticipation, opportunity, time. The Pony Express. It may be a thing of the past but so am I. Mail is exciting.

I miss getting exciting things in the mail. They come every once in awhile but it’s mostly bills and ads. I specifically opt NOT to get my statements electronically. I want to FEEL the paper, to know I can find it just where I left it and look at it with a flashlight in the dark. Not everything can exist on computers, you know. I do love them but I miss life offline, unplugged. I love mail.

I passed the test to work for the post office but never did work there. I’m guessing that’s a good thing.

Nobody even sends me anything interesting through email. I am a woman of greeting cards and stationary, stickers and stamps. The kind of stamps you ink or color before their wonder appears. Of fancy pens and markers and glitter glue. Lost wonders. Lost art.

I miss the mail. Bring back the mail.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Side Effects of Christmas

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Written on Black Friday at the mall on a bench outside Cinnabon.

11/25/11     4:25pm

Side Effects of Christmas:

  • Fits of joy
  • Random singing & laughter
  • Urges to bake or give things to strangers
  • Uncontrollable shopping sprees
  • Flashbacks
  • Guilt
  • Shame
  • Urges to die
  • Intense anger
  • Spontaneous death of self or others
  • Temporary loss of judgement
  • Poor clothing choices
  • Weight gain or loss
  • Spike in your need to watch Lifetime or The Family Channel
  • Excessive picture-taking
  • Loss of time
  • Sitting for long periods of time alone on a mall bench wondering why it is we do this again… followed by a Cinnabon.

Red flag shopping warning signs:

  • Uttering to yourself more than 3 times in a day, “Man, I must be old.”
  • Sympathizing with the forlorn kiosk people
  • Falling for their “Can I ask you a question?” cuz you just can’t walk any further
  • Wishing you were the kid asleep in the stroller.

Please feel free to add your own.

© 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

Dead Cat – not that one

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11-12-11 12:57am

Some coyote left a disemboweled cat in my yard today… Dude, finish the job, ok? Is this punishment? What did I ever do to you? While I AM fascinated by the intact aortic artery (more like bewondered), I do NOT appreciate the freaked out mom and pool of blood staining my blue kitty litter yard. Ugh. Really.

I called the police for a pick up but the probee who answered the phone told me they don’t pick up cats because they’re not domesticated. (???) I said, “Well, they’re not wild.” He insisted he was right because they are not licenseable like a dog or a horse. (You can license a horse? Alrighty then.) I asked again what I am supposed to do with this cat. He told me that I should probably just put it in a trash bag and put it in my dumpster. At this point I reminded him that placing a dead animal in your dumpster is illegal. (pause) Uh huh. I’m hoping he felt as stupid as he sounded.

Finally he consulted with his fellow dispatchers who told him that he is, in fact, an idiot and that Animal Control DOES pick up cats and how to contact them. He neglected to place me on hold for this conversation.

I have kept my urge to take pics of the dead cat in check, so far. Unlike my house guest for the night. (hint, hint) My mother is freaking out. Still. I would usually just put the cat on a box lid and take it down to the vet. But man, this cat is gutted. Literally. Lol. Wow. I never thought I’d have a literal sense to use that word in. (pause for more bewonderment) But I just couldn’t bring myself to box this cat. It’s fuzzy and cute and not fully in rigor yet. :( Leave it to the animal pros. Or at least the ones that deal with dead ones on a daily basis. That is, if the coyote doesn’t come back to pick up it’s doggy cat bag before morning.

You know, a cat gutted a gopher in my yard once. Coolest thing I ever found. And then it was gone. (SHOCK!) I was so disappointed… I can still see it in my head. Is there some diagnostic name for fascination with guts? If so, I think I have it. Or I need it. Maybe I could eat it and then it would become PART of my guts. Way cool!!! Lol.

Oh, man. I need to sleep.

Cheers, M

© 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

They don’t own me

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9-15-11     2:34am

I am so angry right now. I can’t even express to you how angry I am.

I just wrote a blog post. Personal feelings I would like to post on my personal blog. I believe I have the right to have feelings and to be angry and to write about those feelings. But the issue I wrote about is not a new one, just the beginning of a majorly huge issue for me that has caused many problems. And I’m so angry tonight because I’m sitting here debating over whether or not to post the damn thing because I don’t want repercussions from the entity it talks about.

I shouldn’t have to censor myself on my own turf to avoid offending someone or ones. Yet I feel like I have to. WHY? Why does it matter who my opinions offend? Part of me is worried my venting will have an effect on interorganizational drama, but there is already interorganizational drama. (Or is that intra? I never know. Between the two.) It’s no secret. I don’t understand why I feel like the bad guy here.

Several months ago I sent an email to a friend regarding some of these issues. She asked me, as a friend, my opinion and I gave it to her straight up. She sent said opinion to the person it was about and said person reamed me for it. When did things change to a world where I have to like everyone? To agree with what people do? To pretend things are ok? They’re not. They weren’t. And they probably won’t be. But I still feel guilty. And for that I feel angry.

I don’t care who’s offended by my writing. I just wish people would take it for what it is.

Oppression through self-imposed pre-posting guilt and consequent deep deep anger. Wow. It’s like writer’s Hell. I’m posting it anyway. Whatever comes of it comes of it. They don’t own me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Writing Towards Happy

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9-6-11     8:03pm

What is happy? What does it mean? What does it look like? I ask myself today.

I’m sitting in Domino’s waiting for a pizza. I don’t even want a pizza today, but Mom does. So we’re here.

Someone asked me at a party recently, after several hours of conversation, “Have you ever been happy?” I paused. “What exactly do you mean?” I asked. He just stared at me. How long does it have to last to count? And what if it goes away? And what kind of question is that anyway? (An awesome one.)

Have I ever been happy?

I remember moments of happy. I know what happy feels like. Largely in part to the two blog posts What does happy feel like? and What makes me smile automatically? I know when I feel happy. I don’t feel it often now.

Which got me thinking. I write a blog called Writing Towards Happy, but I’m not happy and it’s hard to remember what it is. Doesn’t that make me a hypocrite? I sat and thought for awhile and recalled having this discussion before with myself.

The goal is to get to happy, Michelle. You don’t have to be happy now.

Gosh, that’s a relief.

I need to go back and read some of the stuff I posted last year. I think it may unlock some secrets and push me further along. I need to unlock some secrets. They must stop eating me. 

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011