7-3-10 12:36am
Okay, so I tried out the new Phone Your Blog feature tonight. This is a less than optimal phone recording of my favorite song by Sacha Boutros at the Westgate Plaza Bar tonight. For being the equivalent of a recorded phone call I think it’s pretty good. Johnny G on the piano and some rude people talking in the background. Enjoy. :) (click the gray triangle button below to listen)
-Michelle
Sacha & Johnny G
6-30-10 2:55am
I got a new kitty a few weeks ago and have failed to properly introduce her, so I made this profile tonight to share. She’s waiting for me to go to bed now so I have to go. I’ll post some pics soon. :)
Michelle
6-30-10 12:13am
So, I’m sitting here at the computer tonight when the most hilarious thing happens. While munching on a crouton that I tried hard to resist but didn’t, I said to my mom, “You know you have a serious snacking problem when at midnight on a Wednesday morning you slowly and slyly say to your daughter, ‘Waaaanna croutoooon???’” I laughed. She took a drink of milk. Then it hit her. She spit the milk out like a movie scene. It’s all over the floor and some binders on the table and her. We’re both laughing hysterically. She’s shrieking. Zoe’s licking it up off the floor. Lol. It’s this laughter that happens with my aunt Jackie or my grandma. A mostly silent, can’t breathe, face turning red, squeaks escaping here and there, commotion, punctuated by pauses for coughing. My belly aches and I’m surprised I didn’t pee on myself.
Zoe had 2 white hairs on her back. The rest of her is black. Mom pulled one out today with the new cat brush. And she says right after this incident, “Well, she still has one hair.” Lol. The laughter started all over. This cat’s been through so much. She was held in one hand on the ride from Ramona to Santee. My mom stepped on her. I threw a water bottle the landing of which scared her so bad she wouldn’t come near us for a few days. She’s not all there to begin with. I can understand why she’s 9 weeks old and already has two white hairs. But now, according to my mom, she only has one hair left.
I love this night.
-Michelle
© Michelle Routhieaux 2010
6-26-10 12:11am
On any given day I have 4 goals.
If I achieve #1, great. Two or more is heaven. I don’t have the luxury of wanting more and this is really what I need. They sound simple. They sure aren’t easy. But they’re what’s important to me now. What are your goals?
© Michelle Routhieaux 2010
6-24-10 6:08pm
Mountains are like moss-covered sleeping giants.
This hump a shoulder, that ridge a shin.
What happens when they awake?
© Michelle Routhieaux 2010
6-20-10 2:59pm
It’s Father’s Day today, and the one person I miss is Marc. As I think about all the people who semi filled that role, he’s the one who made the difference, the one whose love I miss the most. Thank you , Marc, for everything. I miss you.
Michelle
6-15-10 2:27am
“I’m falling to pieces” from Breakeven keeps playing in my head. I feel like crying. I am sad. I miss my cat. I got a new kitten tonight. Psycho kitty. It’s afraid of my hair and the ceiling fan and is determined to eat my bed skirt. I think it’s sick. It’s fine when it’s awake, sort of, but when it’s sleeping it’s breathing way too fast. I called the vet who said to bring her in tonight but mom’s pulling her denial shit again saying the cat’s just tired from playing and that it’ll be fine. It’s the same line of thought that almost killed her with her gallbladder, made her tell me my dad was fine, and made me sit with my own dying cat for almost three days before taking her to the vet to be put down.
The last time I sat with a cat on my lap that was twitching and not breathing right it died, violently. I still see it in my head. You can’t rouse this cat from sleep. It breathes normally when awake but when it sleeps it hyperventilates. 180 breaths per minute. If you startle it awake, which is not easy to do, it takes a big breath, holds it for a few seconds, then dozes off into hyperventilation again. Eventually it sprang awake and stared at me all crazy. It was scared of everything, which it wasn’t earlier. It stared right at me and I stared back and something creepy happened. No light change, no turn of the head. Her pupils went from tiny to really big, just while staring at me. Then she looked away for awhile. When she looked back they did it again, but not right away, after several seconds. Freaked me out. There is something not right with this cat.
Mom calls her Trouble or Crazy Head. She is now, when on break from eating my bed skirt, curled up inside my box spring. Downside to having a mattress set older than I am. At least I think that’s where she’s at. I’m hoping she’s asleep and not dead.
I took my first assignment for Broadway San Diego today – a concierge something or other at the Midway tomorrow night. I’m excited about it (not at this moment) but I found out just a bit later this afternoon that tomorrow night is the only night E- is available to do dinner. I text him every day or every few days. I miss him. Haven’t seen him in forever. He’s another one of those busy people, but he texts back occasionally.
I didn’t go to group tonight. I didn’t feel like it and I was working on a project. I’m almost done with it. But the cat has interrupted that. And the song in my head. I feel so lonely but it’s not my group I wanted to be around tonight. I don’t want to hear their stories of illness and strife. I don’t want to be the hero today or the resource. I’m tired. “I’m falling to pieeeeeeces. I’m falling to pieeeeeeces.” It plays over and over. To finish this project I feel like I need to be happy. I need to feel like finishing the project. It’s sending love not pain. But I don’t feel love tonight. I just feel sad. “Cuz when a heart breaks. It don’t break even… I’m falling to pieeeeeeces.”
© Michelle Routhieaux 2010
Okay, so my mom did this program through Grossmont College called OPT – Office Professional Training. It was a major improvement to her skills and her confidence and it’s FREE. Sooooo, they do fundraisers. And this Saturday is their walk, which she’s in charge of. It’s $25 to do and you just walk around the track at Grossmont 20 times. Personally, I just give them money and watch and eat oranges. Please donate if you can, whether you come to the walk or not. Click the link below to view the flyer. Thanks. :)
6-10-10 3:15am
I reached two milestones recently that I’m proud of myself for. I’ve been blogging now for 4 months (131 posts so far) and June 23rd will mark one year out of the hospital for me. Two major things.
Last year at this time I was inpatient for my longest stay thus far, 28 days. By this point in the stay I had reached East Wing 2 and was a bit better but I was seeing things and hearing original electric guitar music and thinking in pictures and all sorts of shit. Since then, I’ve managed to shake most of the craziness. I spent 8 months at Scripps and now I’m just with my doctors and the group. And FB, of course. And the blog.
Blogging has been such a gift. I’m grateful for Sacha and Traci and Andrew’s encouragement. I have a band of mostly silent invisible followers. It’s like having friends that listen and never talk back. Sometimes frustrating but mostly comforting. I’m so honored to know people read this. Blogging gives me a place to put my thoughts that I have no one else to tell, and gives me something to tell the people I have no thoughts to give. Lol. Nice. :) It’s exciting for me, gives me a point of reference, helps me remember. And it’s been big in helping me share with people.
Sharing your innermost thoughts with the entire world is scary. But less so when you don’t care what they think. I’m addicted to my stats page. Since only like 3 people ever leave comments it’s a gamble to see how many hits I have each day and what people are looking at. While it loads I guess. What number will it be today? Sometimes it’s predictable, but there was a day a few weeks back when I had a TON of people and I hadn’t posted anything in several days. Weird. Oh well. Made me happy. Blogging is good for me.
So if I ask myself how it’s goin’, it’s goin’ well. I’m healthier mentally, sicker physically, and have a different perspective on life all around. I’m happy with who I am even if I’d like some things to be different. I’m taking steps in the right direction. I joined the Broadway San Diego Street Team this week, though I’m still not quite sure exactly what that means. I joined Jazz88 last week and bought an all-fair pass today. I also bought Sea World passes for me and my mom. Don’t tell her. She won’t know for a few more hours. I’m trying to add structure to my life that’s fun, not related to mental health or illness, and gives me something back. (big yawn) I’m proud of myself.
-Michelle
© Michelle Routhieaux 2010
6-10-10 2:35am
Sorry I haven’t been writing. I just haven’t had the energy. I had a good week and now it’s time to work again, on illness that is, or with it. I’ve been inundated with symptoms. Another day of no moving or talking, constant exhaustion, weakness. In the past few days the large movements have come back. Today I was a buzz of zaps and weakness and sticking my tongue out all the time. In between I managed to do things. I went to therapy, then to Quizno’s (couldn’t breathe), then to the beach. I lasted about 20 minutes and climbed the stairs. Quite a feat. Went to the bay to see the big ships with Mom. I walked all over Target and made it almost to the checkout at Albertson’s before almost collapsing. That was nice. Zapping all over. Crashed in the car. Some more movements tonight and now I’m okay again, minus the frequent unwarranted blinking, grimacing and sticking out my tongue. I wrote on FB tonight:
In between God’s version of invisible lightning dances and frog imitations, today I saw Jim, went to the beach, looked at that big old ship that’s here from Portugal and went to Target and Albertson’s. Long but very good day. Tomorrow’s Mom’s birthday. Hopefully it will go well.
My primary goal, after staying alive, right now is to have fun. Followed by being with the people I love and staying away from the people who bug me. On any given day, just one is enough. But two or more is great. I told Jim today it was frustrating thinking I was going to die Saturday night (due to fucked up vital signs and the inability to breathe) because I actually like my life right now. He said he’d never heard me say that before. That was powerful. I’ve been with him for a year. And I don’t think I’ve felt like this before. I like my life when I’m doing things I love. I don’t WANT to die right now. And that’s a good thing.
I said that I’m trying to make the best of it, of being sick. I don’t know what it is and even if I did or when I do there’s probably not much I can do about it. He said, “It doesn’t sound like there is a best.” But he’s wrong. There is. It’s the music.
My mom doesn’t understand why I go out when I can barely walk or breathe. I keep trying to explain it to her. I don’t need more sleep. I could be sick anywhere. It doesn’t matter if it’s here at home or at a restaurant or concert. But I’m so much happier when I’m sick to live music than when I’m just sick at home. The music is healing. Just for a moment, nothing else matters. I can just be free. I can’t dance right now. But I can still hear the music. And trust me, I need it.
I’ve been working on this project for a few days for a friend. I’ll post all about it when I’m done. It’s meant to provide comfort, but it’s providing comfort to me. We talked about codependence today and giving versus receiving. Jim asked if the drama is really worth it. And right now, I think it is. Cuz if I can’t have what it is that I need right now, having something is better than nothing. My friend was telling me about the 5 Love Languages last week and I took the quiz on the website. In descending order, mine are: Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, Physical Touch, Receiving Gifts, and Acts of Service. I think it’s kind of a pecking order because if I can’t get quality time or words or touch I give gifts or do service. I need to give. But I need to receive as well.
I was listening to Celine Dion and crying last night with the main part of the project I’m working on. There is this song of hers that always gets me. “I Want You to Need Me.” (whooooooooooo…) Just listened again. Makes it hard to breathe. Sometimes I just want to scream, “What do you want from me?! Please, whatever it is, just tell me. Let me give you something or do something for you so you’ll spend time with me.” But I’ve realized the people I want to need me, they don’t want anything from me. There is nothing I can give to get the time that I need. And they don’t have that time to give. I’m just along for the ride. But until I find or get something, it’s a ride. The music. It helps.
M- posted today “Make a Wish!” and I held my breath in anticipation and excitement, then paused. What should I wish? I was torn between two things – my friends in pain being happy or my health. I wondered if not putting them first made me selfish or if I could find a second thing to wish on, but I settled for wishing for them first AND me. I’m getting there.
Tomorrow is Mom’s birthday. The gift I got her requires energy, which I don’t have, so I hope she okay for postponing it. Thanks for reading and sharing your time.
-Michelle
PS – I attempted to read a book today. Remind me not to do that again for awhile.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2010
6-6-10 2:26am
Tonight confuses me. I think I’m okay with dying but when I think it’s happening I’m scared again. Why? (sigh)
I’m pretty sure I’m not dying, but only cuz I’ve thought this many times and I’m not dead yet. But tonight I’m not breathing much and I can’t make myself breathe any more. I feel very weak. My blood pressure is higher than I’ve ever seen it and my pulse quite low. It’s scary. I don’t like feeling scared.
I paged my doctor, my primary. I woke him up. Poor guy sounded like, “WHY ME?!” He gave me his standard 2am answer. Take a Xanax and go to sleep, call him in the morning if I’m not better and good luck. I don’t need luck. I need you to tell me what the fuck is WRONG WITH ME!
I don’t want to go to sleep because I don’t want to not wake up. Is that so irrational? I had a great day today. My life is just becoming something I actually like. It’s not perfect, but there are days that I’m happy. Moments like tonight when everything’s right. When my face hurts from smiling. A few months ago I didn’t have that. I didn’t get it. I actually WANT to live now. You know?
Xanax. Please pray for me. I feel sad.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2010
6-6-10 1:04am
I sit here quiet tonight. I just don’t have the right words.
There are a few people I feel very connected to. I’m not sure why. I just do. They have this energy. I just know that they’re special. There’s something about them I can’t quite shake. Like B-. When I first met her at an HD convention years ago I was in her group and I just kept staring at her. I didn’t know why but she was one of those people. And she kept staring back. There are three in my life right now. When they hurt, I hurt. When they’re happy, I’m happy. It’s like there’s a soul-connection. I don’t understand it but I know that it is.
Tonight I am quiet. I don’t know what to say. One of them is hurting and it is a heaviness I carry with me. I don’t get to choose it. It’s just there. It makes my face hurt, makes it hard to breathe. If I could just be quiet with this person. It is more powerful than any words. A hug. I know. And I’m here. It’s hard to send that over email.
Do you have a person or persons you’re just connected to? People who for no rational reason can take you on an emotional ride? People you believe too much, no matter what they say, just because they’re them? From whom a single text or picture can change your entire day or leave you thinking for weeks? And people who’s pain that has nothing to do with you can make you physically hurt? I am so grateful that I have these people. I would do or give anything for them. But tonight it leaves me quiet.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2010
My Old Maid Card
6-4-10 4:13am
Looking at this makes me so happy! :) So many good memories…
My mom is going through her dresser looking for my savings bonds. In the process she’s pulling out all this family history stuff I’ve never seen. Like both of her parent’s marriage certificates, grandpa’s pipes, the newspaper announcement of her birth. Really cool. When she brought my old maid cards in the kitchen I screamed. I love Old Maid! It’s a lame game but the pictures on the cards were always special to me, especially Old Maid. I know if you end up with her you technically lose, but she’s my favorite. She’s pink and she’s awesome. :)
She reminds me of my aunt. And I remember playing in a hospital waiting room while waiting to pick up the landlord of our old apartments that we moved out of when I was five. Gladys. I said, “Let’s play!” and my mom was confused. She said, “How come you never want to play with me and now you do?” Ummmm… Old Maid?
The cards smell so wonderful. It made me think. I’m actually old enough that now MY things have that wonderful old book smell. Weird. Could just be ‘cause they’re in the middle of a drawer of actual old things. Either way they smell great and they have that yellow tinge to them. Those characters are like friends. Call me an Old Maid any day. ;)
© Michelle Routhieaux 2010
6-4-10 3:55am
God has a weird sense of humor. You remember those carrots I told you about, with the dip? (sigh) He KNOWS I loathe things that make no sense, yet tonight he gives me a carrot mystery.
I was happily munching on my onion dip covered baby carrots when I bit into one that I couldn’t bite through. Felt like there was a rock in it. I wondered what could be inside this carrot I was attempting to eat. So I tried biting a different place. Well, part of it came off, which I ate, exposing this dowel-like rock hard cylinder of what I thought would be carrot. Have you ever come across this? It doesn’t bend or break. I can’t even break it’s skin with my fingernail. What the fuck? Check it out.
What would you think?
© Michelle Routhieaux 2010
6-4-10 3:23am
I think we need a new name for dip. I love the substance. It’s the name I have a problem with and that has me scouring my kitchen tonight looking for something to DIP in the dip. But why? It’s the dip that I want. I don’t need the extra calories from the bag of chips I devour because I want to eat the dip. I settled on carrots tonight, but I don’t want the carrots. And the weird thing is I’m dipping carrots in onion dip. Yes, I’m dipping a vegetable I like the taste of in a dip flavored like a vegetable I avoid at all costs. Really? I don’t get it. I don’t like onions. I hate the way onion dip smells. Yet I crave it. And last night I ate most of a bag of sour cream and onion chips, dipped in my onion-flavored sour cream. (shake my head)
While we’re on the subject of things not making sense, what’s up with kids movies that aren’t kids movies? I watched Wall-E tonight. It was so depressing! And I can’t fathom any kid I know understanding what the movie was actually about, the implications and messages. I wouldn’t have understood it at say 8 or 12. And UP? Good movie. WAY too deep. Everyone I know who saw it cried. I had trouble following it. The first 15 minutes were enough to make me wonder what the fuck I was watching. Love, miscarriage, death, eminent domain? It’s a KIDS MOVIE! It shouldn’t put me in a funk for days. Does anybody else feel this way? When I put in something from Disney or Dreamworks I want to come away feeling warm and fuzzy inside, not confused and bewildered and very very sad.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2010
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
6-4-10 12:57am
I’m pretty sure some people think I live my entire life on FB. I don’t. But I guess I come close to it. I don’t follow everyone’s posts, but there are a few people whose posts I make sure to read. I get them on my phone. So even if I’m out I know what’s going on. Last time I unsubscribed from someone I missed something important. And yes, I’m on or near FB many hours a day. But it’s only because I have nothing to do and when I have something to do I’m usually avoiding it. And when I’m out I want to tell people what I’m doing.
I ask myself what this FB life means about me? Am I a loser? No. A techy? No. Really, I just want to feel connected to someone, to something. I want to belong. And on FB I can pretend to do that at any time of day or night. Thanks to FB, when I’m out about my day alone I have someone(s) to share things with, good and bad. Reading the texts I get of posts is like hearing from people, even if they’re not speaking directly to me. It’s a reminder that I’m NOT alone even though it feels like it.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2010
A Real American Idol
I got this in a forward this week and I really like it. Thanks to our troops and I hope you all have a safe Memorial Day.
5-30-10 4:29am
Is this what pretty girls feel like?
I’ve never had a problem with guys. They simply have not been interested. Except the over 40, creepy, crazy crowd and the dirty old men, but they’re easy to deal with. Not so lately. The guy I really liked might as well be dead. But for some reason everyone else, or at least a good portion of else, is now interested in me. I don’t know what changed.
N- asked me out last week, which really threw me off but now I like. But so did two lesbians, whom I turned down. Tonight it was the drunk guy who thought I was married to Uncle Dave. There is a quasi-business contact I have that I need to keep who woke me up today to ask me to a Padre game, or a movie, or dinner, or to go square dancing, or God knows what else. I can’t stand this guy but he’s so overly happy to talk to me. And I’m talking to a friend online now. I said that I’m craving Vienna pickles and that I hate feeling hungry. He comes back with, “And I’m craving you nake. [sic]” What? What a way to make a girl feel like a piece of meat.
I don’t quite understand, maybe because I’m not a horny guy. But these types of advances are not a turn on, they’re not pleasant, and they’re not welcome. Sure, I like compliments and I like to feel sexy (crying), but I can’t. I just can’t. I need someone to realize that I am not okay. I’m not.
I told him about a piece of meat and he says, “no. not a piece of meat. I would say more like a piece of art. something special. one of a kind.” It’s these things that make me cry. It’s beautiful. But hearing it reminds me that I’m sick. He wants the one thing I cannot or will not give him. I just want not to be ill.
When I was out with N- last week, as I listened and watched I noticed he was full of hope. Me, not so much. I am tired. So tired. And I would like to spend more time with him, but he’s exceedingly busy. I am exceedingly sleepy. And I need more than a few text message every few days.
There are these constant reminders of what I’m not. I didn’t want to go to that party tonight. Not because I don’t like my friend, but because it’s really hard for me to be around people who have what I want and people who are asking me what I do and if I’m in school and all those normal-people questions. I don’t drink, I don’t work, I don’t want to talk about my group, I don’t drive or have a boyfriend, and I don’t want to talk about any of it.
Gosh I hate myself right now. I don’t want to be having this conversation. (on FB) He asks the tough questions. They remind me of who I am and who I don’t want to be. I feel sad…
Ah damn. Light out already? Gimme a break, sun. I hate Daylight Savings. And I still want a Vienna pickle.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2010
5-30-10 1:22am
Not being able to regulate my body temperature is driving me insane. Like tonight my body is very hot and I can’t stand anything touching me. Not even my bracelet or hair clip. Yet I have goosebumps and feel cold. And hot. The other day when I walked a mile I was exhausted. It was too much for me. I should have been hot. I couldn’t breathe but I was freezing to the touch. My coldness astounded me. And sometimes parts of me are cold while others are hot, for no apparent reason. I get fever blisters from my lips being so hot. My hypothalamus hates me.
The hypothalamus doesn’t just affect temperature though. It also controls hunger, thirst, memory, blood pressure, pupil dilation, circadian rhythms, heart rate, bladder contraction, sweating, hormones. It’s the Grand Central Station of the brain. The fact that mine hates me could explain my cravings, funky heart rate, weird memory, odd pupils, vampire hours and a bunch of other things.
I’m going to name my hypothalamus Happy. Happy the Hyper/Hypo Hypothalamus. He’s bipolar. I love him anyway. But I wish he would settle down. So fickle.
I wish I had a name for this. Happy doesn’t always make me so happy.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2010
Writing Towards Happy 