I Just Need to Understand

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5-5-10                   1:14am

I’m sitting here tonight eating leftover Fridays mashed potatoes and half-watching the “Are You Happy Now” video on YouTube. Don’t bother reheating potato skins. It’s not worth the effort.

(deep breath) Talked to a friend from high school tonight. It was nice.

How do some people just magically know how long to reheat something for? And how does my microwave’s reheat button know what I’m reheating or how long to cook it? And why is my VCR now suddenly able to display the current tv program name when it lacks the ability to keep correct time or recognize a channel above 35? WHY?!

Like nutrition facts. The math almost never adds up or makes sense. If one cinnamon roll has 180 calories, why do 2 have 300? Or soda. A 12oz can is one serving, but a 20oz bottle is 2.5 servings. What? Something’s not right there. I called Nabisco one day to ask about Oreos. I see they’ve recently changed their label to list serving size in grams instead of number of cookies (which makes even less sense). But I called to ask if the serving size is 2 cookies and there are 30 cookies in the package why there are “about” 15 servings. There’s no “about” needed. 15×2=30. That’s it. I went through several people before she said something about the FDA allowing manufacturers to “estimate” some figures. Hmmm… I just want to scream sometimes but it’s not worth my breath.

I just need to understand why. Nothing makes sense. There are two people I can’t not think about who lack the ability, for whatever reason, to communicate with me. I sent them both emails last night. I need to understand why. I can handle living in a fantasy or rarely seeing people, but I need to have something to tell myself. “It’s okay, Michelle. They just ______.” But I have nothing to put in the blank. I have no idea. And it makes me angry. My empathy does not cover the blank.

I hate commercials. And cold mashed potatoes and earwigs on my toilet seat. And I saw a car that looked like a Storm Trooper today.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Crayola Confusion

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5-3-10                   7:35pm

I went to Walmart to buy markers yesterday. Classic washable markers. But I was so confused by the aisle. I don’t understand the wall of markers I was staring at. When I was growing up, markers were simple. Sharpies and highlighters stained. Everything else was washable. The only thing different was stamp markers that came out around 6th grade. Not so anymore.

Have you ever heard of dry erase crayons? And what the heck is a gel marker? Window markers? Markers that only write on certain paper? Paints activated by light? WHAT? (deep breath)

If I can’t understand what marker to use where, how is a 5 year old supposed to? My mom’s answer – they’ll just draw all over everything anyway. I can’t be the only one experiencing Crayola Confusion. What do you do? I can’t buy them all. And the prices don’t make sense either. The 8-count classic markers and 10-count are the same price but look different and are in different places. Come on! Help me out. Crayola should not be confusing.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Things That Make No Sense

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5-3-10                   6:56pm

I’m so tired of things that make no sense. What ever happened to simplicity? Huh? Taking that extra moment to stop and ask yourself, “Does this make sense? Is this easy to understand?” before saying or sending it out. This being whatever you’re doing.

Example – I was in Bath & Body Works yesterday looking for Kitchen Lemon soap (on which lemon is NOT a listed ingredient). There was a large display of their kitchen collection that lemon was not a part of. I asked if they had it and the girl said yes but that it was part of a different display – non-kitchen related. The label on the kitchen collection bottles does not list “kitchen” as part of the title. Yet, “Kitchen Lemon” was not on the kitchen display. What? I brought this up to the staff and they gave me this long useless explanation of their logic. I don’t care! Bottom line is that it doesn’t make sense.

I have a few photo albums on Facebook of things that make no sense. Like a sign I saw the other day at Hometown Buffet. It said, “Dinner All Week $9.99.” (pause) What? That rationally means I can eat for 7 days for $9.99. I know it actually means $9.99 per day, but that’s not what it says! Ahh! (sigh)

People just don’t think. Sometimes I want to scream, “ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!” If I ask a yes or no question, I want and expect a yes or no answer. It’s simple. An alternate answer could be “I don’t know.” If I ask you for an explanation, EXPLAIN WHAT I’M ASKING YOU TO EXPLAIN! (sigh)

I’m sitting in a lecture I planned tonight. Sitting here is making my head try to explode, unsuccessfully. I look super cute and I need to be some place worth being cute. I got invited to trivia with Jillian but I’m going to Fridays. I might change my mind. This guy is like my mom in his question-answering abilities. (He sucks.)

Oh, and she’s here. What? Yeah. She’s here. My mom, for some reason, is here for the speaker. I don’t know why. She beat me to the hall. She seemed happy, which is weird. Why would she she come??? I asked what she’s doing here and she said, “Well, you didn’t ask if I wanted to come or not.” Really. Cuz you NEVER want to come. (sigh) It makes no sense. She has NO need for this information. Why is she here? Now I can’t even go to dinner alone. Grrr. Breathe…

Maybe it’s just me, but I need simplicity.

5-5-10                   2:44am

I figured out why she was there, although she never actually told me. I wish we could communicate clearly.

Sleep is Sleep

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5-1-10                   3:33pm

Okay. Vent. I DON’T HAVE TROUBLE SLEEPING! God, that’s annoying. Hence the phrase, “I don’t have insomnia, for the 1,000th time.” I’m sorry but that just makes me angry. I don’t know why people can’t comprehend that although I don’t sleep at NIGHT that doesn’t mean I don’t sleep.

I just got a comment on my Beginning Here post on another site saying he wished I could get a good night’s sleep and told me about this computerized sleep system and mentioned sleep meds. HELLO! (sigh) What I wrote verbatim was “I don’t have insomnia, for the 1,000th time. I stay up all night because it’s quiet and it’s what my body likes, which is good because I can’t handle much day.” That in NO way says, “Help me. I can’t sleep.”

What is so wrong with not sleeping at night? WHY can’t people get it? There is no difference in the quality of time between 11pm-7am and 6am-2pm. None! It’s just shifted. Different hours. If I worked the night shift, they might understand a tiny bit more. However, most people seem to lack the ability to comprehend this fact: Sleep is sleep, no matter when you do it. I actually sleep more than most of the people I know. So PLEASE, resist the urge to tell me to sleep or how to sleep or when to sleep. I’ve got it covered. Thanks.

Beginning Here

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5-1-10                   2:46am

Molly mentioned her song “Beginning Here” tonight. I don’t remember the song but I remember thinking about those words and how I get to begin again here.

A lot has changed for me recently. No longer at Scripps, don’t have Bing’s, different role at DBSA, Randy’s death. Also the major process of thinking I was dying and everything that went with it. I saw an ophthalmologist today who says I do NOT have Kayser-Fleisher rings. I hope that satisfies Dr. L that I do not in fact have Wilson’s. I think I’m experiencing seizures. But aside from that, everything has changed. The people I once leaned on for support are not there and the structure I’m used to is gone.

What do you do? I found out about Randy on Monday and I’m very aware that the other people going through it are not really people I can lean on. Bonnie was right when she said I’m a caregiver and I need to take care of myself. My homework from Jim this week was to do something for me instead of doing something for someone else. To stop for awhile. So I did that tonight. When the reminder popped up on my phone for the concert that I had put there in December I really wanted to go but thought that I shouldn’t. Then I remembered the homework and decided to go. I felt really agitated. Didn’t want to go alone. But I refused to let my aloneness ruin the opportunity. I had a good time. And I thought Randy would be proud of me, and probably enjoyed the show. But it’s my time to enjoy and I had better enjoy it.

One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do is call my friends and tell them their friend has died and then listen to 45 minutes or so of the initial response… What do you say? Hang up and then do it again. There are people I take care of, people I rescue, people I listen to. But very few people actually listen back without giving me shit. And it’s not their job. At the group I am somewhat of a mother hen. I’m a caretaker and a leader, the one who gets shit done. And that’s fine. I’m good at it and I need that. But beginning here, I need to take care of myself.

I did a self-assessment this weekend I wasn’t happy with. I don’t like my level of functioning. I feel like I’m living a lie. I’m proud to be where I am, but people don’t know what that looks like. Most people assume because I can handle a health fair or plan a speaker or run a meeting that my day-to-day functioning must be okay. Well, it’s not. And I’m ashamed. (pause) I don’t even like saying that.

When I’m not at choir or group, I’m sleeping or online or writing. Or writing online wishing I was sleeping or somewhere else. Or at a doctor that I will write about online later. Or texting the internet to remind me. Unscheduled time and staying home are poison to me. I didn’t order a pizza yesterday because I wanted one. I ordered it because I can’t handle cooking. Using the toaster oven to warm it up today was a huge feat. So was grating cheese tonight to put hot sauce on and eat. I don’t brush my teeth, almost ever. I don’t do laundry. I don’t drive. I shower about once a week. I have great ideas but major difficulty following through.

I hear music 24/7. I have trouble thinking and reading. I’m not always here. I can’t get rid of things. And I can’t stop remembering, and not being able to remember. I don’t have insomnia, for the 1,000th time. I stay up all night because it’s quiet and it’s what my body likes, which is good because I can’t handle much day. I’m not okay. I’m pretty messed up as of late. I discussed this with my therapist last week. He said, “How would you rate your level of messed-upness?” (deep breath) Pretty high.

Beginning here I have to take care of me. There simply is no other option. I am so lonely, but I have to choose people to hang out with who don’t bring me down, people to chat with on FB who don’t make me upset, choose not to answer texts from some people. Also on my to-do list, realizing that although I need so much from certain people, they just can’t give it. To learn to stop trying, to stop wanting.

I have seen in the past few months all my years of therapy and groups coming together to form a new identity, someone much different than the girl who started this journey. Professionally, I am getting recognition from many sources. I am respected and my work is appreciated. People I don’t know know who I am. That’s awesome.

In some respects I have a lot. In others I have nothing. But I begin again here.

I’m scared. I have nothing to lose. Except for choir and that ends in 3 weeks. After that there is nothing but group. I can’t do nothing. What do you do when you find yourself on the edge of everything and of nothing? When you’re not sure what you want but it’s not what you’ve got? When it’s just you and the blog and Melissa Etheridge at 3am? I need some guidance and a hug.

The Manual Michelle (excerpt)

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1-9-10

My friend was talking about writing a guidebook about herself so people would get her. She called it “The Manual Michelle.” So I wrote one for one of my therapists. This is an excerpt from it. There is a lot more that’s not blog-friendly. I wrote about what she would need to know to really understand me. Where I come from, why I do what I do and think how I think. I wrote about my mental health history and what’s most important to me now. My family, who I actually share with, my symptoms, and finally some random interesting facts. I’ll post the facts separately. Doing the project was very helpful. I wrote most of it at Bing’s my first night there. Good times.

Important things to know

  • I’m addicted to helping people.
  • I hate most people, people in general, and/or at least one person or class in particular at any given time. (I’m hateful a bit less lately, not much.)
  • I need things to be right and to make sense. Even if I hate the situation, if there is a plausible, honest reason it’s better.
  • If I don’t sit down in your office, I don’t plan to stay.
  • I send food back when I don’t like it and I usually speak up when things are unacceptable.
  • I don’t ask for help. If I do ask for help, I’m not bluffing and I expect a response.
  • If you can’t help me or don’t want to, just say it. Don’t bullshit me. That makes it worse.
  • If you don’t ask, I won’t tell you how I’m doing.
  • Even if you do ask, I might not tell you.
  • Responses like surviving, hanging in there, here, glad to be here, crazy, alive, etc. mean I am NOT at all okay but not going to tell you why or tell you in that setting.
  • I don’t do things I don’t want to & I’m not afraid of going to the top or offending most people.
  • If I tell you I’m struggling, things are bad.
  • I expect people to do their jobs and do them well, to know their field and to be helpful. If you can’t help me or don’t know, help me find someone who can.
  • If I ask a question, I want an answer. A direct one.

Regarding Behavior/Appearance

  • If I’m not talking in group, something is wrong.
  • When I get very angry or upset I become very still. I don’t talk. I stare at the floor. I may or may not be slowly playing with a pen. I breathe very slowly and talk precisely or not at all.
  • When I am anxious I play with a pen or my fingers, crack my knuckles, massage my hands, drink lots of water, knead Play-Doh, tap my foot or bounce my leg.
  • Moving around a lot means I’m either anxious or my body hurts. Sometimes both.
  • I wear fancy clothes for protection or to feel good, usually the first. When I need the strength of looking strong, I wear black slacks and heels. People are much less likely to ask how I am or think of me as weak. I attract less attention.
  • Just because I look or sound good doesn’t mean I am. I get mistaken for staff even in the ICU. Very few people read me well. Not even my best friends.
  • I am good at reading others.
  • The further down I get, the less able I am to tolerate other people, any people, especially stupid ones or ones who don’t do their jobs or meet my needs. If I’m pissy, it’s not PMS. Something is wrong.
  • Sometimes I am just too tired, physically or mentally, or too weary to care. I’m simply moving. No hope for the future or the now, no energy to try. I’m just here, showing up, getting through the day.

See Random Interesting Facts.

Random Interesting Facts

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1-17-10

Random Interesting Facts

  • I have little to no concept of time.
  • I absolutely HATE brushing my teeth. It makes me gag and I don’t do it often.
  • I hate soap, can’t stand it, and avoid it whenever possible.
  • If I don’t stink and my hair looks okay, I don’t shower.
  • I love touching different textures – walls, peoples clothes, foods etc. But it has to be even – touched w/both hands or all 10 fingers.
  • I walk either on the cracks or avoid them, never (or rarely) randomly. If walking on the cracks or lines there is a certain place on my feet they much touch. Either way, I must step on as many with one foot as the other.
  • I can’t stand slimy things – with the exception of pumpkin seeds.
  • I love the feeling of taking off in an airplane and used to be able to count down to the exact landing.
  • I used to collect mini-clocks and have a box of trolls in my closet.
  • I don’t do ethnic, meaning if it’s not a standard Americanized version of American, Mexican, or Italian food or fast food I don’t eat it. I do Panda Express for Chinese but don’t bother trying to give me curry, Greek, Mediterranean, African, Indian, Middle Eastern or any other food.
  • I lack the ability, on most days, to leave a store with only what I went in for.
  • I love cats, hate snakes, and have never owned a dog.
  • I hate being told what to do.
  • I love anything soft and the color pink.
  • In the 6th grade I thought in 10 years I would be either on Broadway or a kindergarten teacher.
  • At midnight on New Year’s Eve every year I call my 8th grade history teacher.
  • I have 748 contacts in my phone and have had the same email address since the 8th grade.
  • I hate staying home.
  • I love riding the train.
  • I love the smell of wet dirt and desert rain.
  • Writing this is making me nervous.
  • I can’t stand hair, even my own, once it’s left wherever it’s supposed to be.
  • I have several life insurance policies.
  • I have a ton of debt.
  • I love good paper and the smell of fresh copies.
  • I’ve always wanted to work at Kinko’s.
  • I am ashamed of my family.
  • I have a brother I’ve never met.
  • I don’t have a drivers license.
  • I don’t’ believe in sport fishing, especially catch and release.
  • Writing helps me feel connected. My journal always listens to me.
  • My favorite stores are New York & Company and Staples.
  • I played the trumpet and French horn for a few years.
  • I am a triple threat.
  • I hate killing things – even bugs.
  • I don’t eat anything that looks like it did when it was alive, lives underwater, or has no legs.
  • Staying home makes me stir crazy.
  • I demand choices but have a very hard time making decisions.
  • Eating peanut butter helps my anxiety.
  • I hate holidays.
  • I have a box of books and shoes for the dance studio I hope one day to own.
  • I own my own drill.
  • The cloth-monkey study, learning about it, affected my life dramatically.
  • I’ve been rejected by eHarmony. :(
  • I don’t cook or clean.
  • I believe in having fun, following the rules that make sense, breaking the ones that don’t, forging new paths, reinventing and improving the wheel, and following your dreams. You only get to live once, right? Question authority, take a stand. What’s the worst that can happen? Losing it all? Done that. What’s next? Bring it on.
  • My favority place in the world is the top of the Dumbo ride at Disneyland with my arms stretched out wide. Pure joy. And, pending there is no sniper atop the carousel, nothing can get me. I am perfectly safe. :) (sigh) Feels wonderful to imagine…
  • I received an award for the only student ever to ask for “more math, please.”
  • I love bluegrass.
  • Many of the things and people I now love I first hated.
  • I eat cooked carrots with mustard.
  • I have hundreds of pens but very few I will actually use.
  • I still have most of my Barbies and boxes of trophies and plaques in the garage.
  • I don’t and never did get the concept of “play.”
  • I’m trying to get younger by the year. I’m tired of being an old soul. I want to be a kid.
  • I LOVE to swing. :)

5-1-10   I also hate the smell of a sneeze and LOVE a singing fiddle and almost anything Disney. :)

Randy’s Gift

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5-1-10                   2:28am

I know that losing someone is a tragedy, no matter how they go. But I see a lot of good in things. Some call me a mercenary, others an opportunist. But I’m the one who in that dark moment tends to find something to take advantage of. Randy’s suicide is no different.

I know there is a lot of pain right now, but I think that Randy gave us a gift. Several. It was a choice that he made to leave us and yes there are consequences. But there are good ones. The first thing I thought once I was able to think after the news was, “Well, S— will call me back.” And he did. But that’s not it. I’m finding friends in people out of my network, people I had only known professionally. Someone met me for coffee when I needed to talk. Others networked together to find help for my group.

I see the change in others too. People are angry and they’re hurting, but they’re feeling. We’re feeling together and we’re talking about something that’s usually taboo. We’re talking about suicide and experiencing it together. L- is angry that more people don’t respect Randy’s choice. But she’s sharing… W- is confused, but confused with the group. It’s not something we’re experiencing alone. It brings us together. D- gets to see firsthand, as do we all, the effect of a suicide on the group.

I was feeling suicidal the day before Randy died. Tonight that feeling has gone. I won’t lie. It’s been back, but tonight I’m okay. I have people to take care of and life to live. Mags posted a note tonight similar to my realizing that I too am a key (The Key to My Heart). She is considering her potential and what only she has to give. There are questions being asked about how we as a group can help more, can make a bigger difference. How to change for the better. I think that’s a gift.

People showed up to group last night who have not been there in ages. Yes, they were distraught. But soon they will be ready to do something. I have often thought when I’m considering suicide that everything happens for a reason. I tell myself maybe I’m supposed to die so that others will take a stand, to make that change, to make things possible. I don’t think Randy died in vain. I think his suffering is now gone and that it served a purpose. Randy gave us a gift. Many gifts through his life and also through his death. And for that, I’m grateful.

Bluegrass Memories

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5-1-10                   2:15am

As I listened to Sara fiddle tonight I remembered bluegrass memories. I used to hate bluegrass. It drove me nuts. But it’s grown on me. There is something sweet and savory about a singing fiddle. Not everyone can do it. Sometimes a fiddle makes me scrunch up my face. But a good fiddle can grab me and take me back.

One of the years I went to the Classic I was invited by Scotty and Jeff to go to this after party-like thing. It was up in a lodge on this mountain, at the top of a winding road I was sure would never end. It was like  driving into another world. There was a bluegrass band there and lots of food. The fog was rolling in and we ate watermelon and bbq and watched the sunset. And listened to the music. I felt honored to be invited and share that time.

There was the bluegrass festival in Julian I performed at with Bucking Tradition, Charlie Metzler’s team. That stupid choreography prank on Jake. The ride up there in Mary’s car listening to “Here’s Your Sign.” Everyone sitting on Tanya. The heat and the dirt.

I love me a good hoedown. I’m not ashamed to say it. Sitting through one is almost torture. It’s in my blood. I need to dance. One of the instructors told me at Ray’s traditional workshop, “Ya got black blood in ya, girl.” One of the best compliments ever. I didn’t quite get it at the time. I was like 12. Now I do and I’m grateful. I remember Bill Nichols making sex jokes to make everyone smile for pictures. Lol. Good times.

I think one of the reasons I started listening was to make my mom mad on Sunday nights. She HATES bluegrass. But I started to love it. I started to love flatfoot too, which is equally as weird. But I’m grateful for bluegrass and memories.

What Goes Up…

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5-1-10                   2:08am

Tonight someone mentioned the phrase, “What goes up must come down.” And though I’ve always believed it, in the context not only of gravity but bipolar disorder, tonight I didn’t. I realized that if something here goes far enough up it does NOT come down. That gravity is here on Earth, but in space not so. On the moon there is less gravity, but in between there is none. What goes up stays up or stays moving until its energy is gone. How cool is that? Only here does “what” come down.

Cheese, Hot Sauce & a CD

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5-1-10                   2:01am

Tonight I find myself wondering if shredded cheese with hot sauce would be considered a snack or a meal. I had some hashbrown sticks and two tacos from Jack in the Box, but I swear those tacos are designed to make you need more. They’re addictive. Yet, I lack a car to get more. Damn. But I found some shredded cheese in my fridge. I ate it with some of my remaining taco sauce, then shredded some more – which for me is a big thing. There are ingredients in the fridge to make more tacos but the cheese seemed like the easiest thing to eat. No microwave or assembly required… Now I’m getting tired of cheese. Maybe I should’ve gone with ramen.

On a separate note, I bought a cd tonight at that concert. I’d like to sell it back. In concert her music is great. Some of it’s sad but she’s got a good voice and plays a mean fiddle. Her hoedown, wow. Freakin’ awesome. However, 13 of the 14 songs on the cd make me want to cry and pull my hair out. Not that they’re not pretty. They’re just fucking depressing. Grrrr. (sigh)

Stepping Back into Reality

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5-1-10                   12:28am

I hate stepping back into reality. Those moments when whatever fantasy or wonderful event I’m experiencing ends and it’s my life again. It’s more like falling off a curb than taking a step.

I went to an awesome concert tonight – Molly Jenson, Sara Watkins, and Jamie Drake. I invited S—. I know he digs Sara but he didn’t text back. The music was powerful. A few singalongs. A fight. I wished I had someone to talk to at the break. But as best I could I stayed in the moment.

Images of Randy flashed in my head, of faces at the group last night, text from emails. I wished that when it was over I could write and then walk to my own little apartment nearby. Like at USC I could leave the concerts and go home peacefully, or not peacefully, or not go home.

Instead, I walked outside to wait for my mom, who upon my entering the car began complaining about the time, and money, and asking me a bunch of irrelevant questions. She’s upset that I’m hungry. Now silence. I will get home not to a quiet place of my own but a stressful place I can’t seem to get away from.

But for just awhile it all goes away. Music does that for me. Live, loud, emotional music. And the ocean. And the movies. Tonight was interrupted by a stupid text I chose to ignore, but was lovely. And yes, it was lonely. But even for lonely, it was good.

The Key to My Heart

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4-29-10                 3:30am

I ordered Malan Breton’s La clé de mon Coeur (The Key to My Heart) necklace a few weeks ago. I wrote this reflection when I opened it on Sunday and sent it to him.

Dear Malan,

My necklace came today. It’s very arrival brightened my day. Opening it was savory, like a chocolate-dipped strawberry. I took pictures along the way. It reminded me of the excitement of opening my Tiffany bracelet. I hope that’s not offensive.

I stared at the envelope for awhile. I love how the label is handwritten in beautiful script, just for me. Like Charlie opening the Wonka Bar and finding the last golden ticket, I peered cautiously inside. Such a simple box with a straight label. Perfection. I can’t quite tell if the point of the M ends just in line with its legs or below. It intrigues me. I’m so glad I decided to buy this necklace.

I watched it for awhile, muted the tv to appreciate its beauty. The way the curved part is rounded on top and flat near you, the shine, how it felt in my hand. So dainty. When I put it on, I felt special.

Everything has a meaning. Putting on this necklace is not just putting on a necklace. It sits at the perfect spot. Not too heavy. Just enough weight to remind me I’m wearing something beautiful. And that I’m beautiful even when I don’t believe it. The chain sparkles when it catches the light. This key reminds me there still is hope, that there’s still a part of me that sees past this, that still believes. There’s a little of your spirit in the key helping me. Thanks…

It was later followed by this.

The necklace reminds me today that I have something special that no one else has, that I too am a key. There are things only I can open and without me those treasures are forever locked away. It’s like magic. Makes me want to discover what they are.

Every day I seem to learn more. I’ll forget it’s there and am pleasantly reminded in the mirror. I shared my thoughts about it in a group on Monday and they appreciated it. I felt awful the other night and remember thinking I should take it off, that I don’t deserve to wear it. And I stopped myself because I knew that if I took it off for that reason that I wouldn’t put it back on.

It’s not often I find hope in a piece of jewelry, but there are certain pieces that define specific times in my life. My star earrings, my aquamarine ring, the engagement band I bought when I tested negative for HD, the necklace that matches Sarah’s. Eventually the meanings fade and they find their way to my jewelry box. But for now, it’s La clé de mon Coeur. A reminder that I’m worth it, to believe when no one else does, and that it really will be okay. Thanks, Malan.

If you’d like your own La clé de mon Coeur you can buy it at http://malanbreton.com/coeur.html. It is a limited edition item and a portion of the proceeds will be donated to Care & Share India.

The Key to My Heart - Image from http://malanbreton.com/coeur.html

Not Okay

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4-27-10                 12:34am

I woke up this morning to an image of Randy, followed by total black. I had never seen anything like it. My body kept trying unsuccessfully to throw up. My head was searing. I am grateful my Maxalt is now covered. S— called. Then I went back to sleep.

I was not doing well before I found out. Now I’m confused. Nothing makes sense. I had trouble singing in choir. I couldn’t even read the menu at dinner tonight and realized two hours after that I paid $10 too much. I get waves of emotion, a few minutes, then it’s gone. I’m exhausted.

My friend Randy took his life yesterday. My other friend and his gardener found him. He told us before group last night and we told the group.

I feel like my whole body is shaking, but it’s not. I rock. Stare. My thinking, is slow. I didn’t know Randy well but I knew him and I understand why he would take his life. I get it. I’m glad he’s not suffering. But we are.

It’s a weird position to be in. I’m a survivor who not infrequently considers suicide who is tasked with managing the after-effects on a group of others who have attempted or considered it also. It’s good to have something to do, but…

The logical side of me fights with the emotional one. I’m proud of myself for calling Bonnie tonight to meet for coffee. I don’t usually ask for help, but I’m not okay. (breath) I’m not okay.

The break will come. I’m not sure when. The moment when the emotion comes out and the anxiety goes away. I wait. Had one a few weeks ago in Jim’s bathroom. (deep breath) It’s good to breathe.

-Michelle

1:50am

PS – I’m so grateful for good friends. Reading my email tonight makes me smile warmly. So much love.

We’ll miss you, Randy.

Randy

Time

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4-26-10                 5:03am

Time really fucks with me. I have no concept of time. My day is significantly shifted from that of the average person. I don’t understand. It just all flows together. The difference between a minute, an hour, and a day are dependent on how I feel and 10 other things at any given time. I don’t usually know what day it is or the date or the month. I have to think what year it is. I also don’t instinctively know my age.

This gets confusing when I know I have to be somewhere at 4pm but I don’t know when 4pm is or I have an appointment on the 18th but I don’t know that’s tomorrow, and if I do know that’s tomorrow I don’t understand how long is before now and then. This also messes with my perception of how long it’s been since I’ve done something. I gave someone whom I know is extremely busy a letter on Thursday night. It’s now 5am Monday morning and I’ve been freaking out because I have no response. For me those 3 days are FOREVER. It doesn’t help that my amount of downtime with no external distraction is almost constant. If I had 2 hours a day to think about these things my time might seem to go quick. But about 22 of my 24 hours each day are downtime. (sigh)

Suffice to say, I’m confused. It’s kinda like this. Imagine if you were looking at your monthly calendar and there was no title, no month, and no numbers. Just a bunch boxes not even in the right order and some in a language you don’t speak. You look down at your watch to see the time but there is only a second hand, it’s rotating backwards and there are no numbers. Now try to be on time for something or make a deadline… Right.

My psychiatrist blames this inability to comprehend time on my staying up all night. I think that’s bullshit. I’ve never met another person who has this and I’m damn sure not every shift worker is as confused as I am.

Anyone have any experience with this? If so, what do you do to help? It’s nice to not be tied to a calendar or clock, but sometimes I need to know what’s going on. And yes, I am asking for advice. ;)

Decompensation

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Wrote this poem-like thing tonight. I’m thinking in shapes. Yes I’m safe. Yes my therapist knows. Not about the shapes but the rest. Music and rocking and writing help.

Decompensation

4-26-10                 4:14am

4:15 in the morning
Music plays whether it’s on or not
At least I love this song
Rough day
Rock almost constantly
(falling asleep)
Screamed at Mom
Wrote all day
Assessed myself

Decompensation sucks
Is it worth the joy?
Maybe.
Not right now.
Ask me in 2 weeks…

Why is it I never remember at the top that the higher I climb the harder I fall?
I guess it’s a blessing.
Would ruin the high.

I’m wanted at a group tomorrow.
I want to die.
But I’m too tired.

My Turn & A Favor

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4-25-10                 3:12pm

Society has failed to program me correctly. I’m missing essential code.

4:10pm

Spike in anxiety. Trouble breathing. When is it my turn? I’ve asked this before. When do they call our the guard for me and the guard actually comes and helps?

Just got a text from J- (no doubt a mass message) about FC being at BSL and being lonely, a request for calls and visitors. I’m so sick of being expected to help people! The last time I was in the hospital for a month I made it clear I wanted no random visitors. No extra stress. But my group didn’t even get me a card. J’s response when I asked why – they (whoever they is) figured I wouldn’t want it. What? Just because I can’t stand seeing you face to face it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate some show of support. The only message I got of appreciation on Wednesday was Angel’s status update that came to my phone & woke me up. I saw some ladies in  Tio Leo’s with roses. When I asked why, they confirmed the text. It was Secretaries’ Day. Admin Professionals’ Day. Whatever you want to call it. Last year I bought Mags flowers for it. Nobody remembers.

Do me a favor? When you get an email or text or letter from someone you don’t absolutely hate, SEND ONE BACK! (big sigh) And if you hate them, send a message back to say that. For me, not hearing anything back is brutal. I know people are busy – (breathing heavy) You may not know the effort it took to write and send out, how many hours of deliberation and thought, how many sessions of therapy it came up in. You don’t know. And if you do, why wait? It’s just mean. I don’t understand.

I’m waiting on a response from 2 people. One of them I sent of a letter of support she requested about something that happened a few weeks ago. She knows this letter was hard for me. I told her. The event kept playing in my head. It terrified me. I conquered the letter. I’d appreciate a response. You know? The second person I’m not sure I’ll ever get a response from.

Solitary confinement in prison would kill me.

A Long Night – Neediness

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4-24-10                 3:30am

Do you ever sit next to someone and you really want to just hug them but you can’t?

I don’t like this habit of crying in my kitchen at night. Last night I sat next to S- and I needed him so much. But I didn’t say it. I don’t want to scare him. I think I already have and I’m sad. I’m more sad that I’m crying alone in my kitchen.

J- went on this diatribe tonight about how I should back off and not scare S- away with expectations and future thoughts. Scare him away? He couldn’t BE more away. I know. I’m scary. I get it. I can’t be any less me. I don’t send him tons of emails. I rarely text or call. I don’t understand. What is so wrong about pursuing something or someone that brings me comfort? I’m not contagious. I’m not toxic.

Listening to others and their fears messes me up. I’m trying really really hard to appear as needless as possible, but I’m not. I’m extremely lonely…

5:39am

Yes, I’m still up. I’m feeling desperate. Damn birds are starting to chirp. Thankfully, my rain gutter hasn’t coughed up any more dead ones.

What is it that school was trying to prepare me for? Or us? What I use are my writing skills, my ability to convince people to do things, my networking savvy, and my creativity. Occasionally I use math. The rest is useless to me. Except the theater and choir, but that’s not academic. Is the goal to teach you how to learn? (light bulb) No. It’s to teach you how to blindly follow, with a few facts thrown in along the way. The higher up you go in academia the closer you get to the levels where people question why they follow but they still do. Who teaches how to lead and how to lead leaders?

Like I said, I’m still up. I need people. And I need some movement. Walking today felt great. Sleep is impossible with the birds. And Daylight Savings? That’s Darkness Stealing Time for me.

I have nothing to do AND IT’S DRIVING ME NUTS! Yes, I need to do the post-work from the NAMI Walk. Not urgent. Have a paper to edit for a friend – not sure why. Also not urgent. What IS urgent is my restless uneasiness. I don’t want to sleep. I want to scream. I want to be comforted. I want to kick something.

I don’t want to go to the event in 7 hours. Officially 2 hours (which turns into 5) at a buffet whose food I don’t really like with people I try to avoid. The smart ones aren’t going. They realize the set-up, but it’s my event. I have to be there. Self-imposed rule. Last time it was awful. But it’s the only thing I have this weekend.

6:15am

I lay in bed and start to pray and my first thought to God is, “I’m so sorry.” I don’t’ know what for but I’m so very sorry. It’s like the process from Avoidance. If there is a cause and effect for everything this feeling has a cause. But I don’t know what it is. And therefore I can’t fix it. But I feel very guilty.

Neediness is insipid. I don’t know what that means right now but it feels like the right word. It’s mere existence sabotages you. Not the need for an outfit or a head of lettuce. Emotional need. I need someone. But the fact that I need someone makes someones not want me, which makes me more needy. I can’t not need, but I can’t look for people when I need them. It’s too late. And the friends I make when I’m not needy aren’t equipped to or don’t want to deal with the need.

10:50pm

Insipid isn’t right. It’s the “in” word that means self-defeating vicious cycle.

Hope-intolerance & Bullshit

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4-24-10                 2am

If I’m hopeful or happy, just be happy for me. It took a long time to get here and it’s fragile. I don’t want or need your advice or predictions of doom or warnings. They fuck with my head. Even if I don’t agree they stick.

And when I’m not happy, just be my friend. I don’t need my problems solved. I just need you to listen, or a hug, or someone to sit with. (close my eyes) Just a friend.

I really need a friend tonight. I’m writing about advice while fighting with my mom, whom I rarely understand. My “friends” are all in some sort of crisis or otherwise unavailable, unhelpful or asleep. I feel alone. —

I sat at the OCD group tonight, which was particularly odd, and thought, “I am surrounded by crazy people.” I don’t want to be.

I’m finding it harder to have hope and be happy than to function depressed. And I say that because people don’t like happy people. Even I don’t usually like happy people. But I don’t try to burst their bubble when I meet them. It’s like there’s a hope-intolerance. There are still people whose joy I can’t take, whose hope makes me sick. But I don’t think I’m one of those people. I’m kind of in between. I’m a person who understands the depths of suffering and now feels hope in the suffering but is not yet through it.

And I am quick to point out the bullshit and to simplify. I have no desire to dance around the truth most days and I don’t appreciate people lying to me. Just say it. Whatever it is, just say it. And if you can’t, say that. This Green Peace guy stopped me on the way to choir the other day and I kept asking what he wanted me to do. He kept on with his plug. Finally, he said he wanted a monthly donation. He could’ve saved us both time and energy had he just said that to begin with. People seem to lack the ability to answer a question directly. And it drives me fucking nuts. I’m a writer. I appreciate flowery language. But I despise unnecessary crap. (sigh)

Life is like a live interview on CNN. You don’t get a do-over, 30 million people are watching and you have to make due with the question you’re given in a short amount of time. Sure you can bullshit your way around it, but why? Answer the damn question.

(sigh) I’m so tired. Oh, and answer it correctly with accurate information that makes sense. (roll my eyes) What a novel idea.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Advice

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4-24-10                 1:07am

I just turned the tv off. Mom’s playing Chinese checkers on the computer. I’m sick of people giving me advice, of telling me not just what to do but what not to. The person who gave me a ride home tonight asked about S—. He listened for a bit, then gave me a long explanation of what I shouldn’t do and how he doesn’t understand why all people don’t function like he does. Blah blah blah. I did not solicit this advice nor do I want or appreciate it.

I don’t know where people get off thinking my sharing is equivalent to giving them permission to tell me what to do and tell me all of their largely unrelated examples. If I want your advice, I’ll ask for it. Otherwise, just shut up.

It’s a group rule at DBSA that we don’t give advice unless someone asks for it or you ask first. It’s just courtesy. More people need to learn the art of listening. I may know the solution to someone’s problem, but that doesn’t mean they want to know, or that they want me to tell them, or that it’s even appropriate for me to get involved.

There are two things in particular I do not want unsolicited advice on. 1) Relationships. Just don’t. 2) My Health. 99.9% of the population has nothing that could remotely help me, no knowledge that even approaches what I need.

And if you don’t want to know, don’t ask. Okay? Yes, I’ve lost a lot of weight. No, I’m not on a diet. And no, I don’t want to hear your diet stories, or why I shouldn’t eat ice cream and ramen, and how salt makes you bloated, or how your cousin’s 4th ex-wife’s best friend’s brother found some magic healing food in Africa. I don’t care. It’s too much information. Just because you covet losing weight doesn’t mean it’s a good thing for me. I’m grateful to look healthy and be thinner, but I lost the weight because I’m sick.

Resist the urge to ask. Ask yourself first, “Do I really want to know?” I’m almost sure the answer is no. If not you can send me an email. But for most people that’s a good enough description. I’m sick. Period. If you ask me my symptoms, you will be overwhelmed and I in turn will feel shitty. For now, I’m just sick. I can live with that…

My Advice:

Please, think before giving advice. It can really change a life.