© Michelle Routhieaux 2017
What’s happening now? I’m sitting in my room. I want to run away but I’m here. I feel my heartbeat where my butt touches the cushion and heavy in my chest. Most of my toes, the side of my left hand on the page. It’s hard to raise my gaze. “I want to die” is on my mind. It’s just a phrase. I’m not getting out.
God sends encouragement just before I need it. And I’ve yet to pair the thought that something bad is about to happen with the joy. Thank God for that.
I just stared at him. All I could say was, “Wow.” And I walked away. (prolonged stare…)
Am I really a miserable human?
(barely moving) Too painful. I don’t want to write. Have to. Need to.
(starting to pass out, not breathing)
After church today I stayed to talk to Matt about the choir, to ask what the fuck is going on. He seemed confused by the inquiry. The choir is chaos. I don’t get the details because I’m on the outskirts but I joined the choir in 2013 when God told me to. I didn’t go for the church or the pastor. I went to sing and to fellowship with Diane. I like the people. The goings on sometimes are questionable but only because I’m not on the inside. I come to most rehearsals. I show up for church. In the past I was able to sing a few pieces for special music. But this year everything changed. There was unspoken drama that caused Diane to quit and many other members to leave the church. I have no details. Bobby took over the choir temporarily. I like him as a human but choir practice sucked. Then a few weeks ago he quit too. Again, I have no details. Richard stepped in to direct temporarily though he lacks any ability to do it and we follow Helen and guess. Sometimes there’s rehearsal. Sometimes there isn’t. When there is we just go over hymns to sing and mark our books. Different choir members shout out what we need to do, direct from the loft. “Special music,” aka the music we sing as a highlight once a month, has become a joke. Even prayer time is lacking. More people keep leaving the church.
At the last rehearsal I went to two weeks ago I asked if in one of the ones I missed if there was a State of the Choir conversation, what was going on in regards to finding a new director and fast. No one seemed to know. They said maybe Matt was working on it. When I asked Richard for information he said he didn’t know. I said, “But you’re in charge.” Silence. The choir concurred that no one had any idea how to even go about looking for a music director or where to find one. I said I do. At least I have contacts who do and would probably help.
At church today Bonnie said she hopes I’m there on Thursday. I said I don’t know, that the situation is making me really angry. I don’t even get texts anymore about whether there’s rehearsal or not. She tried to make it better saying we’re working together and blah blah it will be better soon. It’s not okay. It’s not okay. Music is what ties the service together and speaks to souls. It matters.
After the service I went to talk to Matt. I asked what the info was on finding a new choir director and told him how unhappy I am at the current situation. Richard’s a great guy but he’s NOT a music director at all. Now is when we should be buckling down and starting to work on Christmas stuff. What we need is asking the impossible – someone who is skilled/talented at music and directing, experienced with hymns and traditional music, willing to give at least 2 half days a week, plan and execute holiday performances, coordinate special music, get along with everyone and do it all for free. (listen to solo piano on Pandora)
Matt seemed to have no idea what I was talking about in regards to the choir being in shambles. He said Richard was directing. I’m aware of that. I wanted to know who is looking for a new director, who is working on this. He wasn’t concerned. He said he’s not going to bring in a performer or hire a music director. He said he’s not like most churches. I asked if that meant he was expecting someone from our congregation to just stand up and do it. He kept talking about God’s will and that whatever God wants will happen. I told him I believe in God’s will but I also believe I have to DO SOMETHING too. I told him I’ve been in this choir for several years. I didn’t come to Trinity for the church or the sermons or the people. I came because God told me to come and sing with Diane. And I did. And I put up with a lot of bullshit to stay in it. Now she’s gone and Bobby’s gone and the choir is a mess. I can’t tolerate much more of this. Music is important. It’s connecting. It hurts to watch the program fall apart and the people do nothing. I’m so angry.
That’s when he said it. I thought maybe he would say if I felt so strongly about the program I should step up and lead, but he didn’t. He said Richard is the director for now and that he won’t be appointing anyone to replace him without really getting to know the person over time. He said, “Maybe this is God calling you to go somewhere else…”
I just stood there staring at him. We didn’t say anything. My breath stopped and my eyes squinted. Finally I said, “I’m just gonna leave that with a ‘Wow.’” I walked away without words. I grabbed my purse, looked at the choir loft, thought about the post-it on my hymnal from the first time I was there. Then I left.
I wanted to leave, to hide, go somewhere else but I’m still home. I don’t understand. I think I was just asked to leave my church. It’s not a horrific idea but I don’t get it. I bring people in. My friends like that church. Matt helps them when they need it. My mom gets along well with the people. They have free donut holes. It’s by my house. And it used to have people in it I called friend. They’ve never instituted any of my ideas or requests and they know very little about me, but they care. I don’t want this to interfere with the journeys of my friends. But it interferes with me. Not something I expected.
I don’t know what happens now, just that I feel very alone. Maybe it finally is time to change churches. I wish it didn’t have to be this way.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2016
© Michelle Routhieaux 2016
Thoughts after a friend’s comments today. She made my life make sense.
Yes, I am safe.
“It’s your job to help them make sense. You’re really good at that. You have a unique angle… Praise these people for the good they’re doing.” -C
Judgement (piano music)
Anger at incompetence
They’re doing their best
Your best isn’t good enough
My best isn’t good enough
It never is.
She pointed out I let things get me upset. There are many thing worth being angry about. I don’t understand artificial limits. Things are SUPPOSED to make sense. People are supposed to be good and competent and do their jobs well. Life is supposed to be good. Objects belong in their assigned places. Needs should be met. There should be love.
Yet, there is chaos. The force of the world turning empties the drawers. Walls fall down. Good people die. Fourth graders run the world.
IT’S NOT RIGHT.
People wonder why I get mad. I can have empathy for individuals, not so much for systems of care. The happy people seem to not have or have overcome this programming. I observe them operating calmly under the belief that people are good, practicing forgiveness and rest. This is utterly foreign to me. When I try this I have to not care. I stop giving a shit and my anger turns to bitterness. It erases my hope.
The anger is what propels me, causes me to seek or make change. People don’t like it. I assume they think I do, like I could walk away if I tried. There’s nothing else inside.
(quiet pause, close my eyes)
I want to die.
(watch the people)
When you take the anger I sit on the floor, silent, looking up at you. Who’s my mommy? Will you take me home? I don’t belong here.
Inside the donut.
Thank you, God.
Thank you, C.
“Lord I’m Ready Now” by Plumb plays over and over in my head. It’s so intense. I’m ready to let go. I don’t want this anymore. Fall into the arms of Jesus and weep. I feel so alone.
Yes, I’m a bitch. It’s all I know. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Teach me your ways.
Read the book.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2014
Gosh, life is hard. (deep breath…)
I made food tonight. I’m so proud of myself. On the energy of a Rice Krispie treat I made chicken-flavored rice, popcorn and a few pieces of bacon. I never cook. It terrifies me. But I was hungry tonight and less terrified than usual. I sit here now listening to KLOVE and cry. I feel so alone.
Today was the first day in a very long time when I could rest. I slept in and took a shower and did some errands, at my own pace, on my own time. I tried the tv but settled on silence, then KLOVE. I feel so alone.
I went to Sea World with my boyfriend yesterday. (He prefers I call us “co-persons.” I don’t.) I had a really hard day, some of which was great. I’m having trouble communicating and getting sucked into the Borderline attachment/abandonment vortex. He’s leaving. It’s not that I’m imagining his leaving or that I’m scared that he will or that I did something to make him leave. He’s leaving the area for a traveling job and he doesn’t know if he’s coming back. I don’t want him to go. I feel safe with him. I’m using every skill I know to be honest and open, even when it terrifies me, and I’m astonished to find that he doesn’t hate me. He actually likes me most days.
I feel so alone. I know there is a purpose for this leaving, but I can’t see it right now. And tonight it is quiet and it all covers me. We’ve been playing house this week and I’ve been thinking I’d really like to do that, to play house with someone or on my own… My mom’s coming back from NY soon with her boyfriend and my guy will leave and I guess all will go back to the way it was. But I’ll be different. (crying)
I want to love. I want to have a family. I want not to be lonely. I want to need to cook more than three pieces of bacon. And to feel okay enough not to cry every time there is silence.
I feel close to God lately. He’s not but I pray for him. I know God is doing something in me. I want to use whatever that is for good. Tonight I just cry. I trust Him. I trust Him. I surrender it all. Every day. Every time. (deep breath)
I’m so grateful for the ability to breathe.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2012
I just caught something when I was proofreading the last post.
“When asked what I think love is my answer lies along the lines of finding someone to grow old with.”
I thought about that for a moment. For love I am willing to grow old.
(maple syrup pause)
I always thought I’d die before I got to this age – 26. And along the way I’ve never been pro-life. Not in regards to abortion but to living. I want to die a fair amount of the time and I don’t ever want to be old. But in that moment there was a spark. I’d be willing to grow old if I didn’t feel alone.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2012
Something magical between S- and M- tonight. I am left with a feeling of peace, calm. The most beautiful set – emotional, powerful, soft. He had a realization. He shared some music with her. I watched. I treasure the privilege. It was a moment, her listening, him watching intently. A love. A piece of magic.
I wish I had something like that. Not a romantic love, but a trust. A history. A hug.
I am so grateful to share in the energy, to talk with S-. To pretend. Maybe if I imagine it I can live it in my head. I’ll be loved and no one can get to me. Love will protect me. Bitter love.
– doesn’t know I like him. And he doesn’t like me back. And that’s okay. Bitter love. The silence doesn’t go away.
I watch the dots pass by me.
I am not in control.
You drive my car down many paths.
I am not in control.
The dots pass by. I fill with light.
I am fire. And then I am ash.
But I am not in control.
Be, they say, not do. But how?
Please, God. How?
The dots pass by.
I listen and breathe.
My sadness fills rivers.
My heart, it shrivels.
My body is in pain.
I am alone.
I am alone.
Jesus, I can’t feel you. Are you there? I’m scared. I choose love but feel fear. I feel alone. Am I alone? Why can’t I feel love? Is it a brain thing? It just is. Everything just is. Could you make everything isn’t? I’d appreciate that.
My toes are cold. The tv is on. I’d like it if is were isn’t. Would life be better in isn’t? I don’t know. Please, bitter love, love me or go away. My bitter love isn’t.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2012
I feel like crying. I feel very alone and I don’t know what to do. I’m sitting on my bed. Just came in from writing about trees after storming out because Mom was bugging me. If you ask for my help you can’t get mad at me for not doing it YOUR way – “the right way.”
I stood outside for awhile hearing Silent Night. I am so confused yet so aware. And so tired… My season is gray. I am surrounded by stupidity, evil, things that make no sense, things I wish didn’t make sense. And it’s all beyond my reach. I’ve been trying to convince my mom to get a dog. I can’t even take care of myself.
In all likelihood, soon I won’t remember this and I will feel pleasantly confused and tuned out. But I’m not there yet. There are windows of reality to endure. Mom doesn’t understand why I’m mad. And she thinks I’m mad at her. I’m usually not. And there’s no way to fix it. It just is. Need some disco and a nap.
I am wilting. I am laying on wet leaves in the forest staring up through the trees at the sky. I know the wolf is coming, the flood. I just need to lay here.
Reality is contagious. Careful where you point that thought.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2011