I don’t understand why more guys don’t do Zumba. It’s free or cheap live exotic dancing in a socially acceptable setting. No one expects the dance to look great. In fact, most of us hate those skinny bitches who do it all perfect and sexy. Fuck them. Since I’ve lost weight and can dance I think I might be one of them now. But I don’t care. It feels fucking good.
I do things in Zumba I’d never do in “real life.” I want to be watched, complimented, to be in the dance and then walk away. It’s all a practice. This one’s just more sexy. And currently mostly a reprieve from men seeking women. What a comedy that might be…
© Michelle Routhieaux 2018
So… this is life.
It’s 9:55pm. I’m sitting on the tile floor of a hotel next to an ATM. The world around me seems surreal. I did Scotty’s dance, taped Missi’s. People greet me and ask how I am. Some of them ask with a knowledge from Facebook of the hospital. Some have no idea. To those whose eyes say they know, I am trying to be honest. A new thing for me. My doctor warned me I would overheat on seroquel and geodon. She failed to tell me what to do not to. One intermediate Scotty workshop brought my blood boiling to a point it shouldn’t reach until well into a Saturday night dance or several advanced routines in a row outside on a hot summer black asphalt day. I must brainstorm for tomorrow. But I’m tired.
There’s cold air blowing on me.
I really love to dance.
I’m not sure why I feel sad here. I don’t feel connected. I don’t feel alive. I guess I don’t feel ready. Will I ever? I want to dance again but I don’t have faith in me. I need help to believe. I don’t even know what a healthy person’s life looks like. What am I s’posed to want? And for whom?
STOP (DBT skill) Now what did that stand for? (practice skill) Well, now I feel sadder.
Check the facts:
- I’m at Possum Trot.
- I’m sitting alone in a noisy lobby.
- I feel sad and scared.
- I am also excited to be here.
- I feel free on the dance floor.
- My face and neck are twitchy.
- I stayed awake today.
- I got to hug and laugh with Scotty.
- I am able to dance w/o pain.
- Mom is here.
- I am scared for it to be over.
- I really want to dance and feel loved.
- I am fragile.
- I am safe.
I’d like to watch Peg + Cat now.
My head hurts.
I want to feel safe.
Will I ever be a dancer again?
I need to go to sleep.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2015
4 minute writing exercise at a workshop
When I lost my faith I stopped dancing. When I lost my dancing I lost me. Somewhere in a corner she is locked up, crying quietly. I lost me. I don’t understand. She understands less. When I lost my faith, I lost me.
I used to believe I could do anything, that somehow God had blessed me and I would do good. But now I do this. They say this is me. But in the mirror she’s not what I see. When I lost my faith, I lost me. I miss being me.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2012