They don’t own me

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


7-3-10                  11:13pm

I feel really sad tonight. Mom and I went to watch fireworks but I still feel sad.

I went to see Sacha sing last night and I can’t seem to shake what happened. At first it was quiet with a few people there. I felt lonely but I had the perfect cozy corner and was comfortable. Then Lavelle came and the energy picked up.

I went to ask how to find his cd info on FB and he and Peter (his friend) invited me to sit with them. I didn’t want to sit with them. I go to concerts to get away from people. But it’s kind of rude to turn down an invite when I’m sitting alone.


I hope I don’t see him again. He likes me. He wants to write me poetry (so he says.) He wrote a poem-like thing complete with bad grammar and signature in my journal. He asked what kind of food I like and I said I have food rules. He said that sounds complicated and he’s an artist, he doesn’t need anyone more complicated than him. I resisted my urge to say, “Wow, you’re vain.” If you can’t handle my not eating seafood I am definitely not the girl for you.

He sat next to me to talk but didn’t, which is good because I just wanted to listen to Sacha. When he left he came back, leaned down and thanked me for being sexy. I said thank you.  He said, “(pause) No, thank you.” I’m pretty sure it was meant to be flattering but I didn’t feel flattered. I just felt dirty.

He then proceeded to hijack “At Last.” Now NOBODY interrupts that song. I don’t care if the roof is caving in or your hair is on fire. It can wait. Hold your breath. Part way into the song he starts singing random lyrics full-voice from the audience. He is singing for all the world to hear. I’m confused. Sacha’s confused. Johnny just keeps playing. My anxiety goes through the roof. Eventually he stops and Sacha finishes. Having a great voice is awesome but song hijacking is never cool. He pulled a Kanye. He stole Sacha’s moment. But not only did he steal her moment, he stole mine. I love that song, 4 minutes of fantasy. It’s like waking a child who’s sleepwalking. You just don’t do it. In my book it’s right up there with peeing in the Holy water, screaming “FIRE” in a crowded theater, or yelling, “I have a bomb strapped to my body!” on a plane. It’s disrespectful, outrageous, upsetting.

Consequently, I took myself and my anxiety attack home. I found my Xanax and have been stewing about it since. Lavelle called me last night but I was too tired to talk and had nothing to say so I didn’t answer.

My upsetness isn’t just about his actions. It’s about what they mean about me. Blame Cog for the Downward Arrow Technique running my life, but it all comes back.

Yes, I’m complicated. But I’m honest. After “For All We Know” I told him that’s one of my favorite songs. He said, “Then you should be happy.” “It’s not a happy song,” I said. I listen to lyrics. I care what people say and why and what they don’t and what they’re thinking.

That man could not handle who I am because (core belief and/or truth) I am broken. And I’m not ashamed of it. I don’t need to change for someone else. If I’m not acceptable the way I am, move on. But please, do it respectfully. You may be a player but I didn’t come here to get played. Or reminded that I’m complicated and undateable. I came to get away and to dream, and to see Sacha.

Peter has his work cut out for him keeping Lavelle in line.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010