Tag Archives: dreams

Wake me up

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5/1/16     11:52am

I hear the chorus of “Thy Will” by Hillary Scott. I’m trying not to cry.

God, I trust you and I don’t understand.

I had a dream last night. I had a roommate. There was a funeral. That part’s fuzzy. But I left my room and ended up at a wall, a cliff by the beach. There was a long flight of cement stairs down. The further I walked the steeper they got until the path was straight up and down. I put my arms out and held onto the thin steps/bricks above me. SO far down I looked into the ocean. And then I let go. It surprised me. I free fell, felt the wind on my face. and a stair caught me. Then it was my choice. I tried letting go again but this time and the next few I fell shorter each time. I fell on a concrete slab, the bottom of a different stairwell by the ocean. “I have to call Dr. M,” I said. I climbed up those stairs. At the top was Scripps Mercy ER. I sat there for awhile, decided I didn’t want a 5150 there and left. (long pause) I want to let go.

I’m sitting in church. I chose me over the last minute finance meeting. So much has changed. Diane is gone. I told X I’m not happy. I don’t think he can understand. I don’t want to be here. I don’t support what is happening. But it’s so important to – and my mom and… My breath stops. My face tingles. I belch up puke & hold back tears. I don’t move much. I took my hymnal down from the choir loft. I’ve had a headache since Friday – disabling. I believe the pain is what’s keeping my behavior appropriate. God, what do you want me to do?

Go to yoga

Ok.
I’m trying so hard, God. I’m listening. I hear you. Please, hold my hand.

—

SH Urge: hit head into something hard where it already hurts over and over.

Wake me up, Lord. Put me back to sleep.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2016

He loves me

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7/18/12     1:08pm

I had the most intense dream last night. It was about Dad and J-. I can’t recount in too much detail. I’m still in a fog an hour later.

I was looking for J- and his secretary, this lady, kept telling me I could only contact him through FB. I was confused and frustrated, but finally I figured out that was code for him being a patient at MV. I went to visit him in the ICU. He was a mess. Didn’t wanna see Rachael. I’m worried about him. I said I would come back. The next day I had a Hell of a time getting there. Kim was following me on a skateboard. Had to navigate the ocean to find my way.

Somehow I found a lady from Social Security. I don’t know what she was calling about but she had so much information. Information nobody has. She told me that my

(mom touches me. need to SCREAM. her energy is stuck to my ear. can’t breathe.)

She told me my mom was there when my dad died and that she stopped them from saving him. I couldn’t breathe, so much crying. I was injected into the scene. I watched but I saw something they didn’t. Before he died, after they stopped trying, he woke up. He opened his eyes wide, smiled hugely – a grin like I’ve never seen – pointed to him, pointed to the ceiling. He looked at me, said “I love you,” smiled big, pointed at the ceiling again and was gone.

(deep breath)
I wasn’t angry anymore.
I felt peace. I heard his voice.
He loves me.

This woman, my worker, knew a lot about me. She knew things about my life I don’t know. But we were putting flowers in a vase and she said she knows I drive a lot. I told her I don’t, that I don’t have a license. She said I have a permit. I said that I don’t. She said, “Then that’s the next step.” And my mom woke me up.

What I take from this:

  • J- is sick/stressed. I should stop sending him emails.
  • My dad is okay. I can let go, disengage. He loves me.
  • I need to get my permit this week.

What a dream.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

About a dream

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9-6-11     1:24pm

Had a very stressful dream. I was late to a choir performance at Diane’s church, Mom sang in the choir and my glasses broke. Ken was directing music I didn’t know and I was bitchy and in crisis. He played Santa in a number at the end but looked like Mr. J. And then he was gone. A dream in my dream told me he had given the choir to Diane. She said, “How did you know?” My dream told me.

I was trying to get back to Cuyamaca College to catch Ken, but I was riding golf carts with other people who kept stopping and weighing too much. The last cart I took stopped in front of a shady business and let us pick quickly from dying plants they were supposed to throw out.

I went school shopping with Mom for 3 but couldn’t find what she wanted – the perfect blow-up chair. I also wanted lemonade that no one could find.

One of my old clients had been injured and was taken to Scripps. I worked with a few of the doctors. He was to be kicked out because he had straight MediCal and I threw a fit, DEMANDED to speak with the boss. He had died and they directed me to the joint Executive Directors.

Then I was in the hospital and by a pool and very tired. I was scared they would not let me back in because I’d left to tend to that client. But they were so kind and did. My nurse and I were laughing trying to figure out how to pee into this test-tube with arms. 

When I got back to my room two young guys were there – the Executive Directors from the other hospital. They brought me flowers. They layed on my bed and the one next to it. I stood. I pleaded my case but they would have none of it. Money money money.

But then the short guy (not the tall skinny hot one) started to cough. One cough repeatedly. He became very old and fell out of bed coughing up yellow stuff. Then he had a heart attack. And they gave my client the care he needed for free.

I really wanted to talk to Dr. N but every time I typed this phrase it became icons. He had forgotten his name and where he lived and what he practiced. He became a thick blue line at the top of the screen with two flowers thrown in. Terrifying.

The dream didn’t happen in this order but this is the way I remembered it. It’s the other way around.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Wish

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8-30-10                2:34am

Dear Magical Wish-granting Fairy in the Sky,

I wish for a clogging studio, please. The one I see in my head. It’s one of those dream/wishes that’s not really possible but that I’ve been dreaming about since I was little. I’ve yet to find a genie or a shooting star or a sugar daddy or to find hidden treasure. I thought maybe you could help me out. It’s worth asking, right? So, please, if you could. Help a sister out. Thanks.

Michelle

Health & Dreams

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5-23-10                 4:28pm

I feel so overwhelmed today. The tension is so high I have to breathe through my mouth or my face just might explode. My cheek bones hurt.

I caught the early bus, the one that takes twice as long to the trolley. I can’t stand it in my house or around my mom. She drives me nuts. I don’t know when she forgot how to have fun or started believing fun is bad. But no matter what I do it’s wrong to her, makes her mad. (Our bus driver doesn’t know where she’s going.)

I knew today would be difficult because the last two were wonderful. I had two healthy days. And in those days I did a ton of stuff. I went to a ROCO meeting, toured Edgemoor, saw my neuro, ate Chinese food twice, sang at the gospel festival, went out to dinner, attended a suicide conference, got my hair cut, went to Body Rock and enjoyed The Shout House. I walked farther than I usually can. My body didn’t hurt. I lifted things, felt happy, had energy. I even took the stairs at the Civic several times. I felt normal. I felt happy.

Going to Body Rock last night was an exposure. I’ll admit I cried through the first number and wanted to leave but I’m glad that I stayed. I had a great time. I’m proud of myself. I did something new, out of my comfort zone, sat through the anxiety and enjoyed it. And I went to The Shout House and sang. It was great. I hadn’t been there since my 21st birthday. On the way home I was gifted a horrible headache that made it hard to breathe, but the night was worth it. So were the days.

I woke up today feeling calm and happy. Warm sun feels good now on my back. I feel trapped. A good friend posted on FB last night about giving up her dream. I want to help her, to listen, but I can’t if she won’t let me. I need that magic dress. Not being able to do anything hurts. My body feels heavy. I tingle. I just can’t get it out of me. If I could tell her anything it would be not to give up her dream. She might not get it back.

As I watched Body Rock I needed to dance, and having two mostly symptom-free days I let my mind wander, hope. I thought about dancing again, taking classes, performing, watching shows. All the stuff that I love. It seemed possible. Just maybe I could have that again. It didn’t escape me that 2 days is 2 days, but it felt good just to dream.

When I gave up performing I didn’t think it would be forever. I don’t mean singing in a choir. I mean being a star. I didn’t think that I couldn’t have it back. That I would see myself someday singing at the bar of The Shout House just to sing. I didn’t see that. It’s kind of like giving your child voluntarily to the foster care system and just hoping they treat it well. It will never be the same. They say going back to school is harder the longer you’re out. It’s nothing compared to losing or hiding or pausing a dream. Because the dream never goes away. It haunts me. I’m different now, but it’s still the same dream.

I keep thinking of the Rainer Maria Rilke wisdom from “Letters to a Young Poet” that if when you wake up in the morning you can think of nothing but writing then you’re a writer. Or of dancing you’re a dancer, etc. When I don’t do what I am I’m not happy. And when I’m not happy, I’m not me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Maybe it’s time to dream

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5-15-10                 2:55am

My friend posted this today:

Is wondering what’s more important love or a dream? What was the biggest thing you had to give up to pursue your dreams? –S

My original response:

I gave up my dreams to pursue me.

But I’ve been thinking. Why does one have to be more important? Can the dream not be love? Can you not love the dream? Do you really have to choose?

I did give up my dreams to pursue me. But maybe I’m thinking of the wrong dream. I gave up my dreams of being on Broadway and of getting a Ph.D. and of curing disease and having a family, of owning a dance studio and having a place and a dog. But the dream I followed was me. The dream of stability, of enlightenment. Okay, so I wasn’t after enlightenment but it would be nice.

The biggest thing I gave up in my pursuit of happiness has been control. I am pretty successful at what I do and in my recovery. And the biggest thing I keep giving up is control. Accepting that I am not in control is uber hard to do but so important. It’s not me who’s driving my destiny. I can’t control others or my body or the world. My life is in God’s hands. I still like being in control of things. Just not everything.

I also gave up thinking I matter so much and giving a damn. I used to care what everyone thought. It was so stressful. But now, there are very few people whose opinions I respect and whose criticism can throw my whole world off. I just don’t give a shit. I can’t afford to. I don’t have the energy and it doesn’t help me. Realizing I really don’t matter that much is hard but it’s helpful. That thing I said that’s stressing me out probably DIDN’T ruin his life. My late bill won’t kill me. Missing the meeting is NOT the end of the world. And without me, life goes on.

I also gave up love. I’m not sure I can say I gave it up though because I never had it. I don’t think I’ve given up the dream of love, just the hope that it will ever happen. I don’t stress about it most days. It’s out of my control. I’m just doing what I can.

I used to dream big. I remember dreaming about a party for my sweet 16. I remember it included ice sculptures. Lol. In reality I got a banner at Possum Trot and a dance with Jeff Driggs. Not quite an ice sculpture. The retreat was dreaming big. REALLY big. So is the movie night event this summer and the studio. But they’re not dreams I actually expect to happen.

I gave up my dreams to pursue me. Now that I’ve found me, maybe it’s time to dream.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010