Tag Archives: journal

Pondering imaginary dragons…

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9-6-12     12:14am

I find myself pondering imaginary dragons tonight and sending long poetic FB messages to people I barely know. About imaginary dragons. “Leverage” is on the tv and my cat’s in the window behind me. So much is going on.

I haven’t been writing because I haven’t been writing. Nothing seems to make sense. Not all of which is a bad thing. But most of which is rather trite. Or is that trifling? I’m not sure.

My mom’s boyfriend is staying with us. A love story for sure, except the part where I live with it. Everything is changing. I gave Zoe a tampon (in the wrapper) tonight to play with. She’s having a ball.

I want to write witty or poignant pieces to share with the world. Most days recently I’m working on just thinking. The blog crosses my mind without substance and I let it go. But writing about dragons tonight was, for a moment, in the right voice. And then it passed. Wisdom and truth from the voice in my head. This is what she says:

“About imaginary dragons… Sometimes what we train for is not what we’re meant to do. And the skills we learn are not for the purpose that we learned them. And sometimes windmills are shapeshifting dragons. And sometimes dragons aren’t dragons at all. But your dragon’s existence doesn’t hinge on your belief in it…”

She is smart. I miss her.

I really enjoyed choir tonight. Singing with my choir and my people are healing. So was the carne asada burrito.

I ramble a lot lately. I don’t make much sense. I can’t remember things and I can’t concentrate and I don’t really care. I go back and forth between uber confused and really agitated. Mood’s good when I’m confused most of the time. I type well with my eyes shut but not with them open. When I can’t stop staring at the ceiling I’m extra confused. I sing and talk to myself and rock. I am functionally impaired. The writing doesn’t come.

My old doctor was nice to me today, congratulated me on my success with my group. Then he backed me into a corner. I didn’t show my anger, just my confusion. I bypassed his request/rule and left. But all the memories came flooding back. This man who didn’t help me, who made me SO angry, whom I couldn’t leave for 5 years thanks to his prescribing, was nice to me. I had to leave. I walked around the parking lot talking to myself for awhile. Unresolved past now in the present. Imaginary dragons. Isn’t everything imaginary?

Do you ever just stare at things and utter seemingly meaningless sentences to hummingbirds or air? I can count backwards from 100 by 3 or 7 just fine. It’s counting back by 1 that gets tricky. Do you have change for a ten? I can’t find it. People just don’t get why I can’t handle change. IT’S NOT SAFE. I have enough trouble navigating the world with a constant set of rules. Quit fucking around. I’ve got mail to open.

My sequin shirt doesn’t fit now. What a shame. I like bacon. Do you like unicorns? I need to dye one purple. There’s a guy I like. I think he likes me too. So I ponder imaginary unicorns. Or was it dragons? I’m not sure. Maybe one day soon I’ll be writing with substance again. Until then, yogurt for all.

From the unicorn base,
M

PS – If I haven’t told you already, Icees from Target are quite helpful when I’m very upset. So is wandering. I wander a lot. ;)

PPS – (stare and listen…)

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

I will drink water

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8/3/12     9:42pm

I will drink water. It will cleanse me, form a shield to protect me from drama and stress. A readily-accessible remedy. I’ll grow me a magnetic bullshit shield lined with peace. I will call this a distress tolerance skill. It also fits into PLEASE Master. Self-care combats the stupid people, builds tolerance. Makes me into a warrior.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Life doesn’t come with airbags

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7-26-12     3:01pm

Wow. That is ridiculous. I just called a doctor’s office to request records they failed to send to Social Security. And the lady went off on me. I tried to listen with empathy but finally I said, “Well, I can see how that sucks for you, but it sucks for me too.”

She was telling me how she’s begged and pleaded with Social Security and doesn’t understand why they can’t send someone to the office to copy the records. That she has SO many records she has to do and send and that it’s only her in the office and she’s overwhelmed. (silence) Okay. There are many solutions to this problem. Telling me is not one of them. It’s part of a medical practice to keep records and distribute them as needed. It’s a huge part of a neurology practice that specializes in serious illness. It is unacceptable to be unable to provide the requested documents in a timely manner because you overwhelm your staff and they’re freakin’ out. She literally asked me why they couldn’t just come copy them. I told her that would be a breech of privacy. She said it wouldn’t. Yes it would. To allow access to all patient records by an outsider with copy privileges IS a breech of privacy, in the biggest way. I felt sorry for this lady but I still need those papers.
She said she’d get to them when she can. I said, “Is when you can a month? six months?” She said not six months. (deep breath)

She seemed to think there was a vast pool of resources and available people to just gallivant around town making copies in offices. I’d make the copies myself but she didn’t ask. I’d send her a nice card but I don’t want her to think I’m manipulating her. I’m not sure what to do. The SS guy wouldn’t call me back so I talked to his supervisor today who was so very nice. I was surprised. They’re usually not. (just keep breathing.)

I completed my goals today – make needed phone calls. Email is beyond me. I’m exhausted now. If you’ve sent me an email recently and not received a response, you’re not alone. I’m avoiding it entirely. I just delete what I know is not relevant. I am easily spooked and set off, angered or upset. And I can’t think to deal with business issues. Or any other issues of the sort. I look forward to getting on the bus and riding away. No Acer foreign representatives to frustrate me. No mom on the phone with her boyfriend who is preparing for a tornado, literally. Why do people live in places with tornados? I don’t know. I feel slivly. No, I don’t know what that means.

I’ve been writing a lot. A LOT. I’m glad I see Dr. N next week. I saw him this week too. Dropped off 22 pages of writing yesterday. Too much stress. Life doesn’t come with airbags. I am exhausted.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Open to God

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7/18/12     6:17pm

I went to an ANAD meeting today. (I’m feeling anxious right now.) I went to the meeting and I realized how grown-up I am, how much progress I’ve made. I am not in that anymore. I’m not even in me. I worked for S-. I’m being opened to wisdom.

I have better boundaries. I understand why I do things. I practice mindfulness and DBT. I plan. I take care of me. I let things go.

Today last year I checked into CAP2. I could barely talk. I wanted to die. I was terrified. Dr. N was mad at me for giving up. I was so tired that I didn’t have it in me to try. Too tired to want to get better.

(deep breath, crickets) zap.

I rested. Then I did the work. And all year I’ve been working, learning, growing. Experiencing. Life.

I am more able now to deal with tsunamis of emotion. I can handle physical symptoms without freaking out. I made it through several crises, one of which I really would’ve preferred to be inpatient for, on the outside. I did it. And I’m doing it. I’m doing it.

My set of symptoms hasn’t changed much, but my ability to deal with it has. I also have stuck faithfully to the charting system I created with Dr. N in the hospital. July 28th will mark one year. It’s been good seeing him often and having a system we both understand and agree on. I trust him.

I’m finally to that point of being able to think about creating a life worth living. I want more for me. Marc wanted me to do that in 2008. I wasn’t ready. I don’t know what it will look like – probably a lot different than the picture in my head – but I’m open to ideas. I’m open to what God has planned for me. I’m open to God.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

I am free

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7/18/12     9:30pm

Thought of the Day

I am not an asset.
I do not belong to anyone.
I belong to God.

I choose whom I work for, when and what I do.
I set clear boundaries.
I enforce me.

I am on a journey in a set direction and nothing will deter me.

I am free.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

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

A colony of crickets

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7/17/12     12:14am

Big eyes.
       I want to be like Daddy.
       If I’m like Daddy, then he’ll love me.

I like George Bob. He’s my new plant. D-‘s concerned about me. I’m okay. Just young and in touch with the energy of the universe. I feel joy and my head is expanding. I feel pressure on all sides, want to sleep in my backyard. My toe burns. I wish I was seeing Dr. N tomorrow. I feel frenzied.

D- said he doesn’t believe that I believe I’m crazy. I do. I find that offensive. Crazy is at the core of my being. It’s who I am. I take pride in it. It has led me on this journey and given me wisdom. Crazy is me. I follow in my father’s footsteps. The gift has given me plenty. I don’t most days consider myself ill. I rarely think about diagnosis. I just experience, use the tools and grow. I learn from the richness of that which is crazy, that which is God and my life. 

I hope D- doesn’t freak out. I didn’t mean to weird him out with my imagination and energy stories and George Bob. The vibe. I can’t close my eyes but I can’t stop smiling and my face feels warm joy. :)

I feel like smashing George Bob.
I don’t know why.

I feel my heart beat in my stomach and I don’t know why. My thoughts have an odd cadence and they start to rhyme. When the rain in Spain falls on the plain in late July, I shall have to recommend that I do go awry. In the sky. In the nigh. On the mend. Amen.

I bought a plant named Bob in a pot named George at Ralphs on a Monday night after a board meeting and a crisis group. I did very well leading the group. Zoe makes funny sounds. My elbow hurts.

I want to run away.

12:52am

I took a mindful walk. Just got back. A beautiful experience. I was anxious, paranoid – needed to go – and scared that something would get me. I prayed and forged on, not willing to stop. It was a wonderful experience.

Cool breeze on my face. Trust. Night. I came upon a colony of crickets, the sound of which I’d never heard. A mighty wave. A binaural beat. The scent of gardenias danced in the air. I discovered a new crack in the way I hadn’t seen. I feel so much better. Mom’s mad because it’s 1am. Well she can mind her own fucking business. I’m experience the universe here. God can’t wait.

My brain is in orange pin curls. I want to talk to Dr. N. I want to talk to Dr. N. And color.

I just remembered L- is coming in the morning. I want to make it through my research tomorrow, get my $-. I don’t think it’s a good day to meet with R-. I should cancel that. The universe calls and its strength is uncanny. Its power is unkempt. Dangerous, yet beautiful. I’d say I’m a 7 leaning on an 8. I want to see Dr. N. I don’t want to stop the connection, just be in the right neighborhood. (rocking) I feel like playing Legos. And crying. I love George Bob.

I do not feel like sleeping.
I am very sleepy.
I shall listen to the colony of crickets.
Left to right. Left to right.

A colony of crickets.
I want to see Dr. N.
_

People get weirded out when I’m like this. They impose their own fears and judgments. I know how to keep myself safe.  I’ve been doing it for 26 years. I haven’t died or been injured or injured myself or someone else. I haven’t committed a crime or been arrested. My life is plain. I appreciate the excitement before the paranoia. LEAVE ME ALONE.

I have the energy of the universe in me. I hear music and the crickets. And I rock.
_

I wonder if other people feel how fast the world is spinning…

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012 

Anita sings the sky

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7-15-12     7:45ish pm

Jamie plays the circles that are purple.

At Dizzy’s.
Feeling fragile.
They don’t have my soda.
Flute lady is playing.
Candles are flashing.
                              Like LSD.

Got to sit with the Lizfest people. I like them. Hugged Chuck. I went on a boat today. Flute lady makes me crazy. Jumbles my brains. Maybe it’s a good thing. I don’t mind being psychotic now and then. Candles are warm.

Chuck says I look worn. I am.

Mixing drugs – Lori’s flute, Jamie’s electric violin, Mikan’s keys. Bluegrass later. My mind spins.

The sound moves in a counterclockwise motion. I feel vibration. The light flickers. I glide back and forth. Springs dangle. Orange hovers in the night. Brown never touches the ground. 

If time was a feeling it would float. Like dust in the air. Time flurries. Body & soul. And bread…

Orange. Thick on the ground, fills my soul, envelopes my mind. Beat beat, flicker, stomp (yell!). I do despise the yelling. Slam! Pause  Too much mind…

My eyeballs. They float in it. Time.

(zap)

I feel sad that Allison be here. She no voice be drug. Fairytale not psychadelic. Hummmmmm.
          Too much dichotomy. Too low for her. Makes mind hurt.

Feel like I’m being attacked by a flute bird wielding a strobe light accompanied by an attack band. Quite the posse. –

:) Mikan’s trio

The pirates aren’t coming.  They’re always here. They live among us. I only can see them sometimes. I feel them in my cheeks.

Oh do play a ballad please.
The drums are killin’ me.

I prefer when Allison sings Allison in Allison keys. This night confuses me. Grandly.

I wanted to come tonight to see friends, be around people, have me time and experience music – a most powerful drug and often mood lifter. I forgot flute Lori would be here. I feel overwhelmed.

Mindfulness of Emotion (anxiety):
Face – teeth clenched, eyes squinty, cheeks tight
Body – barely breathing, legs crossed, dizzy, rocking, feel energy coursing through me, tight muscles, runny nose, light/noise intolerance.

Action urges – leave, scream, take a break, cry, do nothing

(rock to trio – thankful)

The best closing.

Mikan makes emotions.
Jamie makes the world unwind.
Lori twists it tighter clockwise & brings the pirates.
Allison sings the fairytale.
I don’t know what Duncan does.
He feels like middle school.
Haven’t met the other guy.

This night is confusing & uncohesive.
What’s the word for that? I do love music though. I miss these people.

(smile) the encore is a good ending.
_
I keep thinking “Anita sings the sky.”

7/15/12     10:35pm

I feel God.
          I feel warm.
                    I feel love.

My skin feels warm. My mind is calm. My lips are hot. Cry Holy.

Music + Hugs + Acceptance + Positive socialization = PEACE

                    God is in me.
                    And God IS me.

11:11pm

The energy of the universe wells up in me. I am warm. My body temperature is rising. My face feels tingly. I feel it in me. Head pain. I start to feel very hot. Need to sing. It must pour from me. Make beautiful music. Anita sings the sky.

I feel the God within me. (Hum…)
I feel the God within me.

                    Hear my heart beat.
                    I am alive. 

I have FAITH.
          I BELIEVE.
     I have OUR FATHER.

– is not my friend.
(statement crashed the energy)

(singing prayer)

I am so sleepy.
Thank God for music friends.
Need a hug.
(put on Jamie’s robe)
I’m renaming it The Hug Robe.
Thank you. <3

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012 

I found myself in a Walmart mirror

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7/13/12     8:05pm

Just got to the airport. Chuck‘s playing with Beat.itude. Ran into Barbara. Chuck’s with his grandson. I’m late ‘cuz I bought a homeless man KFC but it let me see a beautiful sunset.

Mom smashed her finger in the garage door today causing her body to go into shock. She was confused and cold, sweating profusely, throwing up, unsteady. It was bad. She refused to go to urgent care and I had to leave so I had the neighbor come sit with her. When I got home a few hours later she was still out of it but a bit better. She just came back to life around 5 o’clock, has no recollection of most of the day.

I feel a warm happiness, a lessening of senses. The past few days I have been dissociated but on alert, joyful and terrified, physically anxious and at peace. At the same time. Yeah.

Last night Joe mentioned he likes all my recent changes. I do too, although I haven’t paid them much attention. I guess I have changed a lot.

(ground noise from the speaker)

The music gives me tingles…
A gathering of souls.

Adorable.

I cut my hair last month, changed my bangs. Bought new clothes, started wearing dresses and shorts. I got new jewelry, wear a flower in my hair. I am tan from riding the bus. I got my toenails done. I redid my room. I bought a special bra. I restructured my finances. I see my therapist less often.

I’ve been largely without thought, not writing, cancelling events, tired. Attending to me. I like me. I named the nodule on my thyroid Steve, stopped reading my email. My body hurts. Me hurts. But I like me.

I found myself in a Walmart mirror on the 2nd floor in the kids section. Quite by accident. When I saw her I turned around and went back. We talked. Now we talk every time I’m there. The mirror doesn’t lie to me. It shows who’s in the driver’s seat. She tells me how she’s doing. Mirrors at home don’t work this way. (music energy)

I found my self in a Walmart mirror. She misses dancing. She likes my new room.

I feel energy lately. I’m open to it. Good and bad. Colors, frequencies.

I took a nap today.
I need some energy.
And a Walmart mirror.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

the ocean and jello

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7-12-12   1:03am

Changin’ up my life is turning out to be a good thing. Rearranged my whole room tonight. Unearthed all my stashes of crap. Now I’m not sure what to do with them. The energy feels so much better though. And I purchased a netbook today that I feel a bit uneasy about but I think I’m okay with. I don’t wanna use -‘s Mac and I want to be able to work out of the kitchen, especially when D’s here. I got a friend to loan me 2/3 of the money so I feel less nervous about spending that much.

I feel like I’m standing in the ocean. The waves come and go. Creativity, pain. I am not washed away. I got a pedicure today. Felt really good. The thing I chose to do for me in July. Not sure what August will hold. I feel confused and dizzy with hours of anxiety, but there is a peace. A release. I feel like I’m dying, like I’m getting close. It’s probably just a phase but it’s a good feeling. When the ails of the world are distant and there is no time. When I walk through jello and wander and the world stands still. And I feel like I am not in it. That I am separate from everything around me. I want to cry but I don’t feel sad. I feel like a bumblebee.

I try to write but I mostly just stare. Music is too much. I snap at people unexpectedly. But the ocean is me.

Michelle

PS – I’m talking in accents this week. I need to sing.

Grown-up things

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7-4-12     10:46pm

I didn’t feel like sitting in traffic so I walked 3 miles after the fireworks tonight. Fireworks make me cry.

As I walked I talked to myself and God, enjoyed the cool night air, the freedom to move and to be me. I was thinking about a DBT lecture note in my journal:

Acceptance allows gentleness – making room for something in our lives without approving or judging.

I thought about Mom and Don and about independence. I’ve been thinking and planning and dreaming lately about what I want and what my future could look like. It greatly raises my anxiety. So as I walked and talked to God I tested out some positive affirmations, things to say to myself to make it less scary. I came upon this one that hits the spot:

I can do grown-up things without losing me.

(breathe…) I can do grown-up things without losing me. Growing up scares me. I don’t want to do it and thinking about it freaks me out. Like someone trying to kill me. But I can do grown-up things without losing me. Or killing me. Or changing me. I like me. I love me. I need to keep loving me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

I want to fall in

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7-2-12     8:04pm

I am SO tired. I skipped group tonight, which I rarely do. My body is rebelling. I don’t blame it.

I did some work for a friend today, helped with some organizing and grounding. I knew about halfway through I needed to stop but I stuck it out. I wrapped up nicely and went on my merry way. But I was barely breathing and in full body freakout mode and when I got to my other friend’s house (Mj) my legs gave up on walking right and then came the dizziness and head pain. I am so tired that it’s hard to stay upright, yet I’m not sleepy. I can’t explain it. Mj understands. I really enjoyed staying with her, having some moments to myself.

I find myself questioning if doing this work (helping) is worth it. Is helping and getting out of my house and my head and being somewhat social worth the toll it takes on mind and body? My friend doesn’t know what I’m going through and it’s hard for me to explain. Hard to explain why 4 hours of help causes massive body shutdown. Why I can organize and create systems but not eat. Why I LOOK fine when I’m really not. And it’s harder for me to say, “Hey, I’m not ok.” (tears) I want to be ok. I REALLY want to be ok. I don’t want to be a secret and I don’t want to be a lie. And I don’t want to feel ashamed… But I do. So I just press through it and deal with the fallout. I want to fall in.

I went walking with Mj and her dog a few times. It felt really good. I just got home to my mom on the phone with her boyfriend and Zoe. I don’t want to be here. (deep breath and tears) I can’t make it go away.

I’m so tired. My face burns and I’m tired.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

What does July feel like?

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7/1/12     3:18am

It’s 3am and I’m entering chart data and listening to youtube music. I just hate everyone today. I didn’t wake up feeling this way. At least I didn’t think I did. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking on how to make my life better and on what independence looks like to me. I was having a few okay days but not today. Today I am pissed at life and everyone in it. My mom is miffed that I’m bitchy. She drives me nuts. I tolerate a lot of things but when I feel like this I tolerate nothing. I don’t want to see or hear anything wonderful much less anything incoherent, incorrect or nonsensical. I just can’t do it.

Just a few days ago I enjoyed twirling randomly, pulling weeds and eating ice cream. Tonight I just sit here, working and angry. This is the 49th week of the charting system I designed with my psychiatrist. I’ve got 4 different systems going right now, but this one is ours. I have a daily record for the past 49 weeks of what I did and felt, my states of functioning in percentages and pretty colors, my period and when I had suicidal ideations. I started reading through some of it and remembering. I’ll have to read it in chunks. It’s intense.

It doesn’t feel like almost a year. I don’t feel time at all really. The calendar says tomorrow (or today) is the first day of July. What does July feel like? Does it feel any different than March? Or 1987? The days and hours melt into colors and numbers and refills. Appointments and sleep. A month is such a long time to wait to pay my bills again, yet so short when it comes to a calendar page… (quiet)

It’s 3am and I don’t want to sleep. I need to write about my mom and her new boyfriend and about my fear and independence. But it’s late. And my eyes hurt. And I can’t think. I still don’t want to sleep. Just thought I’d check in.

Love, Michelle

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

House of Cards

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6-5-12     12:54pm

I just got home from a choir concert. Not my choir. A different choir. The last pops concert of my high school choir director. I got to sing as an alumnus.

I saw a lot of people tonight and had a good 3 hours to reflect on my life. On the dynamics between and not between us and on how I have changed, how I’ve stayed the same. It was not a fun 3 hours but I enjoyed the singing.

I am upset by something that happened. There are large portions of my life for which I have no memory. I remember a snapshot here or there, but the rest is blank. I haven’t had ECT. I just have gaps in memory. So, people were coming up to me tonight that expected me to know them and I hadn’t the foggiest idea who they were. My mom says that’s normal, but it’s not. I played along as best I could. I didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t an environment in which I could just say I can’t remember ‘cuz I’m crazy. Or sick. Or whatever. I don’t understand. They were sharing memories about some concerts we did. I remember one song because I did the choreography, but I don’t remember the concert. I remember the music but not the events. I remember that I liked the guy I was talking to in high school and he remembered me, but I couldn’t remember who he is. 

I sit in my kitchen and cry. I DON’T WANT THIS! I don’t want to see these people and their lives. It hurts SO much… I don’t want to remember what I could’ve been. Please. Please. 

I seem rude for not remembering, as if these people weren’t important to me or special. And I feel scared that they will find out my secret, that I’m not okay and that although I’m becoming more honest I still lie every day. I always wanted to have a people. I’ve always had a book.

I sat next to a group of people I always looked up to but was never friends with. And I watched the choir director, whom I most days can’t tolerate, end her career as a high school teacher. And I was so angry at the kids next to me talking during her solo. I turned around and smacked one of ’em with my music. I’m old enough now to realize the gravity of the moment. And to remember to shut up. ;)

In my day to day life I’m not confronted with opportunities for comparison. I know it’s not good to play the what if card. But tonight… (pause) I want that. I want what they have. I don’t even know what it is. But they have independence and freedom. I have a house of cards held together by a lie. A journal. And a black card at Staples.

Would my life be different if I remembered? I think not remembering protects me. But I don’t remember me. Sometimes I ask people what they remember about me. I can’t remember.
—
I hear “O Sifuni Mungu” (Swahili) in my head and my whole body tingles. Oh to be 13.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Rainbow Update

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5/30/12     9:09pm

I know I haven’t blogged in forever. I feel it only fair to give an update.

Today I woke up with a horrible headache, probably from a new medication last night, and I cried and cried and cried. I put on a pretty dress and went to lunch with a friend. I’m so glad I have good friends. When I got home another friend was waiting in my driveway to take me shopping for items for my Comfort Drive. I’m exhausted.

I’ve been really all over lately. I haven’t posted because there haven’t been many postable things. I’m swingin’ and switchin’ and crashing all the time. In the span of a day I can hit happy, productive, rageful, depressed, suicidal and euphoric. There are hours that I am a Rainbow and light is God and God is in me and I am God. When I hear him talk to me and I twirl and skip and there is this peace like I’ve never felt. A quiet calm in the middle of the storm. My head hurts almost constantly and whatever’s going on in my neck comes and goes. Yesterday I found myself hiding behind some dumpsters crying and fighting my thoughts.

My psychiatrist says he’s proud of me for surviving the crises and that I’m doing a good job. My therapist is becoming a life coach. My mom has a boyfriend and a job. And my cat cries a good portion of the day. I agree that I’m doing a good job handling crisis, but I want to be more stable. I want to be able to live one day at a time instead of fighting for moment to moment.

I saw a new doctor yesterday way the Hell up in Encinitas. He seems a bit cocky but like someone I could trust. He wants me to get off as many meds as possible to figure out what symptoms are side effects and what symptoms are organic. This terrifies me, as I know what happens when I don’t take medication. Last summer I was all for a wash. That’s what they call stopping all your meds. I was ready to do whatever it took to get better. But right now I just want to stop hurting. I want to be better or dead. A wash is a long painful process that doesn’t really establish any betterness. It’s sole goal is to bring out the worseness and identify the actual problem, which in this moment I don’t care about. I care about not hurting. And about preserving my inpatient Medicare days. I might be willing to do it at a facility that did not affect my Medicare days, definitely not at home.

I use my phone a lot as a coping skill and tool. I work on the bus, communicate, look up my medications and bus information. I went to group with my phone a few days ago and didn’t leave with it. It walked away. So now I have my old phone, which is great for texting but does none of the things I use my phone for now. I feel like I’m in some other world. Like everything is changing and it’s only a mirage. Today I shopped with a friend for stuff for people in the hospital. I had a good time. I felt bad because he was paying and I was shopping and I usually finance my own impulsive spending. But it was his idea. I just feel like I’m on the edge and I’m livin’ it.

I keep fighting. I’m not writing much. I’m switching too fast to follow. When I do write it’s in several colors. I go in and out of being afraid of certain colors and there are voices talking/writing that have their own colors. I’m exhausted. I need some time as Rainbow.

Thanks for listening. I really appreciate it.

Love, Michelle

PS – I gave up on brushing my teeth after a bad encounter with the dentist. I still like the toothpaste.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Sparkle Fun Toothpaste

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4-25-12     1:34pm

Can I just say I love Crest Sparkle Fun toothpaste? Alongside the adventure of trying to learn to cook, I have also embarked on trying to take care of my teeth.

Many of you know that me and oral hygiene don’t exactly mix. And by don’t exactly I mean almost never. I always avoided brushing my teeth growing up. I’d lie to my mom that I did. Aside from a dental “check-up” before kindergarten I never saw a dentist either. When I was 18 I got all my cavities taken care of and got braces. They were helpful not only in straightening my teeth but reminding me to take care of them. But when they came off I stopped working at it. For a long while brushing my teeth made me throw up so I just didn’t do it. Then I got sicker and for the past few years I’ve been afraid to brush my teeth. I’m not sure why.

Anyway, I saw a new dentist this week and got a plan for how to fix up my teeth. Not sure where I’ll get the money but I want to do it. I do genuinely care about my food crunchers. I do love food ya know. Yesterday my doctor was like, “Once you get all this work done, start brushing your teeth.” It would be so much easier if they had pot roast flavored toothpaste.

So when I was at Walmart yesterday buying the skillet I don’t know how to use I stopped in the sample-size aisle and picked up a few mini-toothpastes to see if I could find one I was willing to endure every day. I hate toothpaste, I hate brushing my teeth, and I hate the taste of mint and strong cinnamon. I happened to pick up a kids travel pack with a tiny Sparkle Fun toothpaste and a small monkey toothbrush that could only be more awesome if it shook like a rattle when I brushed. I LOVE it. It has glitter in it and tastes like bubble gum. I’m sure I’ve used it before but it wasn’t called Sparkle Fun, although it is quite sparkly and fun.

I’m proud of myself and really grateful for this thing that is fun and does not taste like mint and makes me not scared of brushing my teeth. You should try it. Might change your life. ;)

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Pain is the price of admission

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(a conversation between me & a voice in my head after hours and hours of writing)
4-11-12     1:43am

(big breath)
I am alive.
I am alive.

If I have no control over what happens to or around me and what I do doesn’t matter…
If there is no such thing as should or real…
If I’m the only one my importance matters to, why am I here?

‘Cuz I like it.

(??) What?

I said because I like it. And I always get what I want. You can’t have hugs and the ocean without pain. Face it. You fear life.

No shit. I know that.

Yeah. But you don’t know that you love it too. You can’t see that in order to feel joy, you must know pain. The music comes with heartache. The ocean comes with pain. The dancing comes with a loneliness that pushes you to death. There are no substitutions. You can’t get away. You can’t strain off the bad. It is one.

(stare)

Michelle, you don’t want to die. You want not to feel the pain. The fire inside and the physical stress of your body melting away. But it’s not going away. It’s here to stay. What you do with it is your choice. But, like you said, you have no control.

There is no anti-life pill. You can’t strain out the seeds. Can’t sugarcoat it. You have pain.

You also have music. And hugs, and flowers, and writing and what you see in your head. You have God and the pirates.

(crying)

You have me.

But it hurts so much.

I know.

I’m so scared.

Like Jim said, you don’t have to understand right now.

I just have to be.

Just be.

I love you, Mom.

I love you too.

Acceptance is realizing the pain is an entry fee, a price of admission, to the theme park of life. Non-refundable. It’s your choice if you have fun or not.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

The Butterfly Flower

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(stream of consciousness during Electric Ladyland II at Anthology)
4/8/12     6:50pm

Dear Anthology,

I hate your guts and all the surroundings. It would have been EXTREMELY helpful if the girl on the phone had said I can buy some tickets at the door, but not the ones I want and they will be much more expensive. Oh, and a warning that your staff is rude would have been helpful too.

I don’t understand why every time I come here “upstairs is closed.” Last time they told me I had been “upgraded” to the bar lounge. It’s not an upgrade. I Hate the bar. I can’t see, there’s a flashing tv, and it’s freezing.

The music is wonderful but I’m having a really hard time sitting here.

—

I LOVE the music. It breaks free the broken pieces of me.

Your music is the sound of feelings, the color of magenta bold. It braids my brain.

Open my mouth to breathe.
Juicy Fruit gum.

Bandaid for a Brain Bleed. There should be a song called that.

If I were defusing a bomb, I’d like to be listening to this. It snakes though my brain grabbing wisdom.

“Braised bacon” does NOT taste like bacon.

Is there such a thing as an electric banjo?

When the channel is open the feelings are mobile. They dance in the air.
Oh, such color.

When you play, the dots float in the air. You make the dots and they float and dance. And everyone’s dots are a different color, like neurons and atoms. Yours are purple. Mikan’s are yellow. They float upward and build on each other. Voices are twisting bending lines. Everything up in the air. It is an electric ballet.

When the green man sings I hear you play JP’s love. I don’t know why. It is a loving pain that spins to become free.
Brings a warm smile to me.
Shut up, people. Love is made here. The dots disappear.

Pink!

What is that sound? Like a thought bent by riding the train…
Fluid thoughts are much prettier than crooked ones. As actual bacon is better than braised. And jalapenos shouldn’t taste like pickles. Pickled or not.

It is the red dots that get in the way.

Like cat food for the soul.

The music of brown carpet & hugs.

Must dance.

(big smile) I want to be in the dots as they turn orange.
Breathe it in.

Shut up you pre-clappers…
Let the dots fall slowly.

New dots caused raindrops, clear the truth.

I hear the sound of a heartbeat when it cries. Alone.
The texture of the taste of dark red.
Memory full.

Sometimes it is beautiful. And it is nothing else.

(goosebumps)

Michael Londra. That’s what it is.
Too many dots. TOO MANY DOTS!
(whooooo…)

Hummingbird-like dragon makes magic cat food dots for dancer’s soul.
Yes, I like it.
I rock and hum so they don’t explode in me.

(hug from -. “Glad to see you out, smiling.” me too)

Hard to hear Jamie’s awesome solo. When the wall turned blue, the music got softer.

Drum solos always get me.

The dots are like bubbles but don’t fall and take longer to pop.

My cells jump inside me! Aaaaahhhh!
Space Mountain jumping music. :)

(my candle went out – smoke)

The pink is over my soul and the train sounds outside. I love trains.
Smile in the night.

The sound is shiny.

Thank you, God.

Need to bounce! Happy comes when the candle is out.

The music is in my face.
The music IS my face.
She begs to make the orange. (big smile)

Hey, now. Don’t drop the orange ball.

Thank you, Electric Ladyland. Thank you, Jamie.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Rant about politics

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*You may find this offensive.*
4-5-12     6:05am

I don’t understand politics. I find myself up ridiculously late exhausted but reading random political news bits. It’s all such bullshit. Like 3rd grade on a much bigger scale and everyone’s fighting over who’s in charge and who gets to do what and whom is in trouble and what they’re gonna do to him and what they’re gonna ban or unban next. Only in 3rd grade there’s a teacher and a principal and you don’t get to choose who they are every 4 years.

It seems lately that most of the bickering is over how not to treat people equally and money. I’ll make it really simple. If you want to solve your money problem, stop fighting wars, legalize assisted suicide and start promoting suicide and abortion and providing free birth control. It’s much cheaper to kill off the people who cost you money and prevent new ones from existing than to help them. Politicians know that. And I’m not being cheeky either. I’m one of the people they’re trying to kill off. They’re just not doing it effectively. And I take offense to that.

Stop fighting over abortion and gay marriage and whether or not we should have a fort on the moon and why we shouldn’t do what’s right by our people. Just stop. It doesn’t make any sense. And for God’s sake, stop the “war on drugs.” We all know you lost. Let’s regroup. Can you do that? I don’t understand. I’m pretty sure you don’t either.

M

© MR 2012

Fathers are people

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4/4/12     11:55pm

What does it mean about me that I keep the only framed picture of my dad under a stack of pajamas in a dresser I never open? I just rediscovered it quite by accident. I can’t breathe.

SHAME. What does that mean about me? (crying)

The man never did anything to me. He’s been dead over 10 years. And I hide his picture. There are no pictures in my house, of anyone. Just empty picture frames. In the picture my dad looks happy, healthy. Half-smiling with his siblings. I just wanna hug him. Please, God. Please… Send him back to me. Like last year at jazz. I hear him. Not him healthy. But him.

The picture is of -, Dad, # & Danny. – doesn’t talk to me. Dad is dead. Danny killed himself. And I don’t know how to contact #. She doesn’t seem to hate me. I hated that picture because – sent it to me. But it’s special. The only pic I have of my dad healthy.

I wish he wasn’t a secret. That I could’ve shared my life with him instead of lying. Everything. Fathers are people not secrets. So are daughters. I didn’t want my mom to see the picture so I hid it. Guilt. Shame. Longing.

He’s not real. GET THAT AWAY FROM ME. (pause) Let me be. Please, I don’t want him to see me. I love you, Dad. Back in the drawer now.

I should plaster my walls with pictures. Start making life real.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012