Tag Archives: journal

Mainlining Jazz

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12/30/11     9:45pm

Some people do drugs. I don’t do drugs. I do music. And not just any music. Jaazzz music.

Funky shit tonight. I feel dizzy & confused. I shouldn’t listen to the flute. Between my eyes hurts. The dose of poison lies in their minds.

Tonight I am waiting on the dawn of a pirate ship. I’m sitting on the floor behind Chuck’s podium. The fog is thick and everything is lit up. The night is quiet and a cool breeze jostles just the leaves. Something is coming. The ship is coming.

I sit here inside Dizzy’s and watch it happen, all without sound – just jazz – through the windows. The energy is here and the ship is coming. I feel paranoid. Oh the energy. Breathe. Invading my mind.

It may be possible the alien ships use the fog to pass in the night undetected by the human eye. No one really knows what lies beyond. I feel dizzy. I think I’m overdosing. Too much jazz. TOO MUCH JAZZ.

AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

I feel frantic. Breathe…

The world is turning now. There is no one here.
They’re coming. The ships are coming.

I need to call Dr. N.

(trumpet stops, bass starts)

My face is hot, whole body tingles. Feel euphoric. Try to breathe.
The sound bends time. Keep light in mind. And I’m the sober one.

Mainlining jazz. I feel dizzy. —

More often than not this happens when Gilbert plays. Spirit energy.

___

Cold. Now it’s cold. Why is it cold?! More flute. GO AWAY FLUTE!

Hard to breathe. In… Out…

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Just for a moment

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12/29/11     9:11pm

I had set out to write three letters and a blog post about Mexicans and refugees tonight. Didn’t quite get there. I’m sitting at Eddy V’s with some jazz friends. I have the beginnings of a migraine and I feel very sad. Almost crying sad. But I can’t cry cuz I’m sitting in a loud bar.

I like M- and I’d like to ask him out. I was looking for some reassurance and I asked a friend if she thought it was a crazy idea. She said yes it is crazy and that she doesn’t think he’d go for that. Cuz I’m crazy. I’m going to cry. Why can’t I be happy? Why do I have to be crazy?

I am flawed, unwanted, unlovable.

I’d like to tell M- I like him anyway, even if it’s just a pipe dream.
Even if it’s just a pipe dream.

I really shouldn’t dream.—

It is so loud in here. SO loud. And alternating hot and cold. I can feel the vibrations of the talking and the music in my head – literally. I smell seafood and soy sauce and my face is tingling. I just want to leave.

It’s not that I don’t know I’m 3 classes down on the pecking order. Can you just pretend for a moment I’m not? Just for a moment that I belong here? Just for a moment.

When class-jumping it hurts to be put in your place, especially when you don’t have a place.

(body freakout)

11:45pm

I feel so sad.
My left hand gave up a good hour ago.
I’m not one of them.
I’m just one.
I don’t belong anywhere. —

I felt like I belonged yesterday.
Today I am groundless.

I hear “Accustomed to Her Face.”

My left hand fingers are swollen. I am cold.
Zoe just slept on me & purred for awhile. It was nice.

Loving me is like adopting a cat. I offer awesome conditional love in return for food, shelter, attention, maintenance and love. —

Someone said in the group on Monday that not telling someone you like them is being rejected. But the worst that can happen if you tell them is the same rejection. It seemed smart at the time, but I don’t really agree. If I don’t tell him, it’s torture but I can continue to dream and scheme. But if I tell him and he rejects me, I just want to die and there are no more dreams. I need dreams.

I like to dream that someone like M- could love me. That I could have a good life and be safe and taken care of. That I would have someone to hold me instead of holding a teddy bear. I’m not 3. I just live with my mommy. And I dream that someday someone who can take care of me decides I’m worth loving and sets me free. I am high maintenance. I’m difficult and I’m sick. But I still love me. Why can’t he?

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

No melting pot. Casserole.

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12/29/11     9:49pm

Note to self: Bring a bottle to pee in next time.

(sigh) That was nice. I just walked the entire length of Little Italy from El Camino to the America Plaza trolley stop without freezing or getting mugged or killed. Sweet. I stopped at 7-11 for some tea to warm my hands, but I drank it all and now I really have to pee. Except for tourists by restaurants, there was nobody out. Italian thugs in cars look a lot like Mexican gang bangers, but they left me alone. Even the sole guy walking past me with grocery bags didn’t say hi.

(This is weird. I’m on an empty trolley that hasn’t moved for 5 minutes and no one has asked me to get off. Hmm…)

I had planned on going to El Camino tonight, and I did. Margaret dropped me off around 8:30pm. The staff there told me there weren’t any seats anywhere. Apparently Gilbert’s whole entourage was there. I heard him tell someone it was already packed and gonna be crazy. And then L- swoops in 7 people and takes whomever was next’s table laughing about it. She’s such a bitch. I wasn’t gonna wait forever so I decided to walk randomly until I found somewhere to write or reached the trolley. Now I’m sitting on the trolley that’s not moving. It’s concerning me. But it’s somewhat warm. And I spotted another person. A driver would be nice.

(deep breath) I went on the most horrible date tonight. Parts of the conversation at Target were endearing but overall it was a bust. Who talks about abortion and marriage law over dinner? It’s no wonder more 37 year old gamers aren’t married.

—

I just had the most wonderful conversation with a guy at the trolley stop. He’s a 20 year old military guy stationed here until the end of February. We talked about jazz. He’s from Delaware. It’s nice to meet wonderful people.

I told Dr. N today I feel my biological clock ticking and I want a guy. He said that usually refers to babies. I told him you need a guy to make a baby if you don’t have money. He said I shouldn’t have any babies right now. I agree. But I’d still like to get started. I told him I want to marry a gay guy. He said I should find a gay guy who needs a green card…

Man, it’s cold… It’s quiet though. So nice. There’s a person I keep meeting eyes with who seems to be between sexes. Very Melissa Etheridge-esque but also looks like this guy from my group.

Will I ever get to have babies?

I know I do better when I’m not around or living with my mom. I am forced to take care of myself and I mostly enjoy it. I’m not trapped in the weird web of transactional analysis gone wrong. I am free to be me. Like yesterday when she went to work and I made myself lunch and went to the gym and made cookies and casserole and got some work done. The tv was off, music was on. It was amazing. A total 180 from feeling so stuck. Maybe she’ll work more days. It felt good tonight to walk too. Self-directed. It’s my life. For now. A good now.

I’m thinking of starting a second blog called Care Bear Share about my experience with DID. Semi-anonymous. I’m really scared. The message from my docs is that I need to integrate, whatever that means. But I don’t want to. I fully appreciate me, in all my various forms, and I don’t want to lose that.

It’s true I have only recently explored what’s going on, but it’s been happening for a LONG time. Even back in school I used to talk about the different mes and how they didn’t really cross over. I just never gave it a name. Now we have a name I don’t share with people and I’m not sure what to do.

I’m so much different than I used to be. —

My mom is so annoying.

I’m different. I’d like to get feedback about the changes from people who have seen me, but I don’t really hang out with anyone. I can’t remember.

I want to grow up. We should go on an adventure and find a life we can all live peacefully and happily in. No one left behind. I could do that. No melting pot. Casserole.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Killing Demons

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12-26-11     9:42pm

I told Mikan I’d been transported to ‘Ice Castles’ tonight. He said, “That’s the point.” “To transport me to ‘Ice Castles?'” “No, to another place.” But you do that every day.

And it got me thinking a) that I really shouldn’t eat the shrimp and b) what is another place? And what is here? Reality is subjective but my own reality is subjective to itself. How can I be transported to another place if I don’t know where I am to start with? I don’t know where I am, much less WHO I am. How can I be moved? (easily) And how do I know that I’m moving?

I close my eyes and rock. I feel dizzy, but alive. Which is a much different feeling than dizzy and dead. But I still don’t know where I am. What is am? Can I be am and was at the same time? What about will be and used to be? Does be require motion?

GPS. GPS my ass. Where am I in the great scheme of things? Seriously? If I knew where I was on the great unknown I might just freak. WHERE AM I? (music land)

I don’t know why I think of this just now. I wonder who I am at length often, which I guess is less freaky but equally as disturbing. I don’t even know who is writing this. But I like her and she likes music.

I feel dizzy, high. I smile drunkly, yet sober. I feel planted in my seat yet my body floats. It is foggy and my thoughts are pink. The music moves through my body, eating me, refining me like worms. Need dance me. Need dance me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011, drawing by Jamie Shadowlight

Polka Dots

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12/26/11     2:46pm

Polka Dots. I’m having polka dots. Not the cute circles. Random splotches of extreme moods. Last night I had an intense suicidal polka dot. Right now I’m extremely agitated. None lasts more than a few hours but they can be dangerous. It helps that I know they will pass. But they’re still intense.

What do you do with polka dots? They do not belong to all of us. I was thinking about that last night. When one or more of us is freaking out, the others aren’t. It is not appropriate to change everyone’s meds and you can’t just change one.

I DON’T UNDERSTAND!

I would never give 3 more Seroquel. I wouldn’t give her Seroquel at all. 13 could use some, but I don’t see her often. She wants to kill herself ‘cuz nobody cares. She is so alone.

If I  could split it all up I would:

  • Give 3 a hug and a meal & sleep plan
  • Put 7 in school
  • Put 13 in therapy and on an SSRI
  • Get 25 a job and a diet
  • Do anything necessary to lift Fairy Godmother’s depression.

The polka dots make sense if split out, but I’m SO CONFUSED!

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Christmas & Shopkick

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12-17-11     8:07pm

I hate Christmas.

I went to a Christmas variety show today at a church and God spoke to me. He told me to buy a Panda Express and gave me a great idea for churches. A section for those of us who can’t sit still called Fit Church where we can walk on a treadmill or ride a stationary bike during the service. I would totally sign up for that.

I have a love-hate relationship with my new fake tree. I had finally decided to keep it and that it was perfect when my mom decided to flip some sections around. Um, HELLO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Now the tree is dead to me. It feels sad, I feel sad and Mom is angry. I hate Christmas.

I’ve been Shopkicking a lot. It’s an app where you earn points (kicks) for going in certain stores and scanning specific items. Then you can get free gift cards with your points.

It’s really helping me, in more ways than you’d think. It gives me a trackable goal and incentives, gets me out of the house and gets me walking. SO much walking involved, which is good because my doc wants me walking and it feels good. Also, I get to go shopping and feel the rush without spending any money. Great catalyst for change. I recommend trying it for anyone who’s bored, wants to get more active and earn free stuff (and has a smart phone).

Oh, I wanted to tell you I tried the Honey Walnut Shrimp at Panda Express the other day, which you know is big if you know my food rules. I resisted the urge to cough, choke or puke. I’m proud of myself.

I’m so tired. I feel myself drifting. My face is tingling. I hear a song I can’t identify and cars on a wet road. I gotta go.

Love, Michelle

12:19am

PS – I made peace with the tree and put some bows on it. We’ll see how long it lasts.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Can’t get the energy out

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11/16/11     11:30pm

I need to take more seroquel. I can’t get the energy and rageful anger out. And I HATE the people that make me angry. AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! Sometimes it’s extreme happiness. I have nothing to do with it. NO place to put it. No dancing or music or LIFE. I CANNOT tolerate people and their stupidity and their nonsense making and their not rightness. I’m very happy that I lost 8 pounds in the last two weeks. I feel skinny again. I like to feel my insides. But  I’M GOING INSANE. Likely already there. Are there levels of insanity? Cuz I think I’ve been in the maze for awhile. Oooh, I like mazes. SHUT UP! AHHHHHHH!!!!! Xanax doesn’t touch it. It’s from beyond. The universe told me. The universe tells me lots of things. AAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Grrrrrr. I have a million ideas I can’t iterate. Or do. I do NOT want to watch the tv. I stood in my living room tonight jumping up and down screaming shooting my arms at the sky then growling. I can’t get the energy out. They think it’s funny in choir. It doesn’t feel funny. It feels very VERY serious. Brain surgery saving the universe serious. Are you listening?! What am I talking about? Yes. That’s the point. I’m not manic. It’s different than mania. Close but no cigar. But whatever you call it, it needs to stop. Or I may just take over the universe. One growling scream session at a time. So there.

I need more pizza.

I’m not hungry but I don’t know what else to do than eat. And eat. And FB, which is extraordinarily boring right now since I’m tasked with saving the universe and all. But I don’t know from what. That could be a problem. I wish I belonged to a 24 hour gym. It flashes in my mind about ever 6 hours that tomorrow is the 10nth anniversary of my dad’s death. I have no way to get to the cemetery and I don’t want to go with my mom. And taxis are expensive. What I’m more concerned about is that I’m supposed to have lunch with this PR friend lady tomorrow and I haven’t heard from her. Life is death and death is ugly. I wonder if it’s possible to make death purple. Then it wouldn’t be ugly OR scary… What am I talking about again?

I need pizza.

(sigh)

I am exhausted. I can’t get the energy out. It’s buzzing buzzing through me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Dead Cat – not that one

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11-12-11 12:57am

Some coyote left a disemboweled cat in my yard today… Dude, finish the job, ok? Is this punishment? What did I ever do to you? While I AM fascinated by the intact aortic artery (more like bewondered), I do NOT appreciate the freaked out mom and pool of blood staining my blue kitty litter yard. Ugh. Really.

I called the police for a pick up but the probee who answered the phone told me they don’t pick up cats because they’re not domesticated. (???) I said, “Well, they’re not wild.” He insisted he was right because they are not licenseable like a dog or a horse. (You can license a horse? Alrighty then.) I asked again what I am supposed to do with this cat. He told me that I should probably just put it in a trash bag and put it in my dumpster. At this point I reminded him that placing a dead animal in your dumpster is illegal. (pause) Uh huh. I’m hoping he felt as stupid as he sounded.

Finally he consulted with his fellow dispatchers who told him that he is, in fact, an idiot and that Animal Control DOES pick up cats and how to contact them. He neglected to place me on hold for this conversation.

I have kept my urge to take pics of the dead cat in check, so far. Unlike my house guest for the night. (hint, hint) My mother is freaking out. Still. I would usually just put the cat on a box lid and take it down to the vet. But man, this cat is gutted. Literally. Lol. Wow. I never thought I’d have a literal sense to use that word in. (pause for more bewonderment) But I just couldn’t bring myself to box this cat. It’s fuzzy and cute and not fully in rigor yet. :( Leave it to the animal pros. Or at least the ones that deal with dead ones on a daily basis. That is, if the coyote doesn’t come back to pick up it’s doggy cat bag before morning.

You know, a cat gutted a gopher in my yard once. Coolest thing I ever found. And then it was gone. (SHOCK!) I was so disappointed… I can still see it in my head. Is there some diagnostic name for fascination with guts? If so, I think I have it. Or I need it. Maybe I could eat it and then it would become PART of my guts. Way cool!!! Lol.

Oh, man. I need to sleep.

Cheers, M

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Writing Towards Happy

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9-6-11     8:03pm

What is happy? What does it mean? What does it look like? I ask myself today.

I’m sitting in Domino’s waiting for a pizza. I don’t even want a pizza today, but Mom does. So we’re here.

Someone asked me at a party recently, after several hours of conversation, “Have you ever been happy?” I paused. “What exactly do you mean?” I asked. He just stared at me. How long does it have to last to count? And what if it goes away? And what kind of question is that anyway? (An awesome one.)

Have I ever been happy?

I remember moments of happy. I know what happy feels like. Largely in part to the two blog posts What does happy feel like? and What makes me smile automatically? I know when I feel happy. I don’t feel it often now.

Which got me thinking. I write a blog called Writing Towards Happy, but I’m not happy and it’s hard to remember what it is. Doesn’t that make me a hypocrite? I sat and thought for awhile and recalled having this discussion before with myself.

The goal is to get to happy, Michelle. You don’t have to be happy now.

Gosh, that’s a relief.

I need to go back and read some of the stuff I posted last year. I think it may unlock some secrets and push me further along. I need to unlock some secrets. They must stop eating me. 

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Showgirls & A Funeral

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8-17-11     8:15pm

So, I was just accosted by scantily-clad feathered apathetic showgirls following a traveling Mardi Gras brass band in the middle of a casino. In August. I just came from the best funeral ever. Duck-feeding, bubble-blowing, swings, walking in circles, good music, and more good food than I could ever eat all on a lake at sunset at the end of summer with a cool breeze. Now I’m listening to warm thick syrup flow in my ears and throughout my body. (dreamy sigh) I’m wearing a pretty dress. The only normal thing about today was seeing Jim. I like it. :)

I always wanted to be a showgirl. I know. It sounds weird. Shut up. It was my dream to be beautiful and wear feathers and dance on tables at casinos. I told my mother this in high school. She flipped. Understandable. But really, what else is a young dancer gonna get paid for that doesn’t involve college, teaching children or stripping? Unfortunately, I took the wrong drugs and got fat and now I am destined to a life of watching other showgirls who SUCK while inhaling smoke and writing about life.


For some reason this casino doesn’t allow cameras. For some reason I don’t care. ;) There are these awesome silver globes hanging from the ceiling. I want to lay on my back and just stare at them like stars. The wall beyond keeps changing colors and Allison glows. Ah, such a wonderful
night.

Why do old people like casinos? What is it about flashing lights and large displays of food that makes them want to give their money away? Hmmm… If only we could mimic this effect…

Gold dust at my feet, on the sunny side of the street.
–
It is the soft rain that makes the fire worth bearing. “I Wish You Love”

“Living there you’ll be free if you truly wish to be.”

You know, there is a point at which I can no longer tolerate anything touching me, including clothes. Gets interesting when that point happens in a casino. I go home tonight with a purse full of lingerie and jewelry. Lol.

What a day. What a day.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

I am the yellow clock – unabridged

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6-5-11     11:12pm

I am afraid of this clock.
I found it staring up at me from a pile of magazine clippings.
This clock is my life.

I have no concept of time, which usually doesn’t bother me. But lately the things I have in place of numbers have fallen away and I am not able to navigate very well. My confusion is growing by the day, and I can’t process or remember things. I am so tired. I don’t know what’s going on.

I am the yellow clock.
My motor keeps on ticking, even though my hands are broken and my numbers have fallen away. I would buy it. The tick’s all I care about anyway. I don’t want to know what time it is.

Time increases my anxiety. You have to do this right away or that by tomorrow. Hurry up. Call him now. Answer the phone. Have you sent that email? Did you prepare for tomorrow? What’s tomorrow? I don’t even know today. And I don’t care about tomorrow. Can’t you see?

I don’t know what’s going on in my brain. Whatever it is is good at what it’s doing. Last year I thought I was gonna die, and I didn’t. But I’m not convinced that I’m here to stay. Or even if I am how much longer I will be Michelle. I’m scared because I don’t know it, I can’t control it and it won’t go away. It is slowly taking me.

The clock cannot fight the clock maker. I can’t even see what He’s doing. I just watch how it affects me. I once was an intelligent person. Now it’s a struggle to order dinner. I don’t understand things. My emotions are not in my control. I don’t read. I write when I can. And can is fading. I can’t remember. (staring…) Please.

I am the yellow clock.
If you find me please tell me what time it is and what that time means.

—–

What is the purpose of a clock?
To be a foundation, a guide. To know what’s going on at all times and to be right.
To always be on, to be perfect, to propel the world.

So what happens when a clock does not work anymore? How do I become an art piece? What do I do when it’s my job to sound the alarm and I don’t know what time it is? When I am the fire alarm and I’ve forgotten what fire is? When I know what fire is but I can’t make a sound?

I don’t know how to be an art piece. I just know I need to learn.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Jenga: Life Edition

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1/4/11     3:24am

I keep thinking “I feel like I’m going crazy.” I know it’s a thought. I’m experiencing crazy.

Last night I slept in a chair in my living room. By 4am, several hours into an SVU marathon, I was so confused. I felt my eyes melt and roll down my face and was convinced the computer chair in the kitchen was going to kill me. It was safer just to sleep. I went to group tonight. I did pretty well except for not being aware enough of the people around me, which is something I’m usually good at. I expect decompensation in the winter and summer but I’m not sure how to combat it. Jenga explains everything.

If you’ve ever played Jenga you know there are 3 blocks at the base of that skinny tower holding everything up. The object of the game is to remove as many pieces as possible placing them on top to make it taller. Each of the other levels starts with 3 pieces too but the foundation is the most important. For me those blocks are Music, Safety/Food/Sleep, and Therapy.


If I don’t have the safety piece, music and therapy can still hold me up. But if music and therapy/support are out and it all rests on food & sleep, anything can topple the tower.

Right now the whole thing is teetering. I’m on the edge looking down. Don’t take that piece! But it’s scheduled to be taken the 19th, like wisdom teeth. And I don’t know what to do.

The blocks higher up in Jenga: Life Edition don’t seem equally as strong as the wooden ones.

(click)…

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Tree Seasons

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1-2-11     2:52pm

There are 3 trees and a daisy bush that I watch from my back stoop. They teach me about life. (pause)

I’ve been watching them lose their leaves and wondering what they must be thinking.

Why are you leaving me?
Oh my God, what’s happening?!
No! No! Please! That one is my favorite!
He’s my best friend!
I’m cold.
Why isn’t anyone helping me?

Then humans come in and cut off branches completely out of their control and haul off their leaves on the ground.

It’s much like our lives. And it happens in seasons. But do they know? Do they understand? Is the tree freaked out by this major loss or does it understand what is happening, why? Is there an innate acceptance that this is what is and any attempts to stop it are futile?

Each of the trees is in a different stage of unleafing. I wonder if they compare themselves to one another and feel jealous or proud.

Why does HE still have leaves?
Haha! Sucker. I have more than YOU do.
You all lose. I’m leafless first.

What do they think of the nonshedding trees? Is there grief over the loss? It got me thinking about the cycle of grief.

Life has cycles, like trees, but not Kubler-Ross’s five cycles. I believe there are four, matched to the seasons. Love (summer), Loss (fall), Grief (winter), and Acceptance (spring). They can change at any time for any reason but in my life they tend to go in this order.

Love (intense feeling) could be a person, a project, an idea or ideal. Loss (involuntary action) is its fall from dream-state, it’s emerging reality of flaws or its actual loss. Grief (reaction) is the processing of loss, reaction to a lack of control, and reassessment of who we are without this and why we are still here. And Acceptance is the freedom to move on openly knowing we will lose again but embracing the moment anyway.

Some days I look in the mirror and am surprised at my leaf count. I thought there were 3 left. I was sure of it. But today they are gone. And it’s cold. And the daisy bush is dead. I know just on the outside but that is all I see.

What are your tree seasons?

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© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

I am scared

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From my journal tonight. The dialogue is between me and me and me.

11-18-10     2:12am

I keep hearing the chorus of “You are More” by Tenth Avenue North. I feel the urge to say I’m sorry over and over again. Please. Just please don’t leave me.

I’m cold. I’m lying in bed. Today was the ninth anniversary of my dad’s death. It wasn’t much different than any other day. I saw my therapist, had dinner with Mom, took a nap and went online. I recall going to choir but that wasn’t today. I wanted to go to the cemetery but we didn’t. It closes at sunset.

I feel so angry, and sad. Helpless. Watching an illness is good training in codependence. It compeletely control you and is out of your control.

I’ve been napping in the early evening. I haven’t felt good and I have nothing to do. I can’t handle working on the endless tasks for the group. I need the group to leave me alone. To give me some space. You don’t own me. I don’t appreciate waking up to calls from strangers, urgent FB chat crisis pings, or 75 emails in a week about stupid shit I don’t care about from 1 person. LEAVE ME ALONE. (sigh) I need some respite.

I feel guilty tonight for telling a friend I wish her learning curve was steeper. It’s true but it’s selfish. It has to do with fly paper – a model of my feelings. Whatever she feels I feel. I can’t control it. If she’s happy, I feel joy. If she’s sad, I feel pain. When she hurts, I hurt. It’s like voodoo magic. Whatever’s there sticks. I should be angry at myself for not being able to control this phenomenon, but that reminds me I have no power and is scary. And I’m already scared enough. So I hope these people who affect me avoid pain. Because I feel that pain. You know? There’s no fix. But avoiding pain is impossible. I don’t understand.

I’ve been thinking about independence.
___

I am so scared. I can’t run away. I can’t get away from me. But I can’t stay here with me either. I will kill her, put her out of her misery.

Who is she?

She is that girl, that little girl playing and crying for her daddy. The one who wishes on dandelions and smiles and swings.

I love her.

Yes. She is beautiful.

Why does she have to die?
Why are you going to kill her?

Because she won’t stop crying. She is hurt and there’s no way to fix her and I can no longer handle her crying. I can’t take it.

Girl: I’m scared. Daddy, please. Make it go away. Please, Daddy. Why aren’t you listening? Why can’t you help me?

How often do you see her?

Every day. She keeps tugging at my shirt. Play with me. Hold me. Comfort me. Please, just make it go away.

I can’t take it. She’s driving me insane.

Do you love her?

Yes! That’s why I have to kill her. She deserves peace and so do I.

What would bring you peace?

If she wasn’t sick.

SHUT UP! I’m not talking to you.

If she wasn’t sick. And she wasn’t stuck in time. And if people understood that she’s only 7.

She is the hope. Why kill the hope?

So the rest of me can die in peace.

Do you really want to die?

No. I want to be free. I want to heal her with a magic hug. I want to never feel alone again. To never feel helpless. To be taken care of.

Can you give her comfort?

I wish.

Girl: Please, Daddy. Don’t leave me. I don’t understand. Please. Somebody help me. Get off the phone and pay attention. This teddy bear can’t cure me.

She sounds distressed.

She’s almost always distressed. Except when she’s exploring or brainstorming. Then she’s happy. Or spending time with people she loves. She’s like a cat. She needs comfort.

Does she get it?

Sometimes. Not enough to survive. I give her drugs to numb the pain. But they can’t fix her. She’s going to die.

She is broken.

Yes. She is broken. And she is all that I have. And when she dies I die. I want to hold her in my arms and make it better but I can’t. But she still keeps tugging on my shirt.

Where is my daddy? Why doesn’t he love me?
How do angels fly?
Can I have an ice cream? …
Hello?

I can’t save her. (deep breath) I can’t.

But you can’t kill her either.

I know. I love her too much. She’s all I’ve got.

Do unicorns fly?
Can I get one as a pet?

She still believes, you know. In hope and God and love and faith. And unicorns. She loves everything good and beautiful, always stops to smell the flowers. She believes in Santa and knows that people are good.

And you don’t.

I try… I try.
It’s like trying to believe you are blessed as you watch your house burn to the ground.
I am blessed. I just can’t.

She is your bunk mate.

She is my best friend.

A dilemma.

Quite. (long pause)
I feel rage and I am scared.
I am scared.
I am scared.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Dear Me

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Journal entries – Dear Me is a fight I had with myself today.

11-15-10     11:48am

Today’s show is brought to you by the letter F, as in flashbacks – the experience of re-experiencing something, usually something you prayed never to experience again. Splendid. Tomorrow’s show brought to you by the letter S, as in sarcasm.

1:02pm

Why am I wearing sequins? Ask me why I’m wearing sequins today. Because everyone will say I look beautiful and not ask how I feel. Actually, I thought they’d make me feel better. The brush-off is a secondary benefit. It’s not making me feel any better.

I wanted to walk to catch the bus to lunch. But I missed that window of upset energy. Too much FUCKING planning. Now I’m tired and want to sleep and cry. I posted on my FB “I can’t do this.” P- said, “Do what?” Does it really matter?

Dear Me,

Stop saving me. I don’t want to be saved. Ya hear? Why aren’t you listening? Why can’t you DO something? Paralyzed by pain and fear. I don’t want to be here.

Yes you do! You just want to be loved. And YOU can’t give that to me. You fucking failure.

ME? I keep you alive. Every fucking day you don’t want to go on and I pull you out or put you to sleep or find you whatever crazy food will distract you long enough. You are the failure you. You NEVER change.

That’s right. I’m the failure. Saving lives and managing crazy people EVERYWHERE I go is failing.

Yes. You’re not doing what you love. You are withering.

I’m not withering. I’ve already died.

Then why are you still fucking up my life? WHY do I keep having to save you? to find reasons for you to go on?

Because I don’t want to die.

Can we make up our minds? I thought you were already dead.

I am.

No you’re not.

Yes I am.

Then how are you writing?

It’s you that’s writing, remember? You’re the one who keeps saving me.

I hate you.

I hate you too.

I’m still hungry.

Pizza?

You’re on.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

What do you do when you’re lonely?

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11-7-10                1:59am

I hear “Without You” tonight from RENT in my head. I’m not sure what to do. Sitting at the computer. The time just changed back to 1am. Great. Another hour. What I’m supposed to do with this hour I have no idea… So I’m eating Oreos and milk. My head feels like it’s vibrating.

What do you do when you’re lonely? I asked Facebook and someone asked why I’m lonely. My response: “Cuz everyone I know has a life and no one new I meet seems to understand mine.” Their response was that I have a wonderful life, that I’m an inspiration and make a difference. Blah Blah Blah. I DON’T CARE! That doesn’t make it any better. Doesn’t make a difference. I save lives. I help people. I change things. I make waves. It feels good in the moment, usually. But it doesn’t last.

I come home from my life to my life every night and wake up to it every day. I don’t wake up thinking, “Gosh, I’m gonna save the world today.” I sleep as long as I can before whatever I’m doing and when it’s over I need something else to do. But there isn’t anything to do. Now don’t fight me. I made a list of people this week, most of whom are local, that I could ping to do something with. People far off my usual radar. I need people who don’t need me. And I don’t have them.

People think I have “a wonderful life.” But what is a wonderful life? What you see on FB is not my life. What you see on my blog is not my life. It’s the parts of my life that are acceptable enough to share in public. I don’t even share with my group. The only person I actually talk to is my therapist. There are people I would like to hang out with. But they have lives. They are the people who can meet for lunch 8 weeks from next Thursday but only if the babysitter doesn’t cancel or they’re not out of town or they don’t fall asleep that day and forget. They have families. They have people they come home to voluntarily and hang out with for fun.

It is when I am lonely that I wish I had family. Not the friends I consider my family but blood. My family. The people I never see. At 1:30 in the morning when I’m sitting in my quiet house bullshitting on the computer wasting time I am at a loss for what to do. I found some Oreos in my pantry tonight – comfort food. I’d like an actual meal but there’s rarely food here that I’m willing to eat and I ate the last of the pizza for breakfast.

It’s not my wonderful life. I’m just a character in it. Marc used to talk about having a “life worth living.” That was the goal. I never really understood that. I don’t spite the people who point out all the wonderful things I do or change. They mean well. But it’s what I feel that’s important. If you were to triage a patient in the ER who came in with chest pains and was wearing a beautiful diamond necklace, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t say, “Gosh that’s such an incredible necklace. You must be rich or have someone who loves you very much. Your fabulous life is so much more important than those chest pains. Scurry along now.” Right? It seems unrelated but it’s not. Like there are people who call me to ask how I am but not because they care what the answer is or want to hear it. The purpose of their asking is so that I will ask them back. I want validation. I don’t need reassurance about my life…

I’m sorry. (sigh) I just don’t understand. Meetup can’t cure a broken heart. I could just go do things by myself, which I love to do, but I have no money. So I just am. I go to appointments and to groups and to choir when it happens. I take care of business, listen to music when I can, and Facebook too much. And I pray. And I sit in my kitchen wondering what do you do when you’re lonely?

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Saved

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11-5-10                10:37pm

I found myself in that place a few weeks ago. That place where I could not go on. My agitation was unmanageable. I could not fix it or stop it or understand why. I wasn’t running from a stressor or event. I could no longer stand my existence.

And I realized late one night that this was the mindset in which I should take myself to the hospital. I was losing control and the danger level was too high. But in that moment I realized I don’t want to be saved. I also realized there was no one I could call, no one who could listen and just be with me in that feeling. No one. I had to do something so I doubled my Seroquel and thankfully (miraculously) felt much better the next day. And when I woke up I finished the thought. It’s not that I don’t want to be saved. I do. I want to be saved from what’s ravaging my body & mind, but not from the thing that’s saving me from the thing no one can save me from. That I don’t want.

It’s been a few weeks. The mindbending agitation has not returned. I feel calmer – more confused. More movements. More colors and creativity. Dissociation. I need to dance and paint the sky. I don’t remember my problems, which is both good and bad. The thing I notice is that I am lonely. And it makes me think a lot about death.

The need in me for comfort is so high that I will do almost anything. I made a list this week of why I’m not killing myself and I was proud of myself for realizing that I don’t actually want to die. I want the pain to stop. I want to be held. I did not feel safe Monday night so instead of going home I slept over with a guy I barely know. It saved my life. He doesn’t know that. Doesn’t need to.

I’m quiet tonight in the music and the chaos. Too much stimulation. I need quiet. I need love. Saved.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

What a Friday Night

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10-24-10              2am

On Friday I took the trolley to my usual spot for music. The music was great but my experience was marred by pesky unrealities to most of the world. I knew at the first thought that something was wrong. It was a good thought though. This is my journal’s account from then until now.

10-22-10              7:04pm

Automatic Thought: I am a miracle. :)

I’m riding the trolley to see -. Got my mind on autopilot with my ipod. Good music. Good weather. I feel calm, and happy. I think content is a better word. A pleasant calm, contentness. I was really mad at Ken today, but in this moment I just feel good.

Today I woke up from the strangest dream. It was scary and disturbing. I want to write but I need to just listen. I’m off.

7:13pm

I feel bulletproof & transparent, like if I put my arms out I could rise up and fly, hover. Impenetrable. Safe. Unfazed. Nothing can touch me.

8:05pm

Mind still floating.
Wide eyes.
Heart strong but not fast.
Body – nervous. Mind – mostly calm.

8:17pm

Just listened to S- & C- talk in the bathroom. Nothing changed. I still feel invisible here – not translucent but not part of them. J- is sufficiently obsessed with me.

*The Very Thought of You
– black fountain ink pens and purple
– ice skaters dancing and painting the sky

9:02pm

Cold sweat
Slightly confused
My insides are tense but my outsides are not.
My hair is bugging me on my neck.
Just ordered fries and pickles.

10:35pm

My thighs hurt – it’s like they’re constantly contracted.
It hurts my face to smile.

10:51pm

Insides tight.
Barely breathing.

11:51pm

General sense of impending doom.
Hard to stay conscious.
Hard to stay upright.
Exhausted
Shaky/trembling
Must consciously thinking about breathing
Cold sweat
Headache
Tongue out randomly
Nose twitching
Peeing all night.
Need to get home NOW.

(Thinking at the music – Just make it stop.)

Predict: Zap storm, many hours sleep, and/or migraine.

Ipod and coat on trolley home.

12:06am (on the trolley)

It’s like freefalling backwards into a Wonderland of memories.

Exhausted but don’t want to blink.
Feeling hot.
Want to take all my clothes off.
Neck clicking again – veins on right

12:15am

Want to walk & walk & walk.
And DANCE.

Safe – I don’t feel safe. And I don’t know what’s going on. I wish I was with someone. I just want to feel safe.

12:35am

Tired
Sad
Pain over right eye
Want to sit in warm water to relax
Lower back tight
So tired.

12:45am

Mini-face storm
Eyes squeeze shut

12:49am

Exhausted

12:53am

Freezing cold – shivering
Trembling
Nose running

1:01am

Rocking back and forth
Cookie & Milk
Eyes closed lightly – too much light

10-23-10              1:31pm

Just woke up. Still feel zoned out and tired but my head doesn’t hurt.

9:48pm

Residual effects:

Some movements – mostly facial, some large jerks
Trouble swallowing
Olfactory hallucinations
Confusion
Cravings
Tired
Headache is back

I went shopping/returning at the mall today. I feel much better than yesterday but I’m still not feeling normal or baseline again.

(sigh) What a Friday night.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Too Much Muchness

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10-13-10              11:15pm

I haven’t written in my journal in 10 days. I knew it’d been awhile. I’m so tired.

I went to see my psychiatrist today. He didn’t say much. There isn’t much to say. I am so stressed, so overwhelmed. If my manageable stress level is a 10, I’m at a 25. I just kept thinking today, “I can’t do this.” I can and I am but I don’t want to.

I don’t remember the last time we talked but I went to San Francisco to visit a guy I met in a bar two weeks earlier. Crazy? Yes. Impulsive? Yes. Much needed break from my life that I don’t regret one bit? Yes. I need more times in my life like my weekend with Matthew. I wanted to blog all about it but my mind’s all a jumble. It was a mostly stress-free time away from this chaos. I am grateful.

I don’t remember much of this week. I’m having a lot of memory problems. But between Friday and Sunday I volunteered 34 hours at events and slept 31. My body was and is very angry. Two day psych conference, awards luncheon, gospel event and Little Italy Festa.

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At the psych conference I took a nap by the pool. Just couldn’t stay awake. I really wish I was psychotic. I need to get away. The week before SF I was shopping every day. Rapid-cycling hypomania. Serious retail therapy. It’s all on cards but for some reason I don’t have enough money this month. And I don’t know why. I just know it’s one of my top triggers. I have to get away.

Just as I was leaving for group on Monday my neurologist called me and did just what I asked him NOT to do. He gave me the results of the box test I’ve been waiting for – autosomal dominant ataxia panel. He couldn’t have said more in person but I would have preferred it.

He said the results were not positive or negative. What? Do I have SCA 1-17? No. Do I have DRPLA? No. Do I have something else? Yes. What? (big sigh) A 9 base pair deletion, a “mutation of unknown clinical significance.” What? (deep breath) He was confused by the report and will mail it to me. In plain English: I was right. I have a genetic disorder in the same movement disorders realm. HOWEVER, the disorder I have is special. It is uniquely mine (and probably my dad’s.) It has yet to be named or identified. I have never been more angry not to have an identifiable deadly disorder. (My fingers are tingling.)

I wanted to talk about it in group but there wasn’t time. M- said we’ll just start a foundation and have a telethon. Not helpful. My bff said at least now I have proof it’s not just in my head. And while that’s true, it’s little consolation. I don’t need proof that what I’m experiencing is real. I’m living it!

When I thought I had DRPLA I was pissed that the specialists are in Japan. But there ARE specialists. There are people who get it. Now it’s just me. Really. And my mom’s denial is in full swing. She’s trying to convince me that maybe those genes just code for what I’ve already been diagnosed with. (sigh) I’ve never felt more alone.

When he told me I wanted to scream or cry but couldn’t. I still do. It took Xanax, 2 scoops of ice cream, group and a steak just to get through the night. I feel like the innermost layer of my skin has decided to secede from the union and is attempting to escape. It’s like my body is exploding. I can’t breathe or I’m barely breathing. I can’t get away from myself and this plus the stress of group and choir and the street team and money problems is killing me.

(crying)

I just need to go somewhere quiet and scream and cry and think. And walk. I don’t understand. I am so sad, and so scared. I thought maybe this time I’d get an answer – one that would help me out… I wish my dad was here.

—

I tried to get a pedicure this week but my anxiety was too high. I just want to get away. Mom asked why I’m crying. “Because my life sucks and I can’t fix it.” (“Unanswered Prayers” by Garth Brooks) My whole life doesn’t suck. But right now does. I don’t need problem-solving or grand ideas or positive spins. I just need to feel this. It’s big. And it’s real. Then I need to find a genetics dept that will take me on as a case study.

There’s no one to go to to ask if they’re having this too, how they coped, what happens next. No group. No doctor who understands. I told my mom, “I bet ya didn’t know you were sitting on such a mine of research data.” (deep breath… my fingers are still tingling)

I need some money to fall from the sky so I can work on some projects for me to distract. This is too much.

-M

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010