1-4-13     7:27pm

In the silence music comes to me.

Now “I Need a Miracle.”
Before “Walk on the Water.”

Waves of intense anxiety followed by crashes. Labor of feelings.


I colored. I am a unicorn. My head hurts.

I’m glad Mom doesn’t have the tv on.

People keep asking if I’m okay. I don’t know what to tell them. I want their support. But I don’t want to want it. I don’t want anyone to know I need help.

15       LEAVE ME ALONE.

There was so much love and support at the group last night. I couldn’t take it in. I felt squirmy.

15        Leave me alone. Stop talking to me. Hide under my desk.

I’m not supposed to feel. Don’t you understand? Feelings are for secrets, closed
doors and letters. I don’t feel. I dance.

Feelings get me in trouble. I am not allowed to have them. I am pro other people openly having feelings, sometimes. I, however, tuck them away safely in a vault that eats at me. I can’t even get to them if I want to.

Feelings are scary and dangerous. They make me feel ashamed. It is my job to be strong. It is my job to be a robot. Do the work, listen, comfort, be.

I am angry that other people can have feelings but not me. I feel them in a tiny ball, an orb in the center of my brain, best friends with the hippocampus. They hover there and tell me what to do. I speak this out loud as I write it purely monotone, a few syllables at a time. I stare. My head hurts. Please help me.

*Smack* Don’t you EVER say that again.

I see other people cry and they’re comforted. I’m not easily soothed. I get angry. I don’t want people touching me. I don’t want them to know. I want to be fucked up in private and then go back to my life. I don’t accept help. I feel lonely. I push people away. But not out of unlove, out of self-stigma.

Leave me alone.

I don’t trust them.
People who say they will help lie.
They just hurt you.
It’s a trap.
Stay in the dungeon where it’s safe.

She doesn’t understand.
She has good cause not to trust.
She is learning.

She is killing us.

Maybe so.

I want to cut or hurt myself to feel. I could cry a few days ago. Now I just stare. Tears in my forehead. Crashing. Must sleep.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2013