(Note – Yes, I am safe.)
1-6-13 6:30pm
Just got home from RENT. I went with Taylor. Cried through most of it. Exhausted now.
I miss Brandon. I miss my theater family. I miss being me. All of the goodness that I am now isn’t ME. I miss Sarah and Mr. B, knowing I had a role, a purpose. All of that was taken from me.
It’s something we never talk about in therapy. We talk about sense of self. We don’t talk about me. Is it too late to get her back? Is she gone forever? Is the opportunity gone for me to be me? I so desperately need me.
Please.
–
I pulled a healing card today that says this, “It’s important not to get stuck in therapy. Therapy is a necessary boat that takes you across a rough river to a new shore. In time, though, you must step out of the boat and onto new earth and never look back.” There is a passage with it about not carrying the raft forever and being wary of letting supports be a substitute for life.
I don’t understand. Illness took me. Therapy took my life. Therapy forced illness to cough part of me up and became my life. I can’t get the real me back. If I let go of groups and therapy I have nothing.
I wish someone had warned me, told me, “Don’t let go! Not for anything.” But they didn’t. They were living. Now I am scared to breathe.
A little girl wants me to teach her to dance. I’m terrified. Please don’t touch me. You don’t understand.
Who am I?
I am a little girl.
I am a friend.
I am a dancer.
I am an artist.
I am a patient.
I am a child of God.
I am me.
I am not what I feel.
I want to scream out, “PLEASE HELP ME! Someone’s taken my soul!” But no one’s there to listen, only hear.
If I can’t be who I was, I don’t want to live at all.
You couldn’t tolerate the stress of who you were.
I can’t tolerate the stress of now.
Touche.
Take your AZT.
I think if I got into a show it would bring me back. I would find me again. I NEED me.
Me is dead. She is gone.
No she’s not! I saw her last week.
Elvis has left the building.
My head hurts.
I want to die.
I know.
Do you honestly think in your state of mind you could do it?
I’ve done it before.
But not with the physical ailments.
True.
What am I supposed to do?
I can’t do this anymore.
Sing, take drugs & teach.
Work your way up.
Peanuts to packing peanuts.
Fuck that.
When do we start?
I want to die.
I know.
I’m tired.
Triggers
Theater
RENT memories
B- memories
USC memories
shame about my life
missing Sarah
believing I can never have me back
Vulnerability Factors
Janet’s death
pre-existing severe depression
exhaustion
allergies/infection
headaches
holidays
Thankful Taylor is texting me. Need to take – and -.
Make a plan, Michelle. You can do this.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
Writing Towards Happy 