He Was A Friend

You guys are well aware that Miss Cait has many an issue with many a thing. I am an addict on many levels; I do a lot of drugs, I drink a lot, I self harm, I self hate, I am bulimic, and I’ll fuck anyone that gives me any sort of attention. And like most men, AA couldn’t handle my ass. Off the bat, I am all sorts of fucked up. This all being said, in me writing this, all of these issues I have are by no means any excuse for what I am about to share with you. I am holding my own accountability.

***

I trusted you.

I remember the first time we started talking again. It was a couple months after the new girl started and your wife was being a mommy watching baby at home. I asked you for advice on my car. You were shocked. You and I hadn’t talked in almost a year, because your wife and I never got along. We avoided each other. At one point I hated you. But I was tired of it. Holding resentment and hate for someone is exhausting, and it’s not worth anyone’s time. So I asked you for advice.

From then on we started to build a better coworker relationship. Then it turned into a friendship. We would banter back and forth, we were both perverts, delighted in mundane things and well, things were coming around. That is until she came back.

I was anxious, I was nervous. I remember thinking, we won’t be able to be friends again. That she would come back and things would go back to the way it was before she left. In some sense, it did.  But you would talk to me still, only behind closed doors or when her back was turned. You were fearful she would ring you out if she saw us talking. I always thought it was strange. I always thought it was a little too paranoid for my taste. I always thought pure silliness.

This year has not been the kindest to me. I am battling everything it seems, and everyday I would wake up not knowing if I could work. I was always sad. I had gotten involved with someone else, and I fell in love with him. But as with most people, it seems I had pushed him away. He and I are still great friends, but I was always a little unstable coming to work. You however, you were a constant for me.

I came into work one day, a couple hours early. I was crying. I had reapplied my make up at least 5 times, and when I was in the process of doing so for the 5th time, you came in. You looked at me, I looked at you. You asked if I was okay, and you knew I wasn’t. You hugged me. It was nice. You told me it’s going to be okay, and that when I am ready I could tell you what happened. Eventually, I told you. You gave me advice, and this time it wasn’t advice on a car.

There were more days like this, I would come into work upset and you were always there. I spoke to you about the medications the doctors are making me take, I spoke to you about my family, my relationship problems, my depression, my eating disorder. Every time I came in you knew a little more about me, and you only did so because you didn’t ever judge me. Then you started to open up to me.

You spoke about financial issues, about your baby, about work, about your marital problems. You opened up bit, by bit. Perhaps it was because my life is so fucked up and you knew all the details that yours is nothing compared to mine, or perhaps it is because I didn’t judge you.

You began opening up about always wanting to see me or talk to me. You had a lot of venting to get out. As much as you were my confidant, I started becoming yours. We depended on each other. I remember one time, I was with my ‘not boyfriend’. I was at his house. I had just left the bar to see him. And you called. I looked at my phone to see an unknown number. I thought it was strange, and I never pick up unknown calls, but this time I felt compelled to. And when I did, it was you. You called me an ass and selfish. I asked you why and you said, you wanted to talk, you asked who the person was I was with (who truly was only a friend, but a past lover I won’t deny it). I didn’t know what to say. I apologized, and maybe you were upset because it’s the first time I didn’t come in to the pub to see you, I was with other company. I won’t say you were jealous, I don’t know that. But it seemed peculiar to me.

We only talked briefly, and you mentioned we need to always say bye to each other. You were hurt that night, because I didn’t say bye. I just left with my company. I didn’t realize something like that meant so much to you, but from then on I made sure to say bye and you always did too.

***

I don’t really know how this came about, but I remember I went downstairs and you were there. We smiled at each other. You made a sexual pass at me. I am usually fine with sexual passes, I am easy I don’t give a fuck, but this for me was not okay. You were supposed to be my friend. My friend, nothing more, nothing less. I was so hurt by this advance, I went back upstairs and tried to shrug it off. All day I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why would my friend do that? He knows I am battling a ton of issues? You knew all my secrets, why would you become one of the many people that treat me like a piece of meat? I told you I am tired of people not knowing the real me. I am tired of people constantly objectifying me. I am a person too.

The more I thought about this the more I started to try to connect the dots. The more I was thinking maybe I was wrong. Maybe you made a pass at me because you did know the real me. Maybe you did it because you do genuinely care for me. And I know it’s crazy, because you are taken. You are married, you have a wife and a baby, but you made the first move. Why?

Later that week I came in for work. I followed you to the basement. I gave you a hug. You put your arms around me and told me it wasn’t fair. I pulled your head up and kissed you.

From then on, we knew we had something. We constantly flirted, I came in on my days off to see you. We updated each other on our progress in this so-called life, we were there for each other.

At some point, we made our way downstairs. I was off shift and had been drinking at the bar for a couple hours, you were working. We kissed, we touched each other. You always called me a tease. So I made sure you would never call me that again. I got on my knees, and well you know exactly what happened next.

Things were progressing further and further. And finally it happened. We did the deed. Again it was a day I was off, I had been drinking quite a bit. I was on my way to leave, and you grabbed my hand. You took me downstairs. I didn’t fight it.

We promised each other we wouldn’t tell anyone, that we would take it to the grave. Unfortunately, I am terrible at promises.

I started to drink a lot. Every time after shift, on days I wasn’t working I was drinking. I was with a close friend one night, and I couldn’t keep it in any more. I told her everything. At first you were just supposed to be a conquest, one and done, but it became more. My friend was shocked, but not surprised. I guess there was always speculation about us. From then, I told three more people, I told my ‘not boyfriend’ and two more coworkers. Unfortunately the friends I told, made a mistake and told others. I don’t hate them or blame them for it. It happens. Gossip you know.

Rumors came and went and we always shot them down. We tried to distance ourselves, but it seemed we couldn’t resist one another. You always asked if I told anyone. I always told you I didn’t. I didn’t want to lie, but I had to. I was drinking when I told someone, and I don’t think I would have told them if I wasn’t. I didn’t want to lose your trust, I didn’t want you to stop confiding in me. I didn’t want to lose whatever it was we had. I lied to you. I lied to myself. I lied to others who asked me about our relationship.

This rumor recently resurfaced. So much so, that a very dear friend of both of ours asked about our relationship. We both denied it. You approached me and told me I needed to the fix the situation. Not only did I not know how, but I am not the only person in this.You did this too. However, I did whatever damage control I could, I asked the people I told if they told anyone. I told them the severity of the situation. I told them that not only will I lose my job, but that you would lose your family. Even though I was so removed from your wife and baby, I didn’t want that. For your sake. I wanted you to be okay. I wanted you to be protected. I wanted to protect you.

My last shift at work, you pulled me aside, it looked as though you had been crying. I don’t know if you had, but I wanted to hug you and tell you it will be okay. But I couldn’t. Too many people were watching. You looked at me, and you grabbed my hand. You whispered to me no matter what happens you still love me and nothing will change that.

That was my last shift. The rumor exploded, and I was right. I lost my job and not because of this rumor, but because I couldn’t fix the situation. You thought you could fix it by getting rid of me. Throw me out like a piece of trash like all men do with me. (Apparently you are terrible at keeping promises too).

Now, I have nothing else to lose.

You broke my heart. You were my friend. I loved you.

I trusted you.

***

There you have it friends. The truth. I feel terrible, but I brought that on myself. I was selfish, I was heartless, I didn’t give a fuck about everyone involved. All I thought about was me and him. I didn’t think about her feelings, our coworkers feelings or anyone else. I always said married or taken men were there best, because I would never get hurt, it seems I am wrong again. Not only did I get hurt, but everyone else did as well. But I am hopeful I guess, he always said to me, in my moments of utter sadness, that it always has to get worse before it gets better. Maybe there is something to it. Maybe he can listen to his own advice from now on.

Waterproof Make Up is Overrated

Folks, waterproof make up is overrated. This past week has put it to the test, and it failed miserably. Alright, now I’ll fess up with how I know this.

Last year was very up and down for me, I had my good days, I had my bad days and towards the end of the year most of my days were good days. So good they were wonderful. I was branching out with different career opportunities, I wasn’t partying nearly as much, Barrie and I were meeting lots of canine friends, and my ‘not’ relationship was finding itself again.

But I don’t know what happened. It was like 2017 smacked the side of my head and said hey there little lady….new year, same you, you sad sack of shit…. (Insert sad/annoyed emoji). Since January, I’ve been nothing but overthinking, and feeling. And ya’ll know I strongly dislike the idea of feeling, having feelings, caring for things etc. And overthinking brings on anxiety, and anxiety brings on thoughts that may or may not be true, which brings on more anxiety because I don’t know whether they are or not, which brings on sadness and utter defeat. I lose.

I’m not keeping track but I’ve probably cried at least 3 to 4 times a day, everyday since the new year. In the morning I cry, on my way to work I cry (sometimes at work I cry), my drive from work I cry and in bed I cry. I cry, I cry, I cry, like a big baby. I can’t control it. I’ve cried so much I am surprised my tear ducts haven’t dried up. Part of me thinks all this waterworks stuff has to do with me not crying or even having actual feelings for years and years. I was ‘dead’ inside then, now I am alive and it is so not worth it. Not even in the least bit.

I don’t want to be awake. Mostly I don’t want to be awake when I am alone. It’s a sad place to be. Don’t be alarmed, this is not to say I don’t want to exist, but I would rather be sleeping, just get lost in some sort of Slumberland, where I am not a depressed individual. Instead, I am Cait The Lovely! Who rides a unicorn and has a cotton candy bed!!! Unfortunately reality doesn’t allow for such pleasures.

Lately I have been leaving my house early for work. Sometimes 2 to 3 hours before work. I leave early because I don’t want to be home. I then find a place to grab a coffee, which I may or may not drink, and I drive around. Driving used to make me feel better. In some truth it still does. But I cry folks, I cry and cry and cry and before I know it I look like a panda. Mascara and eyeliner down my face, perhaps I look more like a sad mime, a disgruntled Beetlejuice, Morticia Addams, one of the Kardashians. Fuck, I don’t know, what ever I look like, well I am sure there is a meme out there somewhere for it.

I’m losing myself friends, I’m drowning in tears that are surely falling for ridiculous reasons. I’m lost in all this sappy and mushy shit. Emotions are exhausting, feelings are suffocating, and when they are placed inside my used-to-be hollow self… … …well, maybe I just shouldn’t wear make up anymore.

Ode To My Shower

Friends, I must let you in on a little secret. Well, fuck… whether it’s a secret or not doesn’t really matter, but ANYWAYS!

So as you guys know, I haven’t been the happiest camper the last while or so. I’ve been riding this wave of depression and severe anxiety for quite some time. Often, when sleeping doesn’t work, when being in the company of others fails to keep my mind occupied, I tend to take off all my clothes and run through the streets WE’RE GOING STREAKING!!! Ha! Only kidding folks, if only I had the gonads to do so.

Nah, what I usually do is put on some Whitney Houston, light a couple candles and hop in the shower….ALRIGHT, alright, this is bogus too. But I do jump in the shower and I often do sing ALL BY MYSELF!!!!!!!!!

For whatever reason I find comfort sitting in my shower, contemplating every possible thing I could ever contemplate. I often cry when I am in the shower, (I know big baby right.) I won’t even shampoo my hair, or shave or think to take advantage of my adjustable shower head (ladies you know what I mean). Instead, I just sit, cry, overthink, sometimes sing, write blogs in my head, overthink some more, cry some more, etc. etc.

The shower is comforting, the hot water soothes my body. Although I am all alone in a shower, butt-ass naked, sitting in the fetal position like a sad, little beefcake, I don’t feel so lonely. I just sit there, hot water tapping on me and before I know it, some time has gone by, and the water is now luke warm.

I go through phases. As mentioned before, I’ve riding this wave, and sometimes I land along the shore, sometimes I am pulled back out, perhaps in an undertow, I just never know, because I can’t control the ocean.

Lately, I’ve been having a lot of showers. Fack, my hydro bill is going to be huge!

Maybe it means I am psychotic. In fact, I would almost prefer to be psychotic, than be so melancholy all the time.

Today I had two showers. Which believe it or not,seeing as it was a day off for me I should have had about four. Towels flood my house, along with wet foot prints.

My shower is a calmness for me. It tames my love-sick feelings, it keeps my anxieties at bay, and although I still can tend to be sad while showering, my shower lets me. It wipes away my tears, and when I do choose to sing, the acoustics are…FAB U LOUS!!!

Shower, Thankyou.

Anothernotso…

Today the sun is shining friends, but alas for me…this is not so. I am in no high spirits today. Today is yet anothernotsogood day.

I am so sad my friends. Sad to the point I physically feel sick. I hurt deeply, I’m anxious, I’m on the verge of just wanting to not exist. Everything would be so simple to just not be, to not feel.

I took some of my medication this morning, I took more than I usually do because I just want to numb everything. I want to not think. I want to not feel. I would rather be indifferent and not be happy then be sad.

Just when I thought things were looking up, well it turns out I was looking up only because I was falling and falling down. In fact, I am still falling. I am looking up, but nothings there.

I’m eager to see my new psychiatrist. Not eager as in excited to meet the Doc, but eager because I really do need help. I need someone to talk to. I need someone to fix me. I am just a misfit toy- probably with some sort of recall on my label and I just need someone to bandage me up so I can be loved again.

I went to bed feeling anxious. Like something was coming and I wasn’t sure what, but I new it wasn’t good. I know I am a fuck up, I’m a mishap, I’m a mexican abortion waiting to happen, but I am trying. I suppose it’s hard because you can’t choose your feelings. This also means you can’t control them, just subdue them until you are under the false pre.tence of feeling better. I don’t feel better any more. My medication has worn off, I am only have a little left to get me through the next week until I meet my new psychiatrist. It’s almost worse sometimes, like coming off coke, coming off medication is terrible. All the feelings come rushing back.

It’s the beginning of a new year and already I am losing. Every year I say it’s going to get better and then my Hubris hits me sooner and harder and I fall, fall, fall. This say it has to be worse before it gets better. But I’ve been worse and worse and worse, that feeling better is on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 feeling the most optimum, I’m a 1 sometimes, a 2.

I have a coworker who every day we work together, he asks me how I am feeling. He knows mildly so about my obstacles, but he understands. He’s been in a similar spot at a time in his life, he listens, he knows it’s not easy, he knows that it does get better but it takes time. He always asks me on a scale of 1 to 10. I lie to him and say I am a 4. He reaffirms that a 4 is not good. I know this, especially since I am not really a 4, I am a maybe 2.

I’ve tried different techniques to make me feel better. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. Before I would call my top 5. But when they don’t answer I get more worked up and unsettled. I’ve tried looking at objects I am surrounded by, I say what they are, I described them and I try to remember where I acquired them. Sometimes this works, but mostly no. Sleep for me works best. But at some point I wake up, and yet again all the feelings come back and I feel suffocated.

If I could flash forward 5 years, I would. If I could go to bed and wake up and it’s 2030, I would. I just don’t care about this world anymore, only the few individuals in it.

I feel sad for my Barrie. I look into his eyes and he knows something is wrong with his mommy. He knows I don’t feel so good, he knows I am sullen and I hurt. He tries to comfort me, but ultimately I am inconsolable. I feel disappointed in myself because he only has maybe 10 years of life left, and the first 3 I have been not so happy. He just sleeps when I sleep, which is as often as can possibly be.

I keep telling myself ‘I know things will get better,’ but in all truth of the matter, I don’t. I don’t know.

A Love Letter

Hello There,

I am writing a letter to you my love, and yes I know some may consider letters as rather passe, but for what ever the reason, writing is the only way I feel I am able to communicate, fully and completely so. This being said, I’ll start once again.

Hello There,

I am writing this letter to you, to allow you to see me as who I am. To understand where I come from, to see how deeply I feel for you, and in all essence, this letter is me giving you my heart.And you are right, I am not one for all this sappy shit, but today is an exception. Especially, since being hungover, depressed and lonely, makes all the more welcoming of sappy sad sacks of facts of …me.

I love you. You know this. I love you so much so, that I think about you constantly. I wake up and you are my first thought (Side Note: I don’t process thoughts or think until I am sitting on my porcelain throne taking my morning shit). I always want to call you, but rarely do. This is so because I don’t have anything to say, just having you on the other line, present in some sort of moment with me, is all I need. Obviously only crazy, people would seriously call for this reason right? That being said, Hey there stranger, if you ever want to just be on the phone with me just to be, HOLLAR! Fortunately for me, you are always the first one to call, just to tell a story. Which is perfect because I always have so little to say and I like stories.

It’s weird for me. I love you, and you are said to be in love with me. But I am afraid to show affection towards you. I think this is because we did show affection quite early on and although it may have repulsed others by us making out like two young hormonal twats, I loved every minute of it. I feel as though that perhaps I embarrass you if I try to show a little PDA. And maybe so because we are not a couple. You are my not boyfriend and I am your not girlfriend and together we are not a couple that do not couple-ly things.

I remember we would drive around, I would have my hand on your leg or in your hand, and you would hold it or caress it. Sure, it’s something small, but this something small, is hard for me to now. I worry that it won’t be reciprocated.

I have never felt jealousy until I met you. This of course is not counting the time, one of my siblings got a PS3 for Christmas and I was left with a leg lamp (legit, true story). Now let me explain this a little more. I am not the jealous type. The only time I am jelly is when it’s  spread on a peanut butter sandwich (mmmmmm….peanut butter). In the beginning of our liaisons I wasn’t jealous at all. I simply couldn’t be. We were both playing the same game, we both were eating our cake, it was all good. Now it’s different. I think is comes from us being not boyfriend and not girlfriend, it makes me want to hold on to you even more. It makes me paranoid, it makes me sad, because although I don’t ever wish to have ownership over a human being, not really being your girlfriend, well….there is no comfort in that. I met you at time when you had a not girlfriend. This is where I think the jelly creeps in..

I had a really nice time with you the other night. We stayed up way too late, popped some fun stuff, drank, conversed and played video games. It was awesome. It was probably the one time in the last little while that I could see you were enjoying my company and I wasn’t a burden to you. It even ended with sexy time that I didn’t even have to initiate. (#nailedit.)

I love you, you know this. It is extremely hard for me to love you so and just be your friend. I wasn’t ready for a relationship for a very long time, but with you, I love you. Why couldn’t we give it a go so to speak? Everyone always bitches and moans about putting a label on something. I get it, I do. But something like this, why not? Can’t I just be yours and you mine?

When you first told me you loved me, I was sad. Sad because I couldn’t help but be fearful that it wouldn’t last. Sad because I loved you too and for whatever reason I always seem to fuck everything good up. Truly, everything good I have or had just goes to shit. You are part of my good, I don’t want to lose that too.

Yes, I over think things. You know this And perhaps a good portion of this love letter is just over thinking. But I can’t help but feel so deeply, and love so madly that for something to not come of it is…it’s okay. But I simply don’t want to be around it because I hurt. As much as I love you, being around you makes it more painful, because although you are right in front of me, I’ve already lost you.

Alas, my not boyfriend. I would like to say I couldn’t tell you this in person because I have lost the words, but clearly I have more than a few words.

I do love you. You are wonderful.

Love Always,

Cait.

The Blahs

My friends,

How are all of you today? I must admit, I, myself am not doing so well. Those of you who have read my stories, know very well of my struggles with depression. It’s a love hate relationship I must admit. Depression loves me, and I hate it so. Some days are good, some days are bad, some days are just okay, and some days are just…some days, I guess.

I strongly dislike opening up about my feelings. I strongly dislike showcasing my weakness. I strongly dislike being vulnerable. And alas, I strongly dislike sitting in the shit and feeling the blahs. I hate depression so.

Friends, I want to open up a bit. Just a little. I want to share what I go through on a not so good day. I want to share, because there are so many misconceptions about depression. It truly is one of those things, that you couldn’t possibly understand until you are there, until you and sadness are hand in hand, until depression keeps poking at you, until melancholy is the only shirt that wears you. Even at that, those who have gone through this funk or are currently battling the blahs, well, lets just say every story is different.

When I first was diagnosed with depression I was in both denial and acceptance. Make sense, I thought. I had gotten out of a long term relationship, I lost my grandma, I lost my best friend, I lost cousins, I was homesick, and not where I thought I would be in life. I was in denial to my diagnoses because, I didn’t want people to look at me differently. I am one strong, mother fucking tough cookie, and for some Doc to come in spend 10 minutes with me, and send me on the way with one fucking terrible symptom and loads of fun prescriptions, well…fuck.

So it has been a roller coaster. This, my friends, is not a ride I can easily get off. I can’t just snap my fingers and not be depressed anymore. (Although I wish this were the case). It’s a bummer, I know.

Alas, lets turn my feelings on.

On a not so good day I go through…

• I cry. Here is the thing. I never cry. But on these days, I just can’t help myself. I cry because of all these feelings and thoughts that run through my heads. I will admit though, I do cry quite beautifully. I have often thought of taking a selfie and instragaming the shit out of it with whispers of ‘so sad today’, ‘hard knock’, ‘#loveme’.
• I create scenarios in my head. Some are reasonable like; ‘what if there is a zombie apocalypse and no one wants to save me, and then I realize that this scenario is not realistic at all and that none of the scenarios are reasonable. NONE OF THEM! And then I start panicking and then…
• ANXIETY. I get so anxious about everything. I will constantly text or call people who are dear to me, people who I love and care for, AND when they don’t text back or take too long to respond, I keep texting and calling AND start crying because they don’t love me anymore, AND all these thoughts keep building AND stacking AND everything is closing in AND my chest begins to hurt, AND my heart begins to hurt, AND I can’t breathe and all I want is to….

End it.

• I lose control and then all of a sudden it stops. (but not really). You see friends, I get so worked up inside my head, I can’t get a grip on anything. My footing is lost, and it’s not that I have fallen, it is that I am falling, and falling and I keep falling.

This isn’t fun for me. And although dejection is enjoying every fucking minute of my sadness, I am not.

• I get upset with myself. I beat myself up. I self sabotage. I don’t mean too. At least I don’t think I do, but I don’t know much of anything anymore.

Recently, I tried opening up to another. He was kind, genuine, and wonderful. I loved him. But as I opened up more about my struggle with being a sad sack of shit, it seemed to push him further away. Although he was quite insightful, seemed to understand and told me of his stories with similar battles, it must of not been what he wanted in someone else. He fell further back, and I fell further down. I thought He doesn’t love me anymore, but misery is company and loves me so.

• I get desperate. (Yup, pretty much just sums that up.
• I shut off. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Friends and family will call, I won’t pick up, they’ll message, I won’t answer. I have great people in my life. I really do. But I am not there for them anymore. I guess I just can’t be bothered.
• I tell myself, I’m too tired for this…

It’s hard. I work at a job where we are told a smile is part of our uniform. {Side Note: Lamest fucking slogan EVER!} My smile, is just a facade. Seriously friends, it hurts to fake smile for fucking 8 hours. Sucks even more once you begin to loathe the place you work.

• I tell myself I am Batman. But then I get sad because I realize I am not Batman. Not even close, not even 1%. I’m just me. A soon to be 30 year old, spinster, who is lonely as fuck.

Loneliness is a shitty feeling. The other day I had a good friend over. He and I had our traditional Sunday Night Special. We watched a movie and ordered in. I was lonely the entire time. Not because he wasn’t good company, but because I knew after the movie, he would go home. I would be left here, alone.

Going to bed at night is probably the hardest for me. For a little while, I had someone who slept over quite often. Although we were intimate, it was the cuddles and sleeping side by side I really enjoyed. It was peaceful. I felt at peace with myself.

When he wasn’t there I would try to have sleepovers with other men. It wasn’t the same. The cuddles were different, the intent behind the cuddles was different. There was no comfort. I wasn’t at peace with myself.

On a not so good day, sleeping aides help.

Friends, I am sad. This whole ordeal, this funk I am in, these blahs I am battling are, well … I feel as though it is breaking my heart. Maybe it’s because my heart has cracked recently, maybe not…but I am so sad.

• I look in the mirror. I realize, I am not the girl my parents raised me to be. I realize I am not the person my grandma would be proud of. I realize I am a shitty, terrible, selfish cunt and I shouldn’t even be here. I shouldn’t be a functioning human being. I shouldn’t exist. I didn’t choose to be born…why the fuck am I still here?

My thoughts get darker.

Suicide is something that I am familiar with. I’ve lost family members and friends to this. Before, I used to think, how selfish. Don’t these people know who they are hurting? But then I realized something. Once you get into the world of melancholia, you get to a point where one option arises. And although there are other options out there, the longer you are entrapped by that world, the more that option is the only choice for you. At least this is how your mind sees it. I will admit, I have thought of that. I have yet to get to that point to just choose that. But that thought is always there.

• I get homesick.

My entire family is back in Ontario. Back in a place they call their home. I have nieces and nephews, who hardly know me, some I haven’t meant. I see photos and videos on Facebook of ‘family times’. And well, it’s just a ray of sunshine over there.

I haven’t seen my family in just under 2 years. Although they constantly reach out and ask me to come visit. It just isn’t that easy for me. In fact, most times it makes me feel terrible. I feel bad I can’t be there. Sometimes I get annoyed with them and I want them to stop. My life is out here, I want to be out here, I want to have a family out here in this beautiful city, why make me feel guilty about leaving yours!?!

• DRUGS!

Drugs don’t help. In the beginning of this phase, I was heavily medicated. Prozac, Zoloft, Paxil, Lexapro, Doxepin, you name it, I had it. Basically, in the unlikely scenario of a zombie apocalypse happening, I could dope a whole city up on happy pills and suddenly zombies become fun!!!

Before the summer, the Doc, decided to stop it all. Stop all my fun stuff. Stop me not feeling. (I like not feeling.) 

Introducing, coke! No, I am not referring to Santa’s favourite beverage. I’m referring to the the lil’ sniff’sniff ya know… My whole summer was spent snorting cocaine. I won’t lie I enjoyed it. It made me more social. I was euphoric, I felt on top of the world, but I tell ya, coming of that stuff is the worst feeling. Killing kittens would be easier. Coming off this high and getting smacked with reality I was sad, I was in agony, I hated my life, my anxiety was full throttle and I couldn’t fucking sleep. I didn’t want to be awake a feel.

After the summer, I decided no more doing lines off some whores ass crack {Side Note: My coffee table is such a whore). Just in time for the Doc to load me back up again, this time with Marplan and Celexa. (I haven’t touched these guys yet).

Friends, it’s really hard. Like I said, I am one tough motherfucking cookie, but fuck. I know this too shall pass. I know at some point I will get to my happy place, but right now, its really fucking hard. I’m down in the dumps, battling the blahs, but I will see you guys on the other side.

This may have not been a good day for me. But I know there will be a good day eventually.

Mr. Wonderful

Hi friends, it’s me again, yours truly. Now, I have always been quite open in my blogs, open while being humorous, and while also not  being so open in a sense. Although a lot of my writings are honest I mask my feelings with jokes and whatnot. This one will be a little different. 

I want to tell you a story about my Mr. Wonderful.

As you all know I have recently been single (2 yrs). I am hitting the dating scene and the one night scene. I am finally enjoying my single-dom. During the summer, I was going at it full force, probably partying more than I should, probably fucking around more than a young lass, like myself should, but ya know….fuck it (literally).

One night, my girlfriends and I went to this hole in the wall place for late night cocktails (yes the same hole in the wall where I met The White Whale). I was scoping out the new crop of servers (all males…..yuuuummmmmmmyyy) when one gentlemen caught my attention. He was tall, dark and handsome. On top of all that he was a white boy! (SCORE!!!! Side note: I am not a racist, I am just honest, I know what I like, white boys with no culture is so my thang!) My curiosity was peaked! How could I have not ran into this man before. Now, I have an in. What I mean is when I see someone I like I stare at them constantly. I stare and stare and stare until they meet my eyes. This gentlemen, turned around immediately looked at me, I smiled, he smiled and there you have it. I’m in.

Now, it wasn’t immediate bumping naughty bits. Oh no! I did have to chase the man a bit. Not tapping on his window chasing, but setting up my marks, so that one day he would just fall inside me. We did keep running into each other. Not only because I forced my friends to go to the shitty joint he served at every weekend, but we ended up at the same parties. No real conversation between us ever in these early stages, just looks and my want to mount him. Seriously, every time I saw him, my vagina tingled, my stomach had butterflies and in some regard, I was pissed off. Why? Because, I am supposed to be a confident, young, fierce woman, ready to take any cock on. But he made me feel like a little school girl. (Side note: He’s so dreamy.)

One night, while at the hole in the wall, he was off shift hanging out and having drinks with his friends. Already two double scotches in, I finally muster up the courage to invite him over. He sits beside me, I buy us some shots, he thanks me, and goes back to his friends. Fuck me! How did this not work? Usually I buy shots and men thank me by giving me a little finger bang under the table. But he didn’t. Instead he did what only a gentlemen would do. He thanked me and carried on with his night.

Another night I was with a larger group of friends. We were all in the back room/the bath house of this place, and I drank and drank. He comes in the back to say hi to us all (at this point in time, we were on a face term basis-meaning we didn’t know each others names yet).  This time I stepped up my game. I bought this lovely fellow what I was drinking, a Guinness. And behold, one of his favourite bevys to sip on. I had know idea, I swear. He is impressed with my choice, but let’s face it, I can be pretty impressive….

So this time I go for the finger bang!! Haha,  only kidding. I slyly/notsoslyly, place my hand on his leg and all of a sudden he puts his hand on mine. Romantic right? NOPE! Not even close, he had put his hand on mine only to remove it. How rude! Or at least I thought in the moment. Looking back, he was a gentleman. Furious, I go in for a kiss. And it was like an agressive, whythefuckwontyoufuckmealready kinda kiss. He leans away, and simply says He can’t. My thoughts, Sure ya can, just put those sexy lips on my lips and let loose! But, alas, as mentioned before, he was a gentlemen.

Alright, so I conceded. I came to terms with, maybe he just isn’t into me. And normally I would be someone to never give up and pull out all the fucking stops for this bloke to like me. But I couldn’t. Not with him. As much as I wanted him to be another notch on my belt, I also wanted him to want it too and if he didn’t then, it wasn’t meant to be.

Now, we did continue to run into each other. We flirted, I mellowed out and stopped trying to throw my beaver at him, and something happened. We were out at a friends place, and I left to take a wiz. On the toilet, tinkling away the door opens. Normally, when someone opens the bathroom door and I am sitting on a porcelain throne, I would be mortified. But he opened it, walked in, closed the door and smiled. I sat, I peed, and peed, and peed, looked at him, wiped…..and man or man, I so wanted to pee in his mouth. Don’t ask why, I just wanted to, so deal.

Something had come over us. I stood up and awkwardly wiped the piss dripping down my leg. Buttoned up my pants, he walked over to me and kissed me. HE KISSED ME GUYS! It was absolutely wonderful. We made out for awhile in the bathroom. Our hands slid all over each other, and I slid my hand onto his …..well….you know….and HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, IF THIS DUDE’S DAD AIN’T ZEUS, OR THOR OR DWAYNE THE ROCK JOHNSON….it’s a fucking Christmas miracle. It was so beautiful, but extremely intimidating. I can deep throat anything, but this was going to be quite a challenge. I have to strategically plan out my breaths, as to when I could come up for air.

Taking a moment, to daydream about this encounter…….

So, that night we didn’t…well I didn’t earn my stripes….He had to leave, and alas, once again I was all alone.

Don’t worry folks, we did eventually get there. I remember the first time quite vividly, considering I was shit-faced. It was amazing! I came so quickly, and did so over and over again it was whats the word….dare I say wonderful? I had never been with someone who fucked so beautifully. And I fucked a lot of people. Eventually, he woke up bright and early and left, like a ninja. That bastard, pulled my move! That’s my move, a little awkward since we were at his place, but nonetheless I was impressed.

So I did it, I finally shaboink him. And although I wanted to again and again and again….I knew it was only going to be a one time deal. Or so I thought. (You can’t see it right now, but I am smiling so hard).

We ran into each a few more times, occasionally he would serve me at the hole in the wall. During these times, I would give an extra generous tip as a thank you for his very generous tip. We didn’t really flirt during these encounters, we were polite towards one another and that was pretty much it….UNTIL….one night he asked me what I was doing later, and of course with my wry wit, I said him. Sure enough, round 2, then 3, then 4….and THEN!!!

Our fucking, turned into something more. We would wake up next to each other, and neither of up would be running for the hills. I would drive him home, when usually I would call a cab. (Tangent: I really enjoyed the drives back to his place. We had great in-depth conversations. He was insightful, he was funny, he was incredibly intelligent. He had substance to him…I was really starting to like him….MOVING ON!!!!!!!!!)

We started seeing each other more often, and it wasn’t just to bang. It was to be in good company. We were just a couple of swells, trying not to be a thang. You see friends, me and Mr. Wonderful were quite similar. We were both sexual devients, we were slags, we had serious commitment issues, enjoyed the same brews, laughed at the same things, we enjoyed reading, even our moves were the same. I remember one time I woke up to him giving me head. THAT’S MY MOVE!

I’m not going to lie it was scary, we were messing up each others game. I would try to fall back, but simply couldn’t. I would wake up, he was the first person I thought about. He was constantly in my head. I didn’t want this, I didn’t want to actually like. But I just couldn’t help myself.

One morning, something happened. He said those three words that every girl dreams of. That is every girl dreams of, except me. I loved and lost once my friends, to do that again is just too much. I didn’t know what to say. I grabbed my things and left. I remembered the drive home, I was so confused. My emotions were all over the place. This man was just everything I want in a man and I left. Like a coward, ran away.

When I got back to my place, he left one message on my phone,

Fuck.

Yup, just my thoughts exactly. Why? Because I loved him back.

Now, you have to understand folks, this was maybe two months into us knowing each other. Although we had all these similarities, we were really just strangers. Strangers in love I guess. I did however respond with,

I love you, too.

We did continue to see one another. Without a label of course. We knew we loved each other, but we weren’t ready for a relationship (odd, I know). Even when we were out in public our PDA went wild. We started being that disgusting couple that can’t keep their hands off one another, we even sat on the same side of the table. GROSS! I KNOW!!!

He still fooled around with others as did I. But at some point he confided in me. He wasn’t hooking up with anyone else. I wanted to say the same thing, but I couldn’t. I did however, tell him I felt guilty and did just fantasize about him anyways. You are probably thinking What the fuck Cait! This guy really likes you, not just likes you but loves you. Not only that he isn’t sleeping with anyone else….why the fuck are you fucking this up! You love him too, get your fucking shit together! I know, I thought the same. I always find a way to fuck up a good thing. Mr. Wonderful was so imperfectly perfect. And here I was, being my usually slutty, no feeling self.

He went away for a mini vacay with his best mate.  And I finally mustered the courage to say something I never thought I would via text message.

                 Why can’t I be yours, and you just be mine?

He never responded. I finally, put myself out there, I finally opened up about my true feelings for someone, and he didn’t respond. I finally, admitted to myself, that I may not being completely ready for a relationship, I was terrfied! But for him, I wanted to try. You see Cait, this is why you don’t put yourself out there like that! You don’t open up, you take what you need so you don’t feel anymore. You avoid any sign of love because you don’t want to be hurt. Why the fuck would you do that to yourself!?

Recently, he came back, and I’ve only seen him once. I sense he is certainly falling back. He has messaged, but seldom. I message him yearning for some sort of comfort, hoping he will want to meet up again, but I always fuck everything up. I have seen him since, but only once.

I still think about our morning drives, waking up next him, us doing terrible impersonations of The Count hah ah ah…., drinking stouts, listening to his stories, going for breakfast, taking my dog for a walk with him, but we aren’t at those moments anymore. Either we were strangers in love, or strangers in something we thought was love. Regardless of the game, it has seems I have lost again.

He is really wonderful though. And although it seems we have drifted away, I am very thankful that he was my Mr. Wonderful, even if only for a little while.

Swipe Left

Alright, folks. I must, MUST tell you all about a date I had recently. As you guys know by now I am single and although I am not quite ready to fla-mingle and get into another relationship, I’ve been hitting up the dating scene. I mean fuck, why not….free dinner, free movie….right?

Now, I am not really one for dates. Perhaps it has to do with never really going on one. My last relationship lasted eight years, and I can’t even remember us going on a date ever. Any who, so ya dating scene, is so not mine, but hey, it’s 2016, gotta stretch out a bit and try new things.

Lets get to the story now.

So I knew this guy, lets call him Bruce. Now, that is so not his name at all, but I always thought he looks like a Bruce. I always pictured Bruce’s as big burly men, slightly toned, but not enough to be a juice head. Bruces should be tall, polite, and mysterious. They generally have big foreheads, short brunette hair and only wears glasses to read.

So Bruce and I have known each other for years. In fact, he was one of the first people I met when I moved out here back in ’05. We went to the same university, and for the first two years in school we were involved in each other’s social circle. Eventually, he left to do a field study across the world. We kept in touch through emails, Facebook and even writing letters. (YASSS, it’s true, I still write letters.) 

When he came back a year later, we didn’t really see too much of each other. We had different majors, I made new friends, and he made new friends. We just drifted apart.Don’t worry friends, it’s not a sad drift. We just didn’t really have much in common anymore.

So flash forward to 2016.

I was getting fitted for a costume for this ‘Masquerade’ scene for a terrible, terrible movie. (Hint: 50 shades of terrible). While the designer was sewing me into a gigantic gown, I noticed a Bruce size man across from me. He was being attended by another lady. This Bruce size man, was wearing a mask and a tuxedo. (OH so mysteri-o-so). Not going to lie, I was slightly turned on.

To my surprise this Bruce size man was having the time of his life. He was smiling, chatting up the costume fitter and then he started to sing. Wait for it……When the moon…..is in the southern sky….and Jupiter aligns with Mars……

I couldn’t help but have a laugh. Just a little. So as he is singing, and as I am watching this Bruce size man do so, I belt out…. Age of Aquarius! Hey, can you blame me. This lady had been sewing me into this gown for what felt like hours, and this Bruce size man was my only form of entertainment. On top of that, I wanted to bang him.

He looked up at me. He smiled. Looked down. Then back up. Then back down. And did this rrepeatedly for a time. What a fucking wierdo…..Then he looks back up one more time….and…..Caitlin Ann! It is you? What the fuck is this man going on about. Of course it’s me, it’s been me since ’87. But who the fuck is this dude? Caitlin Ann, it’s me, Bruce. SFU? Resident buddies? Book club? HOLY FUCKBALLS! Took me a second to realize it was him. It’s the mask, man. Sorry it’s been too long my friend. {Side note: I never belonged to the book club officially, I just went for the food.}

Now I am all for conversation. I am also all for shooting the shit with strangers. But I am also for this lady to stop sewing me in this gown, and for this semi- awkward conversation to be over.Luckily it was. His fitting was done. FUCK MY LIFE! Now, I’m going to be on set with this fucker…Let me just clarify some things here. He’s a nice guy, I like him, but I wasn’t looking forward to making up small talk with an old friend. On top of that, my want to tap his ass, lasted a span of seconds and I was over it.

So yadadada…yadada….get on set…..shit happens…..yadada yadada….asks me on a date…..yada yada yadada….

Flash forward to the date.

Havanas on Commercial (Already, Bruce is getting points.) I LOVE HAVANAS. However, he loses points when I have to meet him there, because he still rides a bicycle.(Yay, for being environmentally friendly, but nay for being a pain in the ass for pedestrians and drivers everywhere).

So I arrived late, which is incredibly unlike me. I am usually the first bitch on the scene, but I wanted Bruce to know, that I have changed. That I am now, a woman, no longer a girl. No longer, Caitlin Ann but, Cait. 

Hes there already. Of course he is.

He greets me. Now, I’ve should have known it in this moment that this wasn’t going to be worthwhile. He walks over, arms wide open, gives me a hug and… wet willies my ear. MY FUCKING EAR. DUH FUCK?! I haven’t been wet willied since Full House fucking ended. I seriously felt violated. On top of his gross nasty ass fingers, being inside my ear, I haven’t cleaned my ears in months. Ugh…..

Moving on.

We get a table. He pulls out a chair as though it is for me and then proceeds to sit on the chair himself. He then laughs. DUH FUCK? Is this kid playing with me. Who the fuck are you? We are damn near thirty and so far you finger banged my ear, and teased me with a chair. So I quickly order myself a scotch (two of them, both doubles). 

So we for the most part we were just catching up. But he was constantly interrupting everything I was saying. LIKE EVERYTHING. I’m all for two sided conversations, ya know. I don’t want to hear my voice all the time, but I also don’t want to hear someone else’s cutting me off. At some point the conversation was becoming one sided. In fact, Bruce compiled all his stories of the last 9 years, we haven’t seen each other. Get this, Bruce pulls out a fucking piece of paper, that had a list of what he wanted to cover. NO JOKE! He opened it up and went down the list. I heard everything, from his time in Austrailia, his threesome in New Orleans, his Masters Degree, the time he stole a gerbil from a pet store and sold it too his coke dealer, toilet papering his ex’s house, the new book club he’s the Chairman of, his Halloween costume of every year since and the list goes on and on and fucking on…..Friends, this was so exhausting. I tried not to listen, but killing kittens would have been easier.

Alas, now we are eating. Maybe with food in his mouth, I can enjoy my meal. Nope! Not even close. He talked about where he is now in his life. How much money he has, all the people he knows, where he lives now…So I ordered myself a couple more scotches (singles this time, I have to drive after all).

By the time the bill came, Mr.Money Bags, has forgotten his wallet. (Mic Drop). I was actually shocked. I grab the bill and just as I am about to grab my card, he orders himself another beer. As much as I wanted to bounce ASAP I wasn’t going to stiff the server. I paid.

Ladies and gentlemen! PRIZE FOR THE DOUCHIEST OF DOUCHE BAGS, GOES TO THIS FUCKWAD RIGHT HERE!

So bills paid, we walk out together, asks me to come over. I decline. I let him know it was ‘interesting’ catching up and I wished him all best and B lined for my car.

How the fuck did I think going on a date with this lad would be fun?I mean we drifted apart years ago, why would I even entertain rekindling an old friendship. Honestly, what the fuck was I thinking. Not a great date. Not by any means.

Definitely swipe left for this fuck, GEEZE!

 

Twice the taste, No Calories

Alrighty friendlies, I’ve been feeling a little deep lately. I know, I know, it’s very unlike me to get all emo and shit, but can you blame, I am a woman nearing her 30’s, with ovaries that cry once  a month. Seriously, if it were up to me I would rather have no feelings and punch my ovaries in the fucking face, but alas, I shall not.

This year, I have been slowly unraveling into one of two things: 1) A Crazy Person 2) An Open Book. Fuck, perhaps both man. I mean for one, my whole family is crazy so it is about time the cray cray bug bites me, and well, I have always been someone who is quite open, but very careful will what I choose to share with others.

So today, I will share a couple things that have been floating around in this big head of mine.

***

In highschool (fuck 11 years ago now?) I was a little more roly poly. In my family I was the ‘fat one’. I would be hounded by my siblings with fat jokes. Now here is the thing, I wasn’t by any means overweight. I was thick sure, but I played tons of sports and was a dancer.

In grade 9, I decided that the only time I’ll eat food was right after school and right after dance class (which usually ended around 10pm). I never, ate breakfast, as it always made me sick in the wee hours of the morning.This practice of mine was painful. I would be starving all through school, and as soon I was home I would eat, and eat and eat, as much as humanly possible and then head to ballet class. Now, to put this in perspective, school started around 8:45, ended around 3pm and my dance classes would start at around 4:15. So stupid Caitlin, would be cramming in any fucking thing she could in the span of 1 hour; Chips, sandwiches, KD, fruit, you name it!

I would go off to class, in a very tight body suite for 4 sometimes 5 hours, with all the shit I just ate swishing around in my stomach. SO.NOT.IDEAL.

Now, at this age I was also turning from a child into a semi-decent-older child. I began having curvy hips, my boobs were blossoming into an uncomfortable C Cup (C is for Caitlin), and stretch marks started to line my thighs and ass. Now, maybe for most females at this time, having titties and hips is exciting. The boys will finally come flocking wanting to catch a  nip slip, or slide in for a finger bang. But for me, a girl who wants to be a ballerina, this was unacceptable.

I already came to terms knowing my body type was not that of an ideal ballerina. I had thick,stocky legs, but I knew they were strong and I could fly off the floor with them, I had small feet, but they were able to endure pain like no other {Side note: I once danced a show with a nail completely stuck in my heel without realizing until the performance was over. #thuglife?}. I wasn’t very tall, but I could lift my legs hire and jump hire than my other fellow ballerinas. I was faced knowing I probably won’t make it as a ballerina based on my body, but if the companies saw passed this and looked at my skill, my technique, then maybe I could. Maybe, just maybe.

In order for me to speed up this process of possibly making it into a company. I decided that all the binge-eating I was doing, was not productive for my life goals, and so to balance it out I discovered……..wait…..for….it……the two-finger diet. (Ahem-bulimia).

Now, I didn’t start doing this until the last few years or so of high school. But I would go home eat like a fucking piglet, head to the studio, use the washroom to throw all the shit I just ate up and head to class.

Some of the other girls I think knew, but we were all in the same boat. We hated our bodies.

Towards graduation, I stopped. Like turning a light switch on and off. I applied to few universities. The one dance school I applied to I was denied. I wasn’t going to be a dancer. I was angry, I was sad, I was let face it PISSED RIGHT THE FUCK OFF. I couldn’t understand, I knew my body wasn’t that of a ballerina, but I tried to make it so it was. My technique was damn near flawless, my turn out was outstanding, my feet could take me across the floor like no other dancer. My references, were from well-known choreographers and prima ballerina’s. Now, yes I know this seems like I am building myself up way too much, but fuck I was straight up awesome what can I say?

In the letter I received. They regretted to inform me that I was not accepted into the School Of Which Will Not Be Named. They then followed with and now I don’t remember word for word, but it was something along the lines of: What makes a dancer, is not her arabesque. it is not her perfect turn out, nor her feet, but it is her passion. That was my problem, I was so concentrated on trying to make my body perfect, that I completely lost my passion. My eyes were dead in dance, the emotion I tried to convey in dances was forced and noticeably so.

So I stopped. I stopped dancing, I stopped throwing up, I stopped stuffing my face. I was accepted into SFU for Performance Theatre, moved out to BC at the age of 17 and pursued another path.

Now, being a freshman in university I certainly gained weight. I partied every weekend, I was eating unhealthy food, I was an insomniac, I drank coffee until the last drop, I was completely an utterly unhealthy in every possible way. You would have never guess I was a dancer, until I started to move and dance.

I would come home during the summers from university and would be a little bit bigger. I knew my family noticed, not everyone said something, but facial expressions say a lot. I hated myself all over again. However, I didn’t feel the urge to go back into old habits.

At some point during my years in university, I met someone and fell in love. L.O.V.E. Now, being still a young, stupid girl still in the party scene, and when you are working with a bunch of actors shit just gets weird. I made a mistake. We almost broke up. He wouldn’t talk to me for a couple weeks, and although we were ‘working on it’ I felt like I was loosing him. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t even drink. In the span of 2 weeks I went from 145-130, then from there on down to 112.

Went home for the summer to visit the family, and they noticed, not everyone said something, but facial expressions say a lot. My mom noticed right away. I in fact didn’t even realized how much weight I lost until people started making comments. And now looking at older photos, I definitely was skinny as fuck. AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT! My body resembled that of a boy scout or slender man. So not sexy at all.

(Funny how when you gain a little chub chub or lose a lot of weight people will always say rude shit)

When I returned to University (I believe it was my final year), my perspective of people and their bodies changed. Even, the most skinniest of people I saw flaws in their bodies. I didn’t want gain any weight ever again.

So fast forward to now, I am not as skinny as I was then, I am more what I would like to describe as an average thickness. I workout regularly. I eat somewhat healthy. But even now and then that trick I did back in high school creeps up. Sometimes, I get so down about it I won’t even eat in a day, the only thing I seem to binge are laxatives and fucking strangers.

What do I have to thank for it? Well, my teeth aren’t as white or as healthy as they could be. That’s from throwing up disgusting acid shit. I have a lot of intestinal issues. I can eat something and it goes through me quite quickly, and sometimes if it doesn’t HELLO LAXATIVES! I also have issues with my ovaries. And it’s not because I punched them in the fucking face. You see, because of my old habit, I have developed cysts on my ovaries, that come and go. Usually, being on birth control keeps them in check, but they are not nice to have. I can sometimes get intense pains, which usually means they have ruptured or just headbanging in my nether regions.

Also another lovely side effect of my old stupid tricks, is the possibility of having children is slim to non. Usually, pregnancy would result in miscarriage or an ectopic pregnancy which is usually resulted into a miscarriage anyways.

So I am at a stage in my life, where I am rather indifferent to the fact. I enjoy being the crazy auntie from out west that spoils all her nieces and nephews.

I am okay with the decisions I have made in my past. I am content with moving forward. And I am still a work in process when old shady habits start creeping up on me.

But hey, every one goes through stuff. And maybe I feel the urge to devulge all this shit because I’m riding the crimson wave right now. but hey I am a bit cray cray, and thought I would share just one chapter of my open book.

Times Are Tough

So here is a little secret friends, or perhaps it’s not a secret but something that has always been spitting up lately. I am going through another tough time, and yet my tough time is nothing compared to the issues that go on in third world countries, it is not as devastating as the fire’s in Fort McMurray, I am not homeless, nor poor, I am (for the most part) in good health, have great friends, and I am not nearly as traumatized as others with the whole HODOR/HOLD THE DOOR phenomenon.

My problem friends, is as social as I can be, I crave my alone time. As happy as I may seem I am very sad. Some days I wake up and just want to go back to sleep, some days I wake up and I am the happiest I can be and sometimes I just want to end it all. I loathe waking up because I’ll never know how I’ll feel. The feelings I like, are ‘notfeelings’, numbness, indifference etc, etc.

I have not been clinically diagnosed with ‘Depression’. In fact, I’ve avoided going to the docs just for this reason. I hate talking to people, I hate showing weakness, I hate crying, and I hate to admit that I am really just a sad, sad sac of shit, stewing in absolute and utter sadness {howmanytimescaniusesadinasentence}. I don’t want to be labelled, I don’t want to be judged, I just want to either be or to either not.

***

Beginning of this year, I received a letter from seventeen year old Caitlin. (True story). The letter said something along the lines of: If you are not rich and famous now YOU ARE A LOSER! You are probably serving tables and being a wait….for….it…..LOSER! Then it was followed by some cheesy song lyrics of a song I don’t even remember. Fack!! I was/am such a bitch to myself. Seriously, who writes a fucking letter to them self only to tear them down! Uncool seventeen year old Caitlin, uncool. Now, the kicker in all this is: I AM WAITING FUCKING TABLES!!!!! I work five nights a week serving!!!! Would you like another beverage,sir? How is the food tasting? Oh, you didn’t enjoy your food and when I went to do a quality check you said everything was tasting okay and now you don’t want to FUCKING TIP!? Another beer, coming right up, or how about a tall glass of SHUT THE FUCK UP AND FUCK OFF! My smile is wearing thing fuckers!!! Now, having said all that, I enjoy my job. It also allows me  the opportunities to work in shitty low budget films and cheap modelling gigs, but hey every little step counts towards something, right?

***

One thing I pride myself on is that I am able to crack wise about myself. I make ‘two-finger diet’ jokes about my history and somewhat present love affair with bulimia, I joke about the days I am driving to work crying my eyes out, I joke about miscarriages and abortions and not being able to have kids. This is what I do, I make jokes. But sometimes it’s hard to have only myself as a scapegoat.

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So lets get back to the start.

Last year was a rough year for me. Now, I won’t go into too much detail there, but in short, some shit happened, I was sad, I had anxiety, Doc prescribed me a mixture of potions and pills and off I was into the Netherworld. Summer full of nothing, but rainbows, unicorns and David Bowie’s Goblin King’s bulge.

At some point, the rainbows and unicorns disappeared and Bowie’s bulge started to resemble Danny DiVito. I realized, fuck this Cait, you are a big girl, pussy up and do this on your own. No drugs.

So in the fall, I went off completely against Docs orders. (I know, I am such a rebel).

It sucked at first, but day by day, I was slowly finding myself.  I socialized more often, I went to the gym (sometimes seven days a week), I made an effort to be a real person. It was actually quite exciting. It’s like when you first masturbate or ‘discover yourself’, you just want to keep doing it over and over and over and over and over….

Sure, I had bad days, but I would cope with walking my dog or watching my daily dosage of Dr.Phil. I found things to do,to occupy myself.

So…..

At some point this year, my progress into becoming a real person again, was retrograding.

• I was/am drinking quite often (a girl with three years of sobriety),
• Hated/hate being at home, so usually a drive or a stop at the pub was my go to,
• The should’ves, would’ves, could’ves started creeping back into my life,
• My family back home seemed like they were/are growing without me,
• I am working 24/7,
• I am homesick
• I am lonely
• I am falling back into a sad, sad, place and all I want to see are rainbows and unicorns and David Bowie’s bulge all over again!

New prescription-complete.

Diagnosis-self-diagnosis.

Anywho, there is more I care to say, but this medication are making the little gnomes on my computer angry and I am pretty sure my titties are lactating….whattheactualfuck!