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.

sadpandaLately 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.

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 girlfriendThis 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.

Cait Interrupted

Hi friends,

Alas, where do I even begin…

Monday I was admitted into emergency. Now, in my mind absolutely no real emergency whatsoever. I say this because, for the last two days I was just indifferent. I felt empty, I felt like any feeling I ever felt was gone and that for the remainder of my so-called life I would always feel just this…just…desolate. Cait’s very own wasteland. A place that used to be bumping full of energy and smiles and happy-go-lucky type shit. Now it’s just nothing. An abandoned amusement park, no longer amusing.786e44a15f57dded1b6359cd0e6cfd32

This year has been quite the rollercoaster to say the least and fuck do I ever hate using that metaphor, but it is so true. Up and down, then stalls, then up and down, then some bitch loses her phone because she’s a fucking idiot for trying to take a selfie with a phone……UGH!!!!!!!!!!! This ride isn’t fun anymore.

I called my mom on Monday. I was sad. I often call mom when I am sad. I don’t mean too, and I hate to have her feel helpless because she isn’t here, but there are only few people I feel semi-okay/butnotreally/butitstheclosestIwillgettofeelingcomfortablewithsomeone.

If mom is busy, I call the ex. Now, before you guys go to any conclusions let me explain something to you. My ex and I have been broken up for two years now. In the beginning I would do my best not to call him in these moments, simply because I didn’t want him to feel used. I didn’t want him to feel like I only called him because for 8 years we were together and it was routine, it was comfort. However, he knows me. He knows I’m incredibly stubborn, he knows I hate feet, he knows the scars on my body (inside and out), he knows about my secret obsession with nutcrackers (shhhhh it’s a secret!). He just knows me. He perhaps, is my closest confidant.

On Monday, after being on the phone with my mom, I called the ex. We decided it was time to take me in. Where folks? TO THE LOONY BIN OF COURSE! Kidding! I get I’m crazy, but I am not quite girl interrupted yet. Hospital it is.

On the way to there, I was thinking two things: 1) This isn’t a real emergency? 2) So craving a Happy Meal…

We get there and it isn’t busy one bit. Thank gawd too. I would hate to have someone with a machete in their head or someone birthing a goat have to wait on me just because I am having a sad, sad day.

I was shocked. And I don’t know why I was so shocked, but when I got there everyone was so comforting. The nurses seem to genuinely care about my well being. They didn’t want me to leave, they didn’t want me to feel sadness anymore, they truly wanted to help me. So much in fact they bumped me up before a sick baby. Sorry sick baby, but Cait’s a baby too….

They brought me in to see a psychoanalyst. I forget her name, but she was quite lovely. They also brought in a general physician.I was broken friends. I couldn’t stop feeling sad, I couldn’t stop crying. How did I let it get to this point? ME! Cait the mother fucking great, the toughest cookie in town was crumbling.

I talked to ….lets call her Miss Lovely (psychoanalyst). She truly was lovely. She seemed to have compassion for me, she wanted to understand, she genuinely was listening to all my words and ramblings. She asked me questions, upon questions, but for once I didn’t mind. She asked me about my drug use, I was honest. About my diet, I was honest, about any past or present relationships and in that I tried not to share. I tried not to be honest, but in the end she knew the whole story.

Miss Lovely, then talked to the ex. Since he knows me best, sometimes I think better than I know myself. They both came in a short time later.

I will now be going to an outpatient treatment center. Just to have someone to talk to once 3a51a-depressiontwo8-2in awhile. Someone who can hopefully help me sort out my shit. Someone who is either willing or at least paid to listen to my stories (and I got lots of them stories).

It was funny, on the drive home, the ex turn towards me and… Miss Lovely was so fuck foxing, I should got her number….ugh!!!!! BOYS!!! We had a laughed. He dropped me off, helped cleaned my place a bit, tucked both Bear and I into bed and then it was Tuesday. A new day, still a sad one, but then it’ll be Wednesday, then Thursday, and if it’s true what They say (who ever They are), every day gets better. And I’ve finally taken steps to get better myself.

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!

 

The White Whale

Well, well, well, folks…you missed me, haven’t you? I know, I know it has been quite some time since I put my beautiful poetics on the good ol’ inter-web, but alas, the time has come. I shall name this one….

The White Whale 

A tale of a girl with a rapist’s mentality to conquer a total babe. Two years in the making! (Hint: she totally nails him…..DDAAAAAAYYYYYYUUUMMMM)

crazy-man-with-white-whale-cartoon-fun-hd-wallpaper

This tale starts, with a very starry eyed, lonely, horny, girl (That’s me). I was nearing the end of a relationship and my eyes were already wandering. What new crop does the world have to offer me? Now, working in an industry where I am constantly surrounded by alcohol and assholes, the world was my oyster and my oyster was definitely enjoying the hunt.

Now, I assure you, I was a good girl. While still committed to then said boyfriend, all I did was look. Then looking turned into flirting (harmless albeit), then flirting turned into touching myself thinking of other people, which turned into screwing my partner and thinking of other people, which turned into….BITCH, YOU GUESSED IT. Single Cait, at your service.

Once, I was single, I was ready to FLA-MINGLE, spread my mother fucking wings/legs and fly/ride.

One night, after a long boring ass shift, my coworker and I decided to flood down to a hole in the wall place to sip some brewskies. We sat our butts at what seemed to be the only spot available in this dive of a bar, and then……a bright light shone on yours truly and this beautiful angel of a man emanated from the…..NAH….TOTALLY FUCKING KIDDING.

Don’t worry I won’t give your hopes up. We sat down, and this dude walks over throws down his menus and says ‘Cait, what can I get you?‘ Cait?Duh fuck you mean, Cait? This handsome mother fucker knows my name?… Clearly, he saw the potentially cross-eyed and confused looked on my face and politely reminded me, I was still wearing my name tag. Smart ass.

I will say this, what I thought was our first encounter…well…my curiosity was mildly, and I will repeat mildly peaked when this blonde hair, (still don’t remember the colour of his eyes), fit, beast of a babe walked into my sights and decided to show me whose boss. Ladies, my eyes where on fire, my heart was a thumping and my vagina was tingling all over!

After a couple of cheeky beverages and some late night nasty grub, our bills were handed out. Fuck, I made maybe 80$ that night in tips and ending up spending 180$, FAAACCKKK, but YOLO so…. I give this bodacious of a server my hand, full of cash to pay my debt and he slyly whispers in my ear….“I didn’t know your name based on your name tag, I knew your name because you served me last week” MOTHER FUCKER! Not only is he sly, but he’s polite, and cheeky and a babe. A total fucking, babe….This moment, this very moment folks, is when I knew I will bang this cocky ass, one day. I will conquer him…just you wait beautiful, beefcake, just you wait…..

***

Flash forward to some point in the future…

***

My reputation as what some would call a ‘slag’ and what I would call a ‘connoisseur of men’ began circulating the town. Perfect, I thought, this is totally my in. Mr. babe-a-licious server, was quite the Casanova himself. Slutting around the New West streets, like the little man whore he is. (Fuck, surely if anyone could tap that, I could) We, were alike, two harlots, screwing left, right and centre. I’m telling you folks, you couldn’t find any other two hussies who were meant to do the sideways shuffle. Seriously, Christian Mingle couldn’t even find a more slut-tastic match. (Side Note: All of Gods children are hoes).

Every so often, my coworkers and I would head to the hole in the wall, spend all our tip money, and talk about fuck all. While these conversations were quite riveting, I was off daydreaming about Mr. Womanizing Cad. Sure enough, a few scotches in I would attempt to make these daydreams a reality. How? Well, with my wry wit of course!

hey handsome, is my vagina sweating or are you just that hawt!

hey sexy thang, I don’t need a spoonful of sugar to swallow you.

hey man of my wet dreams….. 

So what, I was completely out of practice. I haven’t had to pick up a dude since I snatched my ex up back in ’08. But, he liked it, I could tell. Obviously, he was used to being nothing but a sex object to all the  ladies (I’m sure a few of the old bags carpal tunneled the shit out their digits just thinking of him). BUT! As I was saying he liked it. I mean no I didn’t bring him home with me ever in those times, but he laughed. And you know what if that’s all I could get from this guy, I’ll take it…….for now. MUAHAHAHAHAHA….

This charade lasted two years. TWO YEARS FRIENDS! Do I have persistence or what? No man has ever resisted my charm, and as much as it drove me crazy that he was consistently shutting me down, I wanted him more. He was my the unattainable, the irresistible, he was my white whale. Call me Caitlin, I will not be left afloat, I will conquer.

Eventually the white whale left the hole in the wall, and my want to go evaporated….For a moment and only a moment I thought, maybe I won’t succeed in my mission. But only for a moment!

We surprisingly reached out to one another at some point. Sexting and sexting and more sexting and then BAM!

NAILED IT!

Haha, now it didn’t quite happen like that, but I assure you its rather dull and well, a lot of dick pics folks, a lot of fucking dick pics.

So this moment, right. This moment that I had built up in my head for two years, this moment that was supposed to be ethereal and euphoric. Ummmm….was not so. He was too much in his head. At least I thought he was. I suppose it is a lot of pressure though. You have one girl who has been wanting  you for so long and now you are concerned you can’t deliver. Fuck, I was concerned at one point he couldn’t deliver either. Eventually, he delivered all over my chest and we passed the fuck out.

Now, I’m like a ninja in the mornings. I always leave before the sun comes up. In this case, part of me wanted to stay, and the other part wanted to leave asap. I followed my other part.

So kind of awkward right. You build up all this stuff in your head of how you imagine that moment to be, and it wasn’t what you expected. Either way, my mission was accomplished. He came, I conquered.

So at some point we decided to have another go at it. We realized the first wasn’t that ideal, lets try a second. So we did, and then tried a third, a fourth, a fifth, and then when he started asking me about my family while I was riding him, I realized…..nope! Not meant to be. We gave it a go, and more than a few times, and it just ain’t in our stars to create beautiful sexy sideways sessions.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret anything. It also wasn’t terrible either, our bodies just didn’t jell. And yes, he is still on my top 10 list of booty calls, and being 7 ain’t so bad.

This, my folks…is the story of my white whale.

#nailedit

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).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.

dumb_dumber-e1370035901294What 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.GErQCzV

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.

***

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.1200

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!

funny-side-effects-to-medication