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.

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, butĀ 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…Ā 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.