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.

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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, 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.