The Scarlet Letter

I always wondered what my epithet would be. Maybe I read too much on old mythology or my hard on for GoT has taken me to this point, I don’t know, but somehow I have gotten here. Now, I say I’ve ‘wondered’ what my epithet would be, in truth I know it. It’s both sad and a great honour that these titles aren’t made by ourselves. Epithets are made by the people. PLEBIANS UNITE!

Over the course of my life time I have acquired quite a few.

Cait The Great

Now, not only did this one rhyme and at the time I was high on living the bohemian life tucked under Edgar Allen Poe and Trojan Wars. But I was strong like bull. I fending off boys for my sisters, I used my strength to help around the house. I was a little tank. I was strong, independent at the ripe age of 8. And yes, morbidly and romantically I was entwined with Mr. Poe at a young age, but that’s a story for another time.

Few summers after, came…

Cait The Great White.

Why this stuck for a whole summer, I’ll never really know, but I blame it on my love for sharks and a white dress, I wore nearly every day until it because the color of a very dusty rose.

Cait The Jack of All Trades

I am sure many have acquired this name over their life times. For me, this came from my dance school. I excelled at every dance class I took. From ballet to jazz to tap to hip hop and whateverthefuck else I did. But, I was never the top dancer. I was second, always second to the top. Where I thought I would be the best in ballet, there was always someone taller, leaner and had all attributes a ballerina should have, with jazz there was a dancer with spirit fingers that were out of this world, with tap, well my sister kicked my ass in it. I was never the best, I was always second best. A jack of all trades, but master of none, and being master at always being second best is no epithet anyone should live by.

In college came, Cait The Native. No epithet really, but everything I did, everything I accomplished was because I was native. I got scholarships and bursaries, not because I was a starving artist, but because I was a red skinned girl who wore moccasins to class. It’s funny when I first applied to school they didn’t accept me. REJECTED! I was then advised to reapply, but under being native. Sure enough, I got in. Clearly applying as a white person is nothing to compared to a native.

Even my theatre ensemble native the fuck out of me. No fault of their own, and at the time it didn’t bother me too much. But in my mind, I was more than being native.

College passed, and into adulthood I came. And with a thunderous bang, came more epithets I could every imagine.

Cait The Harlot of New West60c99e26569147e9d9f58a8fc12c7831--funny-shit-funny-stuff

Cait The Homewrecker

Cait The Cheater

Cait The Vamp Whore (This one actually makes me laugh)26POP-master768

Cait The Stealer of Men

Cait The Husband Capturer

Cait The Tight and Easy

Cait The Untrusted

Cait The Trusted In Bumping Naughty Bits

Cait The Master Blower of the Love Whistle

Cait The Usurper of Men

Cait The No Hearted

Cait The Addict

Cait The Pill Popper

Cait The Reckless

Cait The Crazy

Cait The Used Up, Damaged Fucking Whore of a Person Who Deserves Nothing, but Loneliness and a Broken Heart.

Wait a minute. What happened here. What happened to all the good things I have done?e14cd95a68c4bbe95d829d6b48715722 (1) What happened to all the good qualities I possess? Or do I possess them no longer?

I have always been loyal to those I love, I’ve always put the ones I care about before me. I’ve invested in friendships and relationships financially, emotionally, mentally. But here I am. Cait The Girl With The Scarlet Letter. Cait the Native is starting to sound a lot more desirable now.

I have certainly done stupid things, but I am not stupid. People talk, rumours run rapid, and when you aren’t there to defend yourself, people start to believe these rumours. It’s sad, it’s hurtful, it’s something I would never wish on anyone. I lost a lot of important people in my life over this. And I am not trying to pass blame to the masses and the gossip king and queen in town. I am not, but I am not there. And although these rumours are blended with truths and I am sure exaggerations, and certainly lies, I am not there.

I had a relationship with someone who was married. I knew it was wrong, he knew it was wrong, but in those moments of our selfishness it felt right. I didn’t intend to destroy a family, he didn’t intend for anyone to find out, nothing was intended. Now, because of this, long time girlfriends don’t trust me around their men, I am now considered a homewrecker.

I am very open about my sex-capades. I talk about banging this person and another 14b986d022db146fc633a6a37053ae27person, I talk about infidelity, orgies, I talk and talk and talk. I realized that me being so open about this had people define me as this skeeze queen. True, through no fault but my own, I joked about my sexual encounters. All the time. It’s unfortunate really. I do what all my male single friends did, but I am the whore.

Now, people expect me of this. I once invited a friend out to meet me at a bar. I was there with some co-workers and other lonely hearts enjoying the night. It was quite a ways a way for this bloke to come out, but I offered to pay for his cab ride, even offered him to crash at my place if need be. He came and was terribly upset that I was going home with another lad. I apologized, I felt terrible, but my intentions were intentions of catching up, having some drinks and hanging out. His intentions were different. I didn’t realize this until I received a 20 minute lecture on being a terrible person and leading on men. Apparently this is a trait I have. God forbid me to invite a boy out and not put out.

It’s because I am more than this. I know I am more than this. But as mentioned before rumours run rapid, and when all the rumours are about you, and you aren’t there to defend yourself you start to believe them. I know I did. Maybe this bloke was right. My vagina is friendly to all!! Maybe the right thing for me to do was fuck the shit out of him. After all he came all this way thinking so why not deliver?

Maybe I am a piece a shit. Maybe I am all those names everyone seems to know me by now. If that’s the case, I should wear each and everyone of those fucking names proudly, right?

Like I said, I’ve done stupid things, but I am not stupid. I know there is more to me, than just an epithet.

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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.

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.

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.

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.