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.