Catherine Micqu

Drowning in a Sea of Voices

Dear Friends,

Did you notice? I published a new poetry collection. I am proud of it, it is filled with emotive words and lines.

Look at Amazon (worldwide) and you can order your copy from there, or, order it through this blog.

I know you want it. 🙂

Drowning in a Sea of Voices by Catherine Tricarico

Enjoy these poems with a glass or mug of your favourite drink, light a candle and put on some soft music. Come with me on a journey through the mind of a romantic fool. ❤

A review would make me happy too. 🙂 See? I am easy to please.

Thank you,

Cathy

new look

I decided that it is time for a little change on the blog, and so, it received a new look. It feels very me, somehow. Is that weird? Everything is still there, but of course, we have to get used to it.

What do you say? For me, the font seems small on the desktop version, but it is okay on mobile. Which version do you use more often? For me it is indeed the mobile version and the app. My laptop is old and slow and it weighs a lot when I want to write with it on my knees, lol.

Do I have your attention? There are a handful of people who take a look at this blog regularly. I wonder:

  • do you want more poetry?
  • more short stories?
  • more about me and my struggles?
  • more music with more in depth explanations why this or that song is worthy of your time?

I am thinking about making a poll, but I am afraid that no one will vote… so… please take the time to comment about what you want. Yes, this is my blog, but it is yours too. You are taking time to read… If you don’t want as much music as I shared this week, tell me. If you want less of my whining or struggles, say so.

As always, thank you for your support and your love. Remember too that there are other ways to get in touch. My social media links are visible in the sidebar (in desktop version) or by scrolling down all the way on your mobile app.

Lots of love,

Cathy

 

PS: remember a couple of months ago, I was considering deleting everything or letting the blog fade out. I figured out quite quickly that I can’t let that happen. Yes, I am rambling a lot these days and I am thinking about how that makes me look – probably not the best look for a young woman like me, but it is a big part of me and although I am not expecting any comments or feedback on the more private posts, it is important for me to send these thoughts away. I am still writing my journal, but that seems to be different. It is different, because it is less impulsive in a way. I hope it makes sense.

such a long PS… Thanks again for your eyes ❤

Crazy Wednesday Evening Randomness

I miss intimacy and someone who cares. I wonder why it is so hard for me to say this and for others to see? I am an open book, after all.

When my son told me about that friend taking his own life by throwing himself off a bridge, I was struggling. No, I was not affected by the loss of that child, I didn’t know the boy or his family, and yet, it got to me. It is part of my condition. I suffer internally when bad things happen.

It scares me. It scares me because sometimes I wonder if I could delete myself as easily as my Facebook account. I have lost track of how many times I deactivated that site. This time, I am going for deletion. There is nothing and no one who keeps me there, which is a lie – on my part. There are exactly three people who make me want to continue using Messenger. But, I am tired. I am tired of feeling ignored or neglected or abandoned. Even if I am not – it is my subjective emotion. People close to me, those who pay attention know that I have been raised in a way that I was ignored a lot. Affection was withheld. So now, when my mind suggests that people are treating me in a similar manner, I shut down. A wall comes up. I become nearly obsessive; at the same time, I become angry. Do I really deserve that?

The answer is NO. And you who are my friends don’t deserve it either. I am selfish, bordering on narcissistic. And I am in very bad shape right now. I push people away, and I don’t want to participate in anything. I can’t deal with anyone asking for attention. I need to be my own centre of attention.

I have been triggered. For a little over a week (October 6th), I have been struggling with self-harming behaviour. I haven’t done anything. I even consciously drank less alcohol and ate less crap than I usually do. But I am scared that it will happen.

Isn’t it pathetic?! I can’t be alone, but I don’t want anybody near me right now.

Nothing makes sense, least of all me – least of all mental illness.
Thoughts in circles. Not here nor there.

I was in training today (about speech development in small children). When I drove there, I wondered about mental illness. It is everywhere these days. It is a blessing and a curse. It is a blessing for me because finally, I came to realise that I am not alone. Many people feel as intensely as I do. Joy and sorrow. I have been struggling with depression since I was a teenager. Maybe even before. This illness was always a part of me, and for all I knew, I was insane. No one was as sad as me. No one was as moody as me. No one hurt themselves to feel… The internet took a lot of the shame and guilt I carried around and gave it an explanation and a reason. Of course, now I read about mental health and illness, and I am turning into a hypochondriac mess. Am I manic? Am I bipolar? I should have it checked out. When I spoke to a doctor about how I feel (not even two years ago), she said to me that I should take Vitamin D and that the winter would soon be over. I never mentioned it again. Although she prescribed me something to lighten the mood. It still didn’t feel right. To me, it felt as if I was not taken seriously. Not nice.

I need intimacy. A hug. A cuddle. Someone who runs his hand through my hair while my head listens to his heartbeat, and tells me that it will be okay.

Presence is not enough right now.

Cathy

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PS: I saw Joker tonight. No spoilers…

I hope my death makes more cents than my life. ~ Arthur Fleck

musings

Even in the darkest moments is a ray of light. Often we let it slip through the cracks of our minds because we are too caught up in our thoughts and too comfortable in our routines and daily patterns. But if we see the light, find the strength to grab it and the courage to hold on to it, life will change. It is hard, though, and I am often failing too.
It’s the small things that affect us the most. A word in a sentence that makes us snap at a good friend. A song on the radio that makes us dance. An unexpected text message that makes us smile. A voice message that lets our hearts race.
Life is a string of choices, decisions, and lessons. Life is filled with feelings and emotions; there is no logic – we cannot (and we must not) understand everything that happens. Sometimes we get hurt. More often, we are not. The expected pain is worse than what we are actually experiencing in the end.

Still, we chose to focus on our sadness and hurt too many hours of the days, and it keeps the light and happiness from our hearts and minds. If our energy were spent showing kindness, compassion, and empathy instead of taking every word, every view personally, it would mean a huge step forward in our emotional development.
Oh, I am guilty of negativity too. I wallow in it all too often. I feel neglected, abandoned, for no other reason than my mind suggesting that I am not good enough or lovable anyway. I ask for a kind of attention that others are not willing to give consistently, which pushes me in a vicious circle of evil thoughts. The thing is, I support and listen to people unconditionally and without judgment, why the f*** can’t I feel the same kind of support in return? Could it be that I am simply not able to understand the love or affection of others? Am I emotionally inept?

I read this on the almighty, all-knowing internet a while ago:

The reason why I am jealous is that my biggest fear is to be easily replaceable.

I don’t know who wrote it. It was an RT on Twitter that I wrote down in one of my notebooks (around October 2015), but it sums a big part of myself up. It’s part of my truth. I am afraid to be forgettable, to be replaceable. I want to be unique – and yet I want to be able to vanish in a crowd without being noticed.

I am a weird person. Full of mood swings. Overly emotional at times. Impulsive. Still, all those things don’t overrule my qualities. I care. I worry, and I want other’s happiness more than my own.

I know that I have a hard time finding my balance because I am not taking enough care of myself, my mental health, and my needs. To speak up when I feel neglected (even if it blows up in my face) would be to admit that I am demanding and damaged. It scares me. I don’t want to bother other people with my shit, and I don’t want to appear obsessive when I sent daily messages to the people who matter most to me. It would be important to allow myself to be and to realise that it is not selfish but healthy. I am slowly breaking out of my old patterns, and I am actively working on becoming and staying a better version of myself. But it is so damn hard.

Again, every choice I make along the way might not be the most popular or the one you would have made, but I don’t believe in regrets. Things that are set to happen will happen. In their own time. In their own right.
That said, right now, I feel the rays of light gently caressing my skin, and I plan on holding on – the winter will be long and cold as it is.

I am grateful for everyone who is with me on that journey. I apologize to everyone I hurt or will hurt in the process. Know that it’s not you, it’s me. (As cliché as it sounds).
I hope that you can find the light too, if you haven’t already. You are worth it. Because you are one of a kind. Valuable. Loveable. And this earth needs you. You matter, and I care. (More than I allow myself to show.)

xx
Cathy

parenting (or not)

I am a mom of three. Two girls (9 and 10) and a boy (14). I became a parent for the first time when I was 21 (4 weeks shy of my 22nd birthday).

Sometimes it is hard to be an authentic and honest parent, even more so when your mind is broken or fragile or unquiet.

I did not have a great childhood. It’s a part I rarely or never talk about, because who would really understand? No one who wasn’t in a similar situation. I was not beaten, I was not molested. I was ignored and emotionally blackmailed. I cared for a grown woman who was supposed to care for me, even though many adults were around. But apparently, even a 5 year old is old enough to wipe her mother’s butt  – I will never understand why my older sister didn’t have to do these things.

And don’t let me get started on my father. I don’t know him well, he left when I was a baby and my mom was already in a wheelchair. I like him, he is a fun man now, but when I was a child he was not there. Never there. He did not throw ball with me, he didn’t teach me how to ride a bike, he didn’t teach me to swim, he was nonexistent. He taught me how to run away from difficult situations – which I never did. He is a stranger. The worst part: I resent my parents. They shouldn’t have had a second child. My mom knew about her diagnosis when she was pregnant with me. I should not have been born – something that my grandmom never tired to tell me from an early age on.

I don’t visit my mom. I haven’t in a long time, years. And I know I should, but I can’t. If I talk to her or if I visit, I have a hard time recovering or coping. My mother lives in a home for disabled people. She is in a wheelchair and is not able to eat or do anything on her own anymore. Her mind is lucid, but her body doesn’t cooperate. I don’t have a relation with her anymore. She doesn’t try to get in touch either. Not even to ask about the kids. And my dad? He is a proud grandfather, but he never gets in touch on his own. My half-sister is our middleman.

I feel heartless and cold when I write things like this. But I feel rootless. I was depraved of love and affection when I was a kid. I didn’t talk to anyone outside of my home until I was 7. And no one seemed to mind. I was simply the shy kid. As I am working with kids and am in a special training about speech development, I can’t understand why no one sent me to a specialist, not even the teachers. Then again, I grew up in a very small village were everyone knew everyone. My family was the weird one anyway. So many adults on one heap, my mother, disabled, divorced with two kids from an Italian. My grandma tried to keep up appearances.  And everything that was not normal was put under a rug. We had large rugs…

Oh well… This was not really what I wanted to write about when I opened the app. I am an affectionate mom and apparently, I am hard but fair with the kids. We have rules that are defined for every kid and they know it. If we play by the rules everything is fine. And if we don’t, mom grumbles, but there is no yelling and rarely there are any punishments at all. (and if there is punishment, it is of the kind that the kids aren’t allowed to watch TV or they will not get a new book from the store that month – they get new books every months, because they asked for it.) And I spoil them all the time with little things. I am not afraid to be silly or to be lazy with them. Not every minute of the day needs to be planned, and we love to lie in on Saturdays and Sundays. They are intelligent kids, emotionally intelligent too. They are at the age when they ask about the self-harm scars on my arms. I never really know what to say. I don’t want them to feel that it is okay to deal with inner pain in such a toxic manner. I don’t want them to see how much of a failure I was and still am on occasion. And so, I often reply that I will tell them at a later time and change the subject. It is not my proudest parenting tool, so if any of you knows how I should deal with this situation, tell me. I am open to suggestions.

But this is not what I meant to write about either… I am unfocused.

Have you seen the movie Rambo 3? There is a scene where John Rambo goes to pick up weapons that were delivered for him. He is shown a suitcase with everything and the guy with him looks through the stuff. He finds a stick and asks “What’s this?” Rambo snaps it and replies “it’s blue light”. The guy nods. “What does it do?” “Turns blue.” Duhh!

Although that is not a children’s movie, it is a quote that is used at least once every day and is the first answer when asked “What’s this?” or “What does it do?” and yet, after a smile or a roll of the eyes (I hate when they do that) they get their deserved and rightful response.

Then there are the “Why?” questions. There are two kinds of “Why-questions”. A lament or an interested question. To the lament, I always reply “Because I said so, that’s why.” and that leaves no room for arguments at all. The other questions are answered to my best knowledge. If I don’t know something, I look it up with the kids together. It is not a shame not to have all the answers and admitting it. The kids are learning that it is okay to do research. I like that a lot. Kids ask questions, as they should. How else are they supposed to learn?

My kids also know how to do their own washing and they are very proud of that. They love cooking, and reading, and they like to be informed (watching or listening to the news.)  But, I am careful with giving them “adult” tasks. I want it to be fun for them and not an obligation because I cannot do it on my own. I make them unload the dishwasher everyday too, but that is because I want them to help with the daily chores. My ten-year old loves cleaning the bathrooms. I don’t. She uses way too much product, but that is okay, as long as it is fun in her eyes. We bought a new wireless vacuum cleaner, they fight about who is allowed to use it first.

Don’t get me wrong, my house is not spotless, far from it, even with the kids’ help. There is dust on the sideboard and there are a couple of folded laundry baskets in the living room that are waiting to be put away, there are greasy finger prints on the front of one of the kitchen cupboards, and at the entrance are dirty footprints from wet shoes. The beds aren’t made either. But, who cares? My kids are growing up in a home where there is lots of love and laughter.

What is happiness? My kids are my happiness.

It is raining again. I should grab the girls to go outside and jump in puddles. After their homework is done.

Not sure why I felt compelled to wrote this now; even more so after claiming that I was done with the blog. Apparently, I am not. Who would have guessed?!

Cathy

 

Heart of Stone

Heart of Stone… I am procrastinating to keep editing this story. It is available for free on Wattpad. The response has been quite nice. Here are a couple of comments from the last chapter:

So far, I added one chapter and edited more or less 80% of the existing story, adding paragraphs and taking other unimportant stuff out. I believe that I have something good on my hands. And although I am sparse with praise for myself, I think that this novel is worth every reader’s time (even in its unedited state).

Here is a link: https://my.w.tt/mahOoc4VpZ

If you are inclined to read, please do. I am grateful for every comment and encouragement I can get. Sometimes, comments help in the editing process; asking questions and clarifications make me see where the story is not clear or where more words are necessary. There are parts that seem logical to me, but that’s because my mind fills the gaps that exist. I know the characters and their flaws because they are in my head and in my imagination – it is not the same for a reader who has a healthier distance to these characters.

As always, thank you for your support.

Have a nice weekend.

Cathy

Too hot to keep cool

I am clueless. Very often. What is happening?

And what the hell will happen to humanity if we keep going on like this?

The answer is: I don’t know. (Quote from one of my favourite movies: Reality Bites, I need to watch it again soon)

Fucking hell… I am speechless when I see the megalomaniac people, the egocentric ones, the selfish ones. Hate seems to be more valued than love, negativity is praised and “cool”, while positivity is weak and spiritual hippie crap. On the other side, being frail is accepted, flaws are welcome. Mental health issues are en vogue and everywhere and almost worn as a badge, as well as negated and diminished in the same conversation.

The world is full of complexities and opposites, and I am clueless about how to navigate them and about what will happen to us in these times of turmoil.

We will all go down. Fuck me… No one gets out of here alive.

But I am realizing more and more that serenity helps us get past any obstacles.

Most things are in our head, and reacting negatively makes everything worse instead of better. But positivity is so scarce these days, and, I, for one, have not learnt and experienced a lot of positivity in my formative years.

My mind is all over the place. And I am clueless. I often am. How can we sit back and watch as the world turns itself to dust?

What are you doing to make a change?

Me? I watch what I consume, recycle all my waste, take care of the environment, reduce the use of plastic… And, I work at a nursery where I try to educate the kids and share my values.

I also share my liberal values with my kids. I have discussions with them, explaining why I do the things in my own special way.

Yes, I am odd, but I am unique, and no matter how low my self-esteem can be, I also know that my presence enriches the life of everyone who is invited to walk on a part of their journey next to me.

It is too hot to keep cool…

Cathy

Tbt photo

I was actually trying to find a picture of me when I was pregnant; I mean, I have three kids, how hard can it be? Very hard! I found exactly three photos, and in only one you can actually see my belly – but that picture is blurry.

The idea for this post came from the many pregnant women in my life right now. Four of my friends are pregnant. And they will all give birth between November and December. There is my colleague at work, my neighbour, my sister-in-law, and an old friend from school. Try as I might, I cannot really remember my pregnancies. I mean, I do, yet I don’t. When your life and body are turned upside down for almost a year, and after that, you are sleep-deprived and suffering from breastfeeding dementia, I think it encourages memory loss.

The picture I shared was taken 12 days after my son’s birth. I was a couple of weeks shy of my 22nd birthday.

I love that picture. It’s very serene and peaceful, filled with love; protective too. That little guy on the picture is 14 years old and tall and handsome. He is an amazing human being who does his thing, never following any trends or pressures. I admire him. I want to be like that too. But I am an attention seeker, and I need to be validated all the time. Funnily enough, the only thing that I am very sure of is my parenting skills. I am sure that I am messing up all the time, but those three little people who grew from me and within me, are the best I ever created.

I want them to be fearless and kind and grateful. I want them to be considerate and never sell themselves short. At the same time, I want them to be modest. I want my kids to be good-hearted and tolerant. I want them to be open-minded and accepting of things and people that are different. I want them to be curious and thirsty with lust to learn and to live. Above all, I want them to know that whenever they fail, they are loved, and their mom – their parents, are there to consolidate them and help to resolve any issue that might arise. So far… I think we are on the right track.

When I feel down or bad, when depression devours me, then I talk to my kids, hug them, or just watch them, and I am reminded that I am needed, that I am not here in vain. I have a purpose.

This is all rambling just to say: I love my children. I love my family. I cannot for the life of me, imagine to be without them. They make me whole.

My husband plays a big part in this too. We have been a couple for almost 20 years now. Mind you; I am 36 – I know, I know, I am bragging, but I am allowed to do that here on my blog. I would never trade my husband for another man. He is handsome, intelligent, makes me laugh, doesn’t judge, and even after all these years, we are still talking – about everything. There are no secrets, no lies – everything is out in the open. Sometimes, we say things and grow silent because we don’t know how to react. We tend to ignore those elephants and keep living our peaceful lives. Once in a while, I am afraid that these things come back to bite us in the ass, but in the end – we are a strong couple. And we are this strong and weird and odd and unconventional because it is us.

My husband is the love of my life. So very different from me, but I don’t care. He is the most amazing man, and I want to grow old and fat with him. I want to make mistakes and cry and laugh and forgive. So far, I did all of it, and he never ran. Try finding a gem like that!

This turned out to be a stream of consciousness-y post.

Time to say goodnight.

I hope you all find someone to love, to have, and to hold.

*hugs*