Positivity

My grandfather was Italian. He lived during WWII. He was sent to a concentration camp because he was missing a finger and was no use to the Italian military. In said camp, he learned to speak and understand German. I never learned to speak Italian but grew up with German. My Nono (Italian word for grandpa) spoke to me in German. He once told me that he hated the reason why he knew the language but loved that he knew it to be able to talk to me and my sister.

In my book, that’s positivity. The old man could have refused to speak the language he associated with so much misery, but he chose to speak it. And I am forever grateful for that.

Another memory I have about him is that he couldn’t pronounce my name. My Italian family calls me Katie. My Luxembourgish family calls me Cathy (which sounds like Cutty). He said Kettey 🙂 Also makes me smile.

Not sure where this thought came from but, there it is. x

PS: if I had been born as a boy, I would have been named after him: Giuseppe.

It’s okay

Recently, I read on the mighty interwebs that “it is okay to not be okay”. Usually, I would agree. But life taught me differently. Sadly, I might add.

I have not been a good friend to my oldest (best?) friend for the last months. There are a couple of reasons. One of the most important ones is her constant negativity not being compatible with my depression. It took me a long time to admit that I have indeed depression and to seek help. And yet, I haven’t told anyone in my close circle of friends and family about it. I did however confide in someone who probably couldn’t care less… But that’s not the point.

I pushed my friends away more and more. And her too. Whenever we met and I tried to talk to her about me and that I am not well and that I don’t know how to deal with it; she made everything about her. And there came a moment when I couldn’t deal with it anymore and began to keep our contact to the barest minimum.

Yesterday I sought contact, writing a message and apologising for the last months. What I got was an accusation of creating a “wall of rejection”. Again, I apologised – and I probably said the lamest thing ever. “It’s me, not you.”

She didn’t even ask “why?” And it gives me the feeling that it is not okay to not be okay.

The thing is, if we honestly want to know and have answers, the question to ask is “why?” We don’t ask though – most often out of fear to hear the answer and not liking it.

If she had asked “why?” I would have dared to open up. I would have dared to say “I am not okay and I am trying to get out of this emotional dark hole.” Yesterday, I would have talked and explained. But she was not interested. And maybe that says a lot about our friendship. Too much?

Why is it not okay to not be okay? Why is it still a taboo to say when you’re not alright?

Why do we never ask that one-word question and why do so many people don’t want to hear an honest answer?

Everything is okay. But I am not. I am well enough to fonction and I am well enough to be passionate about this or that. But I am not well enough to pretend, and I am not well enough to spend time with negative people (not even those who I appreciated dearly once)

I am a giver, a feeder. But once in a while I have to take and get something in return. It is hard to ask for it. It is hard to admit that I am struggling.

Life could be perfect and maybe on the outside it is… But on the inside it is not. And that’s okay.

It is okay to not be okay!

highlights of the day

I did not do much today. Much to my husband’s dismay, I imagine. Lately, I am very tired. Exhausted really. There is no physical explanation, I had everything checked, and yet, I am tired all the time. During the summer months, my schedule at work is a different one. It allows us to go on daytrips with the kids and do other fun stuff we usually can’t do because of the number of kids. (I work at a daycare center for kids). My own kids are away a lot too. They have summer vacation until mid-September and they visit aunts and uncles and grandparents. (instead of having to go to summerschool or something like that). I work three days a week and have two days off. Today was an off day. I slept in. Or at least I tried. Truthfully, I slept until 8am and then I began to read the news on the internet and caught up with the social media. (twitter, IG, facebook, wattpad) I watched a bit of Netflix (the New Girl… I am not a particular fan of the show, but the episodes are short and there are a couple of funny scenes in it) and when I got hungry around noon, I made lunch. And this is the actual highlight of the day because for the first time ever, I made tomato-soup from scratch. It was fairly easy to do. And it was delicious with a tad too much garlic though. I read some more (an actual book!) and watched a movie (on Netflix again – handsome devil) and then I decided to take a bath – where I read some more (on my kindle this time). I cleaned the house a bit, but not too much, and then I sat down at the laptop to write. I had 789 words ready but then I had this feeling – you know the one? The one where you look at your words and realise that they are pretentious crap that no one wants to read – and that rightly so? Well, my post was deleted. I made myself a cup of coffee and ordered two tickets to a concert this Saturday, before I finally decided to write anyway. They say a writer needs to write. I don’t consider myself an author – I have an issue with labeling myself and other people.

I have not been inspired to write stories lately. I can’t put my finger on the reasons, but I guess it has to do with the fact that I am so tired. I do have ideas, but as soon as my pen hits paper, they are gone. Weird, but it happens to all of us. It just feels like an internal drama to me, because I used to sit down and write entire chapters of stories. I haven’t done that in years and in a way, I don’t miss it but I feel that I should write for the people who read those early stories. Almost as if I feel guilty. But only almost.

From time to time, I wonder what makes me special and unique. And I can’t come up with anything, really. I am kind and compassionate, I try to help as much as I can. I am a dedicated mother, a shy person, I can be funny and sometimes outgoing too. I am loyal, supportive, I can speak to you in four different languages, I know how to use words with an emotional impact and I like music a bit too much. But are those really things that define me? Is the fact that I chew chewing gum while driving my car something that makes me me? Sometimes, I feel like a little kid. At 34 I should have figured life out, one would think, but is there really something to figure out? I like to go with the flow and I like spontaneous decisions – when I can make them. I don’t like surprises and I don’t like mean people. But I like men and men knowing how to play the piano and use their words correctly – that’s something I love a lot. (how did this fact slip into this?) I like sunrises because they are more hopeful than sunsets and I like clouds. I like the sound of rain when it is pouring (and it is raining a lot right now) and I marvel at rainbows like a little kid. I love soap bubbles and voices. And green eyes. Feeling appreciated too…

How this post started out with my day and ended with a description of me, I don’t know. Of all people, I am the one who knows me the least.

I wrote some posts in this book lately:

Burnt Wood

They will not take a lot of time to read because they are all under 500 words long – some of them aren’t even 100 words long. If you ever want to know what else I write, you should try and hit the link. I am a pretty great person, you know? I just don’t always have the right way of looking at myself.

So… you really read this far? Thank you. And now I exceeded the initial word count by 100 words. Isn’t that something?

Here… you deserve a song:

Radiohead – man of war (from their album OK NOT OK 1997-2017)

I enjoy this song a lot. (I didn’t watch the clip, lol)

 

Have a great time…

Cathy

a brief conversation with my son

 

Today, my son asked about the stripes on my arm. I told him that they are scars. My heart began pounding… I am not ready to have that conversation. Not when I am still dealing with it.
I am not ashamed. I am just not sure how to explain it without sounding pathetic and at the same time, teaching him that it is a harmful way to deal with pain and frustration… The above is an exact transcript of what was said.

xx

 

(On this picture, you can only see the bigger scars, there are faint ones you can almost only see when you really look for them… apparently, he did. Also, I am not sure why the scars are this swollen today)IMG_20170514_194638201

the storm before the calm?

My mood is a weird one. I don’t trust it. I feel serene. Guided by the light. I am satisfied with me and who I am. I am standing behind my words and believe what I say. My own wisdom surprises me and makes me uncomfortable too.

I am wondering… when I am like this – when I am the light, I wonder if I deserve to feel it. I also wonder if I am more attuned to other people’s moods then. I am always quite aware of the people around me and of their moods but maybe I am just projecting. Who knows? But yes, when I feel the way I do now, right this moment, I wonder about these things. It isn’t happiness I am feeling. But a calm. A calm before a storm? I don’t hope so… but as it is, I cannot control my emotions and I lose every reason and every rationality when they are involved.

And I also wonder if I stole someone else’s light. Did I suck it out of someone who is falling into the dark now?

I know that I am weird. But I also know that I have a huge list of qualities. It’s sad when people reduce me to one thing when I am so much more. In a way, I am complicated, but since I am very understanding and most times quite easy-going and relaxed, I am easy to live with too. I have a great sense of humour and I am interested in many things – from music (duh!) and books to politics and randomness. I am opinionated and intelligent too and as you can see, I am very modest too, lol. I am talented in many domains, I am spiritual and rational at the same time and did I mention humour? I like to laugh about myself.

Sometimes I think that we should take more time to set up a real connection with the people in our lives. Sometimes, we should dare to drop every mask and be who we are without holding back. No matter how intense or dull we think we are. After all, as long as we don’t show who we are, we cannot expect that anyone will understand us and wants to get to know us better. And maybe everything we dislike in ourselves, they’ll adore? Who knows?

I am tired of these masks –  and yes, I wear them too. With these people I show more of that, with those people, I show more of this. And honestly, I am tired of it. Sometimes I pretended, in the past, to be dumber than I really am just to make the other feel better. And it shouldn’t be that way. It really shouldn’t.

I don’t want to hide who I am and who I love. I don’t want to repeat myself and my promises again and again because the other is even more unsure of themselves than I am of me.

There are times in my life when I am very submissive… Right now is not such a time. I am strong and I have the scars to show for it. I am a survivor and I can (and will) take charge of my life and the situations that need to be taken care of.

In a couple of weeks (maybe even days) I will be fragile again. I will break apart at my seams because the emotions and feelings are agonising, but that is not now. Don’t let it be now, please. I want to keep this calm feeling and put it in a box that I will lock. I will hide the box in my soul and when the world around me is raging I will open the lid and let some of the calmness cover me from within…

 

xx

No expectations

​What if we said: “fuck it, I’m doing this the way I want to do it”?

We meet people and in our minds we imagine an entire persona based on the glimpses we get to see. We expect them to be a certain way based on appearances we string together as facts in our minds. Even if it is an unconscious thing, we label them. We put them in a box in our mind and add other people or things to that same box.

But what if we are wrong with our assessment? What if we label someone as strong and they are really breaking inside? What if we are annoyed by someone’s constant ramble, but they only do it out of insecurity? What if we expect too much?

Isn’t expectation the straightest path to disappointment. 

And what if we stopped doing what is expected of us because we are put in this or that box, and start living the way we want to live? What would happen if we stopped giving a fuck about other people’s assumptions about us? A few people would roll their eyes. Some would turn their backs. Others would smile. And we, the ones who broke out of their box would be happy. Content. Free. And a new label would be found. Hippie, misfit, outsider… And it would feel great, because no one would know what to expect anymore.

What if…?

But it isn’t so. At least not for me. I am not brave enough to get out of my box and step on top of it. I am not brave enough because as much as I want to be seen, I don’t like people looking at me. I am already a misfit in many situations. I am the weirdo with the liberal thoughts and the many opinions. I am the writer who published books and writes poetry – looked upon with a sneer and a pitiful, condescending glance every time it is mentioned at a family dinner. I am not one of them. And I don’t need to be. I am one of a kind. Unique in my own simple ways. Easily bruised. Strong enough to walk on with blistered feet. Hoping to be loved and liked and appreciated just the way I am. Faults and quirks and all. 

Don’t expect anything from me, please. I cannot promise to live up to your (or even my own) expectations.
I can only promise to be kind and grateful for every person who chooses to be a part of my journey, for every person who left the path here or there, and for the lessons I learned.

I digressed, I think. But that’s okay. 

Xx

Cathy

more than you might see

We are different. We all have different minds and different things that shake our worlds. My madness is not worse or better than yours. It is unimportant to the grand scheme of it all. But, little things can have a huge impact. Words carelessly thrown at a stranger might leave them bruised or uplifted. A smile or a hug can change entire lives. A broken string can mean much more than just a broken bracelet.

 A broken string can mean much more than just a broken bracelet

I used to wear the bracelet on the picture around my wrist. Every day for nearly a year and I never took it off. Never. The threads were worn thin and there was a moment when I was in a near panic-like state when I thought about losing this simple piece of jewelry. But I also knew that the day would come. Inevitably. For most, it is just that – another weird thing Cathy wears and fondles all the time. But it is – and was much more. Little things have memories and meaning. And, this piece is unique. It doesn’t exist a second time. I had it custom made for me with these exact words. I needed those words with me. I needed to be reminded of them. I was losing a battle. Not a war, but a battle. Inside. And while I was living, I forgot to exist. I was not there.
Are you there? Is the title of a song (shared at the end of this post). It is also the question I was asked several times by the person who inspired most of last year’s writing, and my personal change and growth in recent times too.
Those words, worn against my pulse, were a daily reminder. As I said, different small things shake our worlds in different ways.
This broken thread would be easily replaced and everything would be fixed. But it is not that easy. It never is as easy as it seems.
Letting go of this little thing means letting go of something else. It means letting hope float to different – distant, shores. The memories and the meaning that were attached to that bracelet will remain with it, always. But sometimes we can’t or shouldn’t fix what is broken, because it will not be the same anymore. It will always just be the thing that was once broken and is fixed now. And it can work, but not for this. Not for me.Sometimes, it is good to put the memories in a box and close the lid on it.
I knew that the day would come the bracelet would come undone. And in my mind, I also knew, that this moment would be emotional. Because it is not something meaningless. To me, this was – this is, meaningful.

The beauty of life, isn’t it? What’s meaningful to you could be absolutely meaningless for me (and the other way around).

Are you there?
He asked and she said yes. She would always be there. Waiting for him.
Are you there?
She wondered about herself. The answer was No. She was not. She lived in a world of unfulfillable fantasies. And he had brought her back.
Back down to earth.

 

just a comment…

It is just a comment but it is more. This was written underneath ‘The Show Must Go On’ 

I wrote that story last night on my phone, just before I closed my eyes to sleep. It didn’t take an hour. To have comments like this is truly humbling. I am deeply grateful for every reader. 

xx

Cathy

happy news

I signed my employment contract today and I couldn’t be happier. It took me a while to find this spot, but it seems to be what I want and need. I had a trial day and I had a blast with the coworkers and I felt well and at ease. This is just a huge step for me.

It’s a week of renewment. Okay, so spellchecker doesn’t like that word. It’s a week to start over. (better?!) I decided to move on and not backward anymore.

Amor Fati… that’s what I read a couple of days ago and was reminded that at one time in the past I did that a lot more than I do now.

I am a working mom now 🙂

So, this morning I went to sign my employment contract. And something happened.
I usually feel young and sometimes I also feel inexperienced in life. Both is untrue… But it’s a feeling. Anyway… Today, I sat in a room with 4 people who had just left school and got jobs at the same company. For the first time, I felt old and capable of teaching them things. Not old as in ancient, but experienced 🙂 And I looked in their frightened faces and thought… Well, I was like that once. And now, look at me… Signing my name on a sheet of paper doesn’t faze me anymore. I was so much calmer than them. And that realisation was an eye-opener… I haven’t felt calm and serene in a while. My restlessness was self-made. My worries were self-made. It all came down to the people I let in my heart and in my mind and who had an easy play to mess with me. You see… Or you know… My heart is on my sleeve, my emotions never very well hidden. And there are people who latch on to that. They suck the happiness out of you until you believe they are your only source of happiness. And they make you believe that you can’t be without them because of reason you will never really understand but make you grateful for their attention and time anyway. Truth is, most often, we are better off without these people.
Look around you! There are people who love you. There is no need to go on a quest to find something that is nothing but can ruin everything.

This post became somewhat strange, lol.

TAKK, MERCI, THANK YOU, for reading

xx

Cathy

I am fighting a war today. With me and myself. I am tired. And a woman. (sorry, TMI. I know). But my thoughts suck tonight. And there is only one person I would like to call. But my head tells me to let him be. And it makes me even more miserable. I feel as if I am sinking. And then the addict inside wakes up. Come on! Just once. You’ll feel better afterwards. Trust me. But as I said; I am fighting. And running in a circle. I try to escape myself, but – a circle. There is no escape. And I would talk to a friend. But in this kind of mood, my mind tells me that I don’t deserve to bother someone else with my ridiculous self-made problems.

Sometimes, I feel like I am running out of words and out of sound and all that comes out of my mouth are trivialities, because I simply can’t find a voice to tell the people around me how I really feel. (From this ancient post moods… )

 

The Cure  -Plainsong

 

SO I sit here and keep fighting. I am alone. No kids around. The music is loud. “Disintegration” by the Cure. I might need a cure for my own disintegration soon too.

A week or so ago, a friend told me that one of my qualities is that I never lose my humour. It just gets darker.

 

And I wonder, if I really fill his holes, why doesn’t he send a life sign. Nothing in weeks. Maybe he doesn’t want his holes to be filled. Maybe he likes to stand in the rain and the way it soaks his soul. And the creative in him can use the feelings of hurt he inflicts on himself to write. And I will be the reason for the rain and the pain. But I am not. I can’t be. Please don’t make me into someone I am not.

 

drowning internally One of those poems I have written a long time ago. From time to time, the emotions in it become true again.

 

xx

Cathy

Love hurts

Love hurts

I wonder if that is true. Does love always have to hurt? Why is it so scary to allow love. To feel love and to receive it?
Mind you, I don’t have answers to the questions I’m asking.
I’m just wondering why feeling is scary as fuck.
Because it is. It is terrifying to feel an all consuming love for someone. It is terrifying to feel connected to someone. It is terrifying to know that there is a perfect match for you. It is terrifying to find that someone when we never thought that we deserve love.
It is scary and terrifying. A coward just hides in his shadows, pushes the other away. A strong person accepts the facts the heart and the soul already know.
What if we silenced our brain for a moment and just acted upon our feelings?
Can we love more than one person?

So many questions. And no answers.