ramble_20180608

I spent more than 14 hours at work today. I was there at 7:30am and got home at around 10pm. From a professional point of view, my day was a success. I have been told many times that the kids love me – we had a party with the parents tonight, and had the opportunity to talk with many parents in a relaxed mood we had created at the nursery. I worked my ass off today, not sitting still and getting things done. (Even ripping my favourite jeans.) I was brave and smiled and made small-talk. A busy bee with a smile for every parent and every child.

The other part of me, the one I hid, was the part of me that was on the constant verge of crying. I wrote two posts this morning and was in a good mood, until suddenly I wasn’t anymore. And I don’t know what triggered it. I cried before I left the house this morning. And my mood did not improve. It was a challenge to be social today. But I think I did a good job hiding my inner turmoil.

I am tired. Not only from work, but from everything. I haven’t eaten properly in two weeks. I have some kind of stomach bug that won’t go away. I cannot eat any proper food without getting sick. It’s exhausting. I am living off soup and tea these days. It is annoying and I am constantly thinking of food. But I don’t dare eating out of fear to be sick again. It is a vicious circle. I don’t feel sick, but I can’t eat. (I lost 3kg… Lol… But as soon as I start eating again I will gain 6kg, lol)

I want to be a good person. I am a good person. But there is that voice in my head that keeps telling me that I am toxic. It tells me that I am a burden, and that it’s easier to ignore me than to be with me. And I hate that voice. I know it is wrong, but I cannot stop these thoughts. And because I am aware of this, it makes it even harder to believe that anyone should like me. Why should anyone like me?

Why should anyone read these posts? Why should anyone care about someone like me?

On a good day, I would say “because I am loveable. Because I am worth it.”

Today, I say “I don’t know. I can’t see a way out.”

Once again, I am writing impulsively. I cannot help it. It is who I am.

My thoughts run in circles. It could be so easy, but my damaged mind makes it so hard to be some times. And being is all there is.

Tell me to breath. Remind me to keep breathing.

Random_20180602

I write because I can and because I have to. It is my therapy. Often, I write impulsively, so that you only see a momentary glimpse into my internal landscapes. I am happy with the people who are currently in my life. I am worth way more than I allow myself to be and I am grateful that they see it too. They love every inch of me. They accept every part of baggage on my back and in my soul. And I love them just the way they are. Flaws and all. That is how it should be. That is what gives me the strength to let go of old weight on my shoulders. I am happy that I am still here… As I mentioned before, I don’t take rejection very well. And I take it even worse when it comes from someone I adore. It almost ended badly. But, I am still here. Strong. Confident. With my ups and downs. The best version of me yet.

Written impulsively too.

xx

Throwback link

Throwback Link

I am happy. When I am happy, I am most often not inspired to write. My need to write often comes from a dark(er) place, hence the short writing notes lately and no new poetry at all. One of these days I will learn to channel the happiness and let it float into my writing.

I am sharing the above link, because it is still valid and quite coherent – for my standards. As you will notice, it has no likes and no comments, it was not tagged – that’s the reason for that. Feel free to explore the blog, there is a lot of content that has no tags but is worth your while.

I hope you are happy too.

Cathy

I thought about Jamie today with a smile. He used to be my best friend. This song always reminds me of him. (Jamie passed away in 2015)

most successful post

Once in a while, not often, I look at the stats of this blog. These last two months have seen more traffic on here than all of 2017. It’s amazing, thought I am not sure what changed.
My most successful post has been shared on March 28th, 2015. It’s actually quite surprising, because the post has not been tagged, but one person with a very wide social media reach – Nate Maingard – shared it with his followers and I guess that did the trick back then. It was a very naked and bare post and although I don’t agree with all of what I wrote at this point in time, I want to share it with you.

A very personal post

I feel the need to write this. It may be impulsive and it will be very personal.
Everything that happens inside of me, feelings, emotions, I need to deal with it on my own. More importantly, I never find the words to say what is wrong.
As a teenager, I cut myself. It was my outlet and my way to let go of the emotional hurt I felt. I grew up in a broken home, with a very ill mother. Her sickness and the way I cared for her from a very early age on, made me the person I am today. With all the implications of her illness, I was never shown love or affection. I grew up in a household full of adults. Grandparents, aunt, uncles, my mom and my sister (three years older than I am). Love and affection was nothing shown in my family. I wasn’t hit or abused. Not physically, instead, I was ignored or yelled at when I did something wrong. From an early age on, it was expected that I help my mom. My earliest memory goes back to when I was four years old and helped my mother with her daily hygiene… I won’t go into details. Suffice to say, no child that young should need to do these things for their parents. I was bribed into it and I was told if I refused or reluctantly helped, that I didn’t love her enough. And since I loved my mom, I did as I was told. And I broke inside, bit by tiny bit.
Emotions were bottled up and I found a friend in music. It was my safe haven, somewhere where I could flee from my daily life. I never had many friends, I wasn’t allowed to go out and I wasn’t allowed to bring anyone home.
I was thirteen when I first cut. I never hid my wounds. Nobody ever asked about them. Cutting was like a valve to release the pressure I felt. In a way, it felt as if my skin was too tight and when I cut, I fit in again. Little things could trigger it. I remember one particular cut that my grandma saw. I remember how she laughed and told me that if I wanted to kill myself, I should cut my wrist. No help there. It was a cruel thing to say, but I was used to it. Back then, I felt alone. Like a freak. An outsider on every front.

Despite it all, I was a rebel. I started to meet with the wrong people, fell in love with the wrong people and saw them destroying themselves with drugs. I never did anything. Was I a coward or too headstrong? I don’t know. I simply didn’t like to see them lose control and I didn’t want to see it happen to myself. Drugs were never an option for me. If it had been, I would not be here right now. I would have died with my friend. (he died of an overdose in 2012). I didn’t go home during the days anymore. I went to school and wouldn’t go back home until it was evening. I would do my chores at home and hide in my room with the music turned up. I wrote pages and pages in my diary and I also started to write poetry. It became an outled and I stopped cutting. I simply stopped. It was hard at first. To take the pen instead of the cutter. But I succeeded. I was proud of myself, but I had no one to share that feeling with. It’s the story of my life.

Looking for love and affection. It never stopped.

I met the man I married when I was sixteen (almost seventeen). He lived a life very different from the one I lived (and was six years older too). In a way, he saved me.
I went to school and started a specialization, all without the support of my family. They didn’t care as long as I was there to help with this and that. In their minds, I never missed anything. I had clothes, a roof over my head and monthly pocket money. They didn’t understand that I needed more. I was told that I was/am egoistic and self-centered. Maybe they were/are right. I finished school in 2004. I was the first and to this date only one of my family, who went to school and got a degree that allowed them to go to university. I had plans. But then I became pregnant with my first child. In 2005 I gave birth to a beautiful boy. I love him to bits. I moved in with his father and for the first time in my life, I didn’t need to take care of my mom. I now had my own little family. I was devastated with feelings of guilt and I was told more than once that I destroyed my family because I was so selfish and had a child. I was twenty-one. Old enough to make those decisions for myself. After my son’s birth, I fell into a deep hole. I cried a lot and I didn’t want to live anymore. I loved him, but it was not enough. I felt useless and worthless. Lonely too. I had 1 (one) friend and her life was very different from mine. She was single and worked and I was jealous of her. She was free, while I was still tied to someone. In hindsight, I know that I had postnatal depression. It took months to find a way out. But again, I did it on my own. I was a recluse. Gained a lot of weight, lost most of my sparse self-esteem and hid. More importantly, I didn’t talk about it. Again, words failed me. And reaching out was out of question. I was weak and frail, but I didn’t want to show it. There were times in my life, when I drove in my car – alone, and I wondered if I should just put my feet on the pedal and drive off the road or into the next wall. Of course I never did. I only ever had one car accident and that was when I thrashed a parked car’s side mirror when driving by. And rest assured, those thoughts are not in my mind anymore. But they were and I will not deny it.

Life went on for a couple of years. I found work and I liked it, but I never wanted to leave my child alone. I got married at twenty-four. I was with my partner for seven years then and I had told him that either we would marry or I would take the child and live a life on my own. It wasn’t my finest moment, but I felt like wasting my years with someone who didn’t show me that he cared. He cared. I just didn’t see it.
I became a mom for a second time and soon after that for the third time and I felt content. I didn’t work anymore and although I missed the freedom of it, I enjoyed being with my children and being there for them. I spoil them and show them how much I love them. Every day. I didn’t have the time to let my thoughts drift to dark places either, My sole preoccupation was to be the best mom I could be.
My life seemed to have turned around, until in 2011 something was triggered inside of me. To this day, I don’t know what it was. I began cutting again. I was twenty-eight. I didn’t do it often. Four times in all, but I did. And at that time, I realized that I had to do something. I had to work through my own emotional baggage. I began writing. Fiction and poetry. Nonfiction too. I shared it online. Shared many very personal things about me too.
I don’t know what I expected. I didn’t expect to find people who liked what I wrote and the way I wrote. I didn’t expect to find people who found my poems to be meaningful and powerful. It was a nice feeling. I felt valued and didn’t feel the need to hide my own emotional roller coaster anymore.
I never told my family about it and when I finally did, they laughed about it. Saying I wasn’t good enough anyway. To this day, none of them has read anything I have written. They can’t judge if I am good enough or not, but they do. I am different from them. That’s enough to judge me.
I just only wanted to be loved and be accepted for the damaged person I am.
There are still many days when I don’t feel appreciated and the internet has made me quite vain too. It build some of my long lost self-esteem, but easily destroys it too. There are days when I wake up and have sixty or more notifications on my phone. I chose to share my writing on a site called Wattpad.(link is on the about me page). It’s a great site for immediate reactions to your writing. I need that. I need that immediate response. I share my poetry on here too, share the links, just like I will share this one too, on twitter and I get no reactions at all. That is when I feel unappreciated again. I support so many people and rarely feel that support in return. It’s not that I expect it, but it would be nice to be acknowledged. It would just be nice, that’s all.
Recently, I am much more in tune with my internal self. I know exactly when a bout of depression is lurking around the corner. I can feel it creeping up on me several days before it strikes. And when it happens, there is a wall that comes up. I write more poetry then and I can’t wrap my head around writing fiction. Which only makes it worse, actually. That writer’s block just pulls me under deeper. And I feel useless and untalented too. I often wonder why anyone should read anything I write. Whether if it’s a poem, a short story or my full length novels. The answer is, I don’t know. The answer is also, because they are good. Yes, my grammar lacks here and there, but I am improving every day. English was the fourth language I learned!

Last September, I was told to look into self-publishing, and I did. Between September and November 2014, I released three books. Self-published and it was a lot of work. They went through proofreading (and still have typos…) and they got reviews (good and bad), but I continued to write and post for free. Not long ago, I realized that once again, I had acted impulsively and although I was very proud about having published these books, they have strong characters and strong story-lines, I also realized that they need more work. I unpublished everything and I am on my way back to my roots.

Writing. It gave my life a routine and a direction. Music too. I spend way too much money on music and my shelves are packed to the brim with CDs, but I love it. I love it even more when the music touches me on a personal level and it doesn’t matter if the artist/band is famous or not. If I like it, I will buy it.

There are days when I want to scream and hide. I can’t because of the kids and my responsibilities. There are days, when I don’t want to get up and I want to sleep until the feelings and thoughts in my head stop torturing me. But it doesn’t happen. It’s a recent thing, but I learned to accept those phases. They are a part of me. They are a part of the person that I am.
I am starving for love and affection and I don’t see that change anytime soon. And even when I don’t feel good, I will not ask for help. I need to get it done on my own and at the same time, I wish someone would say that they know how I feel. Truth is, only I know how I feel and even while I write these many many words that probably will not be read, because I wrote them and nobody really cares about my thoughts and little hiccups, I cannot make you see inside my head. But I can maybe make you understand, why I am the person I am and how my mind works.
I was told that I am cold. I was told that I am strong. I even was told that I am amazing. I was told that I am too emotional and I was told that I am selfish. Maybe I am all of those things. In the end, the only thing that is real and true is that I am me. I am Cathy. I am flawed and damaged beyond repair. I am starving for something that I can’t accept, even if offered to me.
Under layers and masks, I am a woman (old or young, depending on the mood) with lots of thoughts on her mind. I am me. And I want you to love me.

****
I hope this didn’t scare you away. The post itself is completely unedited. As stated above, I am not agreeing with everything anymore, and the worst phase of my mental health began some months after that post were written, but I still remember that I felt a strange kind of pride to have put it all down and in words.

Have a great day…
… I will too

Cathy – the woman with the headache,lol

mind’s vomit

It’s too easy for me to cling to people who make me happy. This also makes it easy for me to doubt every little thing they do or don’t do, when I am overly tired or not in a good mood. (Like today.) Questions like: why? How? arise and there is no answer. Simply because some things happen without a reason. And that is perfectly fine or it should be. That, of course, clashes with my mantra of “everything happens for a reason”. It’s self-sabotaging and I know it. Logically, I know it. But I can’t prevent it. I can’t stop it from happening.

Is it a trust issue? Or is it a self-confidence issue? A mix of both? There are rare moments when I can see myself through the eyes of an other. During those moments I see a different person. Someone loveable.

I am a simple woman. Make me laugh and tell me how awesome I am and you will have a piece of my heart. But only if it happened at the right moment. The right moment being when I am in a free and serene headspace.

Yes, I think too much for my own good. And I doubt everything nice that happens to me, because in my life, happiness always came at a price. I am scared that my happiness is fake, and that if the people inspiring it are seeing me for who I am, they will turn their backs on me and take the happiness with them when they are leaving. Please don’t leave.

After all, I am leading a good life. Not always conventional, but a good life nonetheless. And I am not scared to ruin my own life; I am scared to make other people’s life a burden – as long as I am a daily part of it. I am demanding. Often, I am not afraid to ask for the things that fulfill my demands.

All in all, I am a pretty amazing woman. I am humourous, sensual, (I like to think that I am) intelligent enough to hold a conversation. I am kind and grateful, and trying to please those around me (without neglecting my own self). But I am also clingy and possessive and I don’t trust easily. I am not jealous. But I don’t deserve love, and I wonder why someone would spend time with me. It’s deeply rooted in my childhood. Things were broken inside of me and they cannot be fixed. Those damages overshadow the logical and they ruin everything good.

I am tired today. I couldn’t sleep. And these thoughts needed an outlet. I am unapologetic. And I know that I am overwhelming – in a bad way. But I am also honest about who I am and how I feel. No one is forced to read my words. But if you did read this far, I thank you. Some call this writing stream of consciousness. Today I call it my mind’s vomit.

Have a great day. Thank you for your eyes and ears.

xx

memory

I just had to see a doctor with my kid. We went to the ER’s pediatrician because the one we usually see is not in. Either way…

When we drove home Elton John’s Tiny Dancer was on the radio. (I love that song) In this song is this line

Hold me closer tiny dancer
Count the headlights on the highway

And a picture of me in my dad’s s red Volvo came up in my mind. When I was a young kid, my dad would pick us (me and my sister) up on Sundays so that we could spend a little time together. He didn’t come every Sunday, but that is another story.

I remember sitting in the back of the car whenever he drove us home at night, and counting the headlights that weren’t working. I spent 45minutes looking out the windows counting. It comforted me.

I still count the headlights occasionally.

xx

Conversation

Mom’s making pizza dough and rolling it out, throwing flour and all.

Girl one: what are you doing?

Mom: vegan steak

Girl one: okay

Girl one leaves the kitchen in search for girl two and boy.

Girl one, girl two, and boy are called for dinner 15 minutes later.

Girl two: what’s for dinner?

Girl one: vegan steak

Girl two: but that’s without meat and it smells like pizza

Girl one: mom said vegan steak

Girl two rolls her eyes and looks through the window of the oven

Girl two (happy voice): mom made pizza

Boy: our family is crazy. Mom I like it when you are crazy

Mom laughing, slicing pizza, and singing along to a song on the radio.

*Just the daily random madness at my house

Green

Green is the colour I associate with you

When I dream of you, you are bathed in a green hue

Green is the colour I feel when I think of you.

The first time I talked to you, you asked me to relax and listen to your voice. Three years later, and I can still remember it vividly. I was cuddled in my purple blanket, wearing nothing but a nightgown. I held the phone to my ear, and my eyes were closed. A sudden indescribable heat engulfed me and it was as if you were next to me, close to me in my room. I knew it couldn’t be, but you knew what I was wearing and you guessed my most intimate fantasies. I felt your presence, and your aura, it was green. It was soothing and so vibrant. I had never experienced anything quite like it. That heat. That colour. That moment. It was perfect bliss. But it didn’t last. And I was never able to recreate it. Until tonight. I was in that state between being awake and being asleep. It has been a while since you were in my dreams (and since you were on my mind like this). Tonight you were. You were standing in front of me, and I felt that familiar heat and I saw the familiar colour green. It was like a veil covering my dream. But the image of you slipped through my fingers. You faded. I tried to hold on, but I was too weak. I woke up (or came to) with a beating heart. And a longing to hear your voice calling me your Sweetie again. Overwhelmed, I couldn’t find sleep again. Did we connect tonight without either of us knowing about it?

Green is the colour of my dreams

Uninvited, you found your way under my sheets

Green is the colour that I see when your soul speaks to me

Moving. Paralyzed.

Sitting here wasting the moment. Incense stick burning. Calming? Not so much. Just burning. A movie is playing. Flickering on the screen. Not important enough to keep my focus. A drink on the table. I won’t touch it. It doesn’t feel right. Too many emotions happened yesterday. I scared myself yesterday. My behaviour scared me. It never happened like that before. I lost control. But have I really lost control? I don’t know how to get back. One breath after the other. One step in front of the other. Emotionless. Until I am eaten by all these emotions. And nothing is alright. Yet everything is alright. I should not complain. And I am not. I am sitting in silence. Enduring the torture I bestow on myself. Silently.

I am supposed to be supporting a colleague from work tonight. She is acting in a play. Something small. But important for her. The team was supposed to go. Some of the girls bailed. Until tonight I was sure I would go. But the day was long. The day was hard. And I couldn’t go. I couldn’t join them. I couldn’t face a crowd of people tonight. And so, for the first time, I told my colleagues why I couldn’t go. That I need time for myself. And I know them enough to know that they will be speaking about me – gossiping. I am afraid to go back to work on Monday. They will look at me with different eyes. They will be nice and kind and empathetic. But that is not what I need. I need them to be the way they always are. I get stuff done at work. I am a doer. And I am afraid that they won’t let me do things anymore.

I did not hurt myself yesterday. I dropped hot grease on the floor. And I couldn’t clean it up. Such a stupid thing. But it made me cry. I failed. I began shaking and hyperventilating. I panicked. Anxiety kicking in. Over some god damn grease I couldn’t clean away. I tried and I tried. Until I was too agitated and gave up. I sat and breathed and breathed. And I grew tired. So tired. And empty. I finally cleaned the mess I made. Easily, i might add. And after that, I felt as if I had changed. That emptiness. It devoured me. So much so that I tried to get in touch with someone from the past. They didn’t react to my message. And maybe that’s good. Maybe it is better that way.

Stuck. Can’t move. Paralysed. It won’t stop by itself. And I don’t have any fight in me anymore.

Some days are so easy to just go with the flow. I don’t write about those days. They are plenty too. Some days are just a constant struggle.

I didn’t have a good start this year. Three months in. Enough time to go to change things. Make it better. Why can’t it be easier? What’s wrong with me? Why am I this consumed by toxic thoughts and feelings?

It began in 2015… I don’t regret it. And am not sure if I would change many things since then. The best things happened. The highest highs. But also the lowest lows. And if the people who inspired the highs where still there during the lows, I am sure it would be easier. But they are gone. Out of reach.

So many lonely moments and I am rarely alone. So much emptiness and so many overflowing emotions. So lost. So there. Too many contradictions, but they all make sense. To me.

And when I can’t find my path in the dark… I will keep moving.

It’s going to be okay

Life’s a bitch, but it’s going to be okay.

My daughter had a nightmare about me dying. I tried to comfort her as best as I could, but there was a thought I couldn’t shake. I will die. Some day I will. And I cannot change it. And when she was finally asleep again, i felt guilty. So many times i thought about dying. I thought about ending my life. No – I will not kill myself, no need to worry. But I have these thoughts and I am aware that those are thoughts normal people don’t have. I cannot save my children from all the hurt that the world will inflict on them. It’s impossible. But I can try and not add to it. It pains me when my seven year old is bullied. It hurts that she didn’t want to tell me because she didn’t want to make me sad. It pains me when she tells me that she will come to me with everything that bothers her but that I can also come to her with the things that bother me.
Parenting is the best thing I do. It’s one of the few things I am sure of. But there is so much wrong with me that I worry that I will never be the parent they need or deserve. The world is crazy. And I am too.
And I am scared to share. I used to share a lot. But back then, people from my day to day life didn’t read anything I shared. And now I allowed some people in. And I feel ashamed and frightened to share who I really am. I hate this. And I want to scream “help”, but I can’t, and to be fair, I wouldn’t listen to anyone anyway. I need a hug from someone who isn’t a child. Who knew that being married also meant being lonely and longing for human connection.

It’s the little things

  • Crying during a movie
  • A song that turns back time and carries you to one specific moment
  • A book you can’t set down
  • Tea that has the right temperature
  • The sun shining through trees
  • A formation of clouds
  • A rainbow
  • Thunder and lightning
  • A right pressure on the spot where your back hurts most
  • A child saying your name
  • A child giving you a hug
  • Birthday wishes from people you thought had forgotten about you
  • An evening with friends
  • Hugs (but hugs aren’t a little thing)
  • A song on the radio that you like
  • Your child singing along to your favourite song
  • An entire paragraph that was written without a typo
  • Writing the first words after having felt uninspired for a long time
  • Not setting the alarm
  • Empty plates
  • A decent parking spot
  • One last chewing gum when you thought there weren’t any left
  • A smile from a stranger
  • Giving a busker some money and the gratitude in their eyes when you offer to buy them something warm to drink
  • Old pictures
  • New songs
  • The smell of my pillow
  • Clothes that are still warm from the tumble dryer
  • Smooth skin
  • Even numbers (grocery shopping, gas pump)
  • The smell of my favourite perfume
  • When the hurt goes away
  • Being aware of life’s beauty
  • Not forgetting life’s challenges
  • Sleep
  • Lists
  • Realising that many little things make some big things
  • A kiss
  • A good dream
  • Serenity
  • Thinking without succumbing to melancholy
  • An old voice message that still makes you smile
  • A memory
  • Knowing that everything will be alright (even if it doesn’t look that way)
  • Being present (are you there?)
  • The clock that says 23:09 or 08:02
  • Sunrise
  • Not feeling regrets
  • Remembering a friend who has passed away
  • Thinking of people who changed our lives (I am thinking about you daily lately – are you there?)
  • Notifications
  • Stars
  • I am what I am
  • The wind in my hair
  • The soundtrack of my life
  • The perfect shade of your favourite colour (raspberry or aubergine)
  • A picture that touches you
  • A song that pulls at all the right strings
  • Being understood without need to explain everything in detail
  • A life in pictures that were never taken
  • Everything and more

random thought

I am blind. I am too blind to see the struggle of others. Well… Not entirely. I see their battles, but I don’t see the severity of them. If I was a little less self-centred, I would see more of the world around me. As it is, I realized a year too late how bad a friend was really doing. I was too focused on myself and on the way I expected him to pull me out of the dark. But he was in even deeper than me and I didn’t see it.

Out of the dark into the dark.

I didn’t realize how much he was struggling. I had just scratched the surface when he pulled away. He had shared the bare minimum. I knew he was addicted to at least two things. I knew he was really not well. But I didn’t fight to be in his life when he pushed me out with all his might. Maybe our relationship was caustic from the beginning.

Two fragile minds becoming even more fragile because of what we shared.

I wish it had been different. Instead of breaking him even more, I could have helped him heal. But our relationship was based on a toxic behaviour. A pattern that repeated itself again and again. A circle. Of course there is more than this wrong pattern. There is more to the person I am and there is more to the person he is. But, we didn’t stand a chance. Our minds and our mental illnesses ruined every chance of a friendship. Quite sad, actually. But not irrevocably.

Not irrevocably.

Ones views change over time… Mine too.

Time heals our wounds

One day you will wake up and a wound that has always itched and that has always hurt – even if it was in a dull, almost imperceptible way, will have healed.

You will be surprised and it will be scary at first. You will try to get that feeling back – after all, it has been a part of you and your being for such a long time. But, let it go. You don’t need it anymore. And the hollow it left will be filled with something new. Something good.

This comes from a person who believed that wounds can be concealed but never healed. I woke up with a weight lifted off me. And I had the immediate desire to write it down. Because, if the hurt comes back (and it will be back full force), then I will have this to remind me that there are days when everything that weighs me down doesn’t seem to be as important anymore.

I’ll leave you on this rather content and serene note. I am going to make the beds now, then I’ll put my golden shoes on and spend my day at IKEA. (For me, IKEA is more stressful than working a double shift at the nursery).

Cathy

It goes both ways

I am a firm believer of “everything happens for a reason” and ” people walk parts of your journey with you for a reason”. Until now, I only applied it to me. This person entered my life for a reason and this person left for a reason. The reasons (phew… Lots of reason here), the reasons aren’t always understandable at first. Most often, we only understand the lesson we learned in hindsight. We are learning from the memories and experiences we made.

I recently understood that this works both ways.

I struggled with the fact that a person is not an active part of my life anymore. It was (and partly it still is) hurting my most sensitive feelings. And I miss him. But the truth is, I don’t miss him. I miss the idea of him. I miss the knowledge that he was just a swipe on the screen away. And while I tried to come to terms with it, using my mantra (everything happens for a reason), I failed to understand that I am not a part of his life anymore either. And as much as I have learned and gained (and lost) from this experience, he learned and gained (and lost) an equal amount of things. Sure, his lessons are certainly different, but they are there.

That thought, honestly, it blew my mind. Of course, I began pulling myself down and insulting myself as being egoistic and self-obsessed the moment I had some time to mull it over.

The fact remains that every coin has two sides. Everything we do has consequences. And sometimes, when we interact with someone, things happen for a reason. For us and for them too.

The lesson I am taking from this, is being even more considerate and kind. We all have our internal struggles. Most are hidden to the public eye.

xx

Cathy

Empty day

I had an empty day.

Is that what is called normal? There was no rage, no overwhelming moments, no serenity… Nothing. Just emptiness. An emptiness that wasn’t challenging. I was without deep emotions.

Strange. Strange indeed. But not unwelcome.

The sun was shining. I did not make my beds. I read, listened to music, played with the kids, took a bath… Mundane. And that was okay.

memory lane

As long as there is cum in my balls and a mind in my brain I will never forget you.

I wrote about this one before but I can’t find it anywhere so I will write it down again. This was said to me. Not written, but said. And I thought it was weirdly romantic. He laughed then, saying that it is our kind of romanticism, and he was right. In the meantime, this man is not a part of my life anymore. We knew the day would come but we tried to ignore it until it was there and he left. Which is okay and his proper right to do. But that sentence there, it keeps repeating in my mind. Over and over again. If it is true, then he will not forget me for a long time. I don’t want to be forgotten. Least of all by him. He who meant so much to me at one moment in time and who still does, who will always do.

When I shared this sentence with a friend, she was disgusted and thought it was very disrespectful. And I wondered if I had rose-tinted glasses on to be happy about these words. Now, a long time later, and these words still get to me and they are still disgusting to other people. For me, they are the ultimate declaration of love.

Funny how people see one and the same thing and feel so differently about it. Or maybe I am just weird. By the way, that same man said to me that he felt abject loneliness without me and that I was the only one who could fill the holes in his heart, in his mind and in his soul. Indeed, he is a writer… but come on… Those are amazing words to hear… Alas, love or an infatuation is not always enough. And I am not a romantic person anyway…

(written in August 2016 and still true)

I’m only human

If you look at me, please see me. If you see me for the person that I am, please love me.
If you listen to me, please hear me. If you hear my words, please understand them.
If you want me, don’t hold back. If you don’t hold back, I will be all yours.

***

This is actually no fiction. This is all me in my most vulnerable state. I am afraid to be invisible, invaluable, used…

Training

I work in a job where we are sent to trainings twice a year. Today I spent an entire day in training. We were a group of sixteen strangers. The training was about self-conception, our effect on the parents, and the use of verbal and nonverbal communication.

One exercise this morning was very uplifting. A stranger sat across from us. Facing one another, the stranger had one minute to compliment me. This was done twice. So… I had two minutes of compliments today and also gave two minutes of compliments.

Here are some things these strangers said to me which left an impact (or got me thinking). One man and one woman made these statements.

  • There is something mysterious about you
  • Very open and welcoming
  • Warm
  • Gentle
  • Humourous
  • Bright smile
  • Beautiful eyes
  • Curvy (yes… That too was meant to be a compliment)
  • I feel safe and accepted just sitting face to face with you
  • Very high tolerance for everyone, regardless of gender or anything else
  • Dynamic
  • Available to your friends
  • We could talk for hours on end if we met for a drink
  • Outgoing
  • Intelligent
  • Interested
  • Calm
  • At ease with yourself
  • There for your friends
  • You seem to be a person with a positive attitude who can find a solution to every problem
  • Would love to work with you
  • Beautiful when you smile

These are the ones I remember. The ‘you’ is me, of course. These things were said to me by people who I had never met before. It’s incredible how uplifting this exercise was. And, I recognise myself in the things they said, too.

I do want to add though: what is mysterious about me? Can anyone explain this to me? I’ve been told this more than once and I don’t know what to make of it.

Also, try to pay compliments to a stranger for an entire minute. It’s long…

Anyway, this made my day and I wanted to share.

xx

Cathy

But that’s just a tiny part of me.

I forget how to make my legs work. I stumble, I fall. My knees are bruised from polite submission. I can’t get up. Lying in the dirt. Digging my own hole with broken fingernails. Filthy and discarded. Damaged goods. That’s me. A failure. Someone who gave up.

But that’s just a tiny part of me.

I am a fighter. Stronger than I admit or let on. Calculated. Cold. Empathetic. Affectionate. One doesn’t exclude this other. I pulled myself up without any help. All by myself. Damaged goods. That’s me. A success. Someone who never gave up.

But that too is just a tiny part of me.

I know so much about music and movies and actors… And if I don’t know, I do my research. All this useless information that is stuck inside my head.

Voices… I have voices in my head. No, I am not insane. But I talk to myself and create storylines in my head. I think about what to say and work the words over in my head until they make sense. And my stutter got worse again.

Quite emotional… I am rarely emotional. I cried when my grandma passed away last November. I cried when my son told me that I am a bad mother (and when he told me a week later that he didn’t mean the words he said). I cried when I felt abandoned. But I also cry when I hear music. Lyrics get to me all the time. And all of a sudden I am a crying mess. I cry when I see movies or TV shows. Last time I cried was during an episode of How to Get Away With Murder. I’ve been binge watching that show since last Sunday.

Too open-minded.

I don’t like women. The drama and narcissism is just too much for me. I don’t have many friends.

I love my son. We have a deep bond and I hope that it will stay that way. I think, I know a thing or two about him he doesn’t know himself. And when he comes to term with it, I will be there.

I am picky. With everything. Most of all with food and books.

I was so proud that I lost lots of weight some time ago. I guess it is all back and a little extra too. I’ve been neglecting myself. Drank too much, ate too much crap. It will stop and change. I am a stress eater and I eat when I am bored…

I had three weeks off work and my work colleagues sent me messages that they miss me and that they’re looking forward to me coming back. Me too.

I suffer from depression. And the older I get, the more anxiety is added to the mix. I feel useless and obsolete when I am not taking my medication. It has worsened a lot.

Two years ago, right around this time I was the happiest I have ever been in my life. I am not anymore. Yet, I still feel hopeful right now. As if it is okay.

Everything happens for a reason is such a clichĂ© and yet such a huge part of my life’s philosophy.

Chewing gum. Phone/internet. These are my addictions.

I love vegetables, but I don’t like fruits.

I will never stop to need affection and acknowledgement. Of course I known that I need to earn it. And even when I receive love and admiration even, it is never enough to fill the hollow that has been there since I was a kid.

I didn’t have a nice childhood, but I didn’t have the worst either. And yet, all the events I experienced shaped me into the girl I am now. With a healthy mom and a present dad, I would be a different woman. A man once said I have daddy issues. I don’t know. Maybe he was right.

The most romantic thing I was ever told (spoken directly to me on the phone): “As long as I have cum in my balls and a mind in my brain, I will not forget you” It’s vulgar but beautiful too.

My favourite part of me is my eyes and my lips. I also like my voice.

Sometimes, things start out one way and end another and that’s okay.

People are onions. Layers and layers need to be peeled away to get to the core. And tears are plenty.

All of this is still just a tiny part of me. I am. But you just see the fragments I chose to show.

5 years ago…

On December 21st 2012, I started this very blog. It was the day that had been predicted as the end of the world because the Mayan calendar ended that day. I cannot remember what made me start this thing, but it is one of the few things I seldom neglected. Back in the day, I shared a lot of music and rambled about it. That was until the day I realised that I don’t know anything about music. And even though I am passionate about it, I am in no way qualified to write about it. I began sharing my poetry and my writing but due to poor tagging I kept myself in my own little space. I didn’t read this blog or that either. I just wrote for me and used this space as a safe haven for me and my inner turmoil. Not much has changed since and yet… And yet. I am censoring myself and my words a lot more. For no real reason. But I am a bit more shallow these days. At least I think I am, I am not sure how regular readers see it.

I am sharing mostly poetry or short stories these days. The music is still present but not as much anymore.

There are times when I am more quiet. Those are the times when I am well and balanced within myself. Then, there are the times when I write a lot and the manic depressive episode is palpable through the screen. I don’t do it on purpose, but I don’t talk a lot to people; I need to write excessively during these times or I will implode. It is a part of who I am. And I am not looking for fame, but if readers can rely, I feel a little less alone. (And they do too.) And that’s something that means a lot to me. Comments are rare, but I cherish them all the more and it warms my heart to see the same usernames and avatar pop up in my notifications again and again.

Today, we are celebrating 100 followers here on micqu.wordpress.com It’s a small number, but I love it nonetheless. No post ever has 100 reads here… Most have around 10 to 15, depending on the tags I use.

Happy anniversary to us. To you and to me. And thank you for the generous gift of your time. I will never be able to repay you. Here’s to 5 more years and many more after that.

Lots of love,

Cathy

https://micqu.wordpress.com/category/about-me/

her mind is troubled

​Sadness. It covers her like a veil. For no reason. There are no passed memories trying to shred her future to pieces. There is no longing for a love she can’t get. There is nothing. Just emptiness. But the void inside hurts. And the tension, the inner pressure, rises. And rises. Her scars are prickling. Thoughts of suicide, not her own, just the act of it, are circling her mind and poisoning her writing. And the scars. They are begging for an addition. Open the skin. Release what’s inside and let it drip down the outside. It’s getting harder for her to avoid temptation and triggers. Everything is alright. She said it so many times that she stopped believing the lie. Just one tiny cut. Just one more. An addiction. And her drug is the pain she will not feel, only see in crimson droplets and opened skin. The box cutter lies on the shelf. Just one cut. It will make everything alright. Stop telling these lies.

https://youtu.be/FZoojCO2Jbk

I posted this little thing minutes ago on Wattpad. The comment touched me and made me happy