Demons

I tried to kill my demons in different ways. I drank them to sleep. I cut them out of my skin. I drowned them out with loud music. I silenced them with words I read. Nothing helped. This demons are pestering little buggers. They will not leave. Once in a while their voices are quiet. But never for long. They like to torment me. Do you want to know what they say?

  • You’re ugly and fat
  • No one likes you
  • You want too much of everyone. No wonder they all run.
  • Untalented
  • Shut up, no one cares
  • Why should they?
  • Stop whining
  • You will never be good enough
  • You deserve this
  • Suck it up

This is just a sample, but these fuckers (“you swear too much”) never give up. There are days when I shrug it off, flip them off and go my own way. But doubt – man, doubt is a powerful thing. Once the seed is planted every good thing happening that very moment turns into something rotten. Why should anyone want to spend time with me? I should leave these people and their lives alone. And by spending time with me, I seldom mean real face to face encounters. Truth is, I dread meeting people. I hate to pick out clothes and shoes and do something with my hair. No matter what I am wearing, I am afraid too be judged. And after the judgment comes the rejection. At least that’s how my mind works. And I can’t handle rejection. I frightens me. It makes room for doubt. (Even the smallest and most unintentional form of of rejection does.) For the longest time, I thought I was alone in this. Maybe I was naive or something, but I couldn’t grasp the idea that other people are suffering too. I mean, apart from me, everyone is perfect. Their lives are perfect. It’s horse shit, of course, I know that. But that is not how my mind works. The grass is always greener on the other side. That’s my mind. Not seeing a tree while standing in a forest. That’s my mind too. And I hate to look vulnerable. I am already eccentric enough as it is. I keep my coffee in the fridge.

After I wrote that last sentence, a demon reared its head again. Why do you write stuff like this? No one will read it. You don’t matter. No one cares. Maybe that is true. Maybe no one cares, but maybe it makes people feel less alone. We all have our battles. Some days I wish I were a normal person. Some days I wish my mind wouldn’t play these tricks on me. Some days I wish I could see what other people see when they look at me. But it never happens. I have to deal with this. And I do it mostly on my own. I cannot find the words to speak about it. I cannot stand the look of pity in the people’s eyes who know. I cannot be a public failure. I cannot let them see… But I am here… Failing at life in plain sight. Failing. But also succeeding. And I have the scars to prove it. I have thousands of poems to prove it. I have laughing lines around my eyes to prove it. I am not failing every day. Some days, I am succeeding. Some days the demons are quiet. Those are the good days. They happen too. For no reason. Because I am learning that things happen for no reason. If I could only think less. Or maybe, keep thinking the same amount, but with more thoughts in favour of myself.

Because, truth be told, despite being trapped in a tunnel with only slight rays of light, I am an awesome woman. Maybe not awesome, but worthy. Worthy of time, understanding, and care.

Thank you

Last letter to a stranger

I always knew that I wouldn’t be the one to save you. I cannot save myself, how could I possibly save you? See? I thought we had a connection. I really did. After all, you saved me for more than two years. We share the same thoughts and opinions. We share the same fantasies. But that is not enough. It is not enough to be less toxic than it is. Because you are who you are, and I am who I am. Together we are bad for each other. Apart, we are in pain; but it is healthier than any other option. And that’s good. But because I also am who I am, I am willing to submit to you and your wishes. I am willing to forget what I know, I am willing to forget who I am, to be the person you want. But you know what? That’s not how it works. I am a strong woman. I might not always be mentally stable – in fact, a lot of my latest bouts of depression and feelings of unworthiness were fuelled by you. I know that you are blind to that. Or are you just pretending? You are in your head and I am in mine. You are in my head too. I romanticised something that was not romantic in the first place. Or maybe, maybe it was. Maybe it was too much. There is a reason why I keep thinking of you as my twinflame. I allowed you to do things and tell me things I would never have allowed anyone else. Willingly. I gave my consent. I gave you all the control over our situation. I reasoned for myself that it was out of respect for who you are and what you do – being in the public eye and all. But the truth is: I wanted to push away my own responsibility. Truth is, I need someone to take care of me. Someone who shows affection and is attentive to my needs. Someone who tells me what I need to hear. I wanted that person to be you. I assumed things and I projected feelings… It was my own fault. My responsibilities. In the end – you are free as a bird. Caged by your own insecurity and your own mental health. Me, I am not free. I live in my own cage. No, I am not free. And yet, I am the one who tried to demand all these things from you. Mostly, I demanded time and some sort of steadiness. You weren’t willing to give me that. Of course I felt rejected and began to overthink. And I ended up in a spiral that didn’t allow me to break free. I am still holding on, to be honest. Even though I understand your “fuck off” in my direction very well. But – silence is easy. Talking is brave. We are both cowards, though. We had this one opportunity and we didn’t use it. But again, blaming this one opportunity is wrong. We had so much time; we had months and years, but, we chose to keep the distance. We never shared anything physical. Not even once. And this brings to my mind something you said after our last video-call. I said that for the first time, it felt real. You smiled and said: nothing is real unless you are in the same room and breathe the same air. I wanted it to be wrong. But last night I understood how right you were. We were in the same room. We breathed the same air. I even inhaled your cigarette smoke. And yet… We were miles apart. We never tried to bridge the gap. Of course, it would have been my role to play the proper fangirl and try to get to you. But – I am not a fangirl. I never was. You are only human. You have flaws, plenty of them. And I was willing to accept them and you. I deserve and demand a better treatment. I am worth more than that. At a training a couple of weeks ago, we were asked to write down the answer to the question: how much am I worth? I had a good day and so I answered: I am worth more than I allow myself to be.

You once told me that you don’t deserve to be loved. That you deserve to feel pain. I think, you deserve to be loved the way you are. I think, one should not change in order to be loved – no matter who you are and how you behave. And I think that you don’t deserve pain, though I know what you mean when you say you do.

The other day I wanted to mark myself and the upcoming event. But I felt a complete lack of emotions.

Last night, while I stood in the crowd. I felt that lack of emotions too. It’s the opposite of how I am feeling now. Silence scares me. Your silence is at once comforting and torturing. equal to being rejected and being ignored. So what am I doing now? What the fuck am I doing?! I am doing what I kept doing for so long. I am finding excuses for you and forgetting me and my needs. We both know that it was and is all about you. My own needs just coincidentally match some of yours. And you fed me just enough to stay around. Now that you said goodbye, all I feel is empty and I am drowning in a void. Oh Stranger… I can’t let go – I have to let you go. I want to protect us both. I want the best for you. And me. I keep forgetting me. Such a bad habit, isn’t it? And I keep forgetting to learn my lessons, too. This was important for me. Very much so. You said that we will meet in an other life. We only have this one life. I choose to write this final letter. Intense and overwhelming, just how you know me. And how you will miss me. Goodbye dear stranger. I will miss you forever and a day.

Always and forever your Sweetie

November 2017

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

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6:37 in the morning. Tears and shower water mingle. It hasn’t been this bad in a while. No way of getting her thoughts straight and too many responsibilities to rest. Nowhere to hide, just in plain sight. Getting dressed. One task done. Getting the kids ready for school. Another task done. Did not cry for an hour. Success. Husband didn’t notice – or hasn’t said anything. Success. Driving to work. Another task done. Working on autopilot. Smiling, singing. Out of body experience. She wishes she wasn’t there. Nowhere. No one notices. Success. She’s winning. Not this battle, not this fight. One task at a time.

Too late.

Some say it is never too late. But what if it is? It is too late and I am going to go. I am going to go and… I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. Because it is too late. It is too late to do things differently. And I don’t want to change my ways anyway. So, I guess I am trapped in my own reluctance to be. What if I cease to exist? What if my breath stops? What if I close my eyes and forget to open them again? What will be my last thought? And if I fall asleep forever, what will be my eternal dream? I don’t want to know. I am here. I exist. I breathe. And I am tired. I am positive and I am tired. Exhausted. I am exhausted. Breathing is. Existing is. Being is.

The music keeps playing. Lives go on. Mine does too. Because I have a lot to learn, a lot to teach. I have a lot of love to give. And smiles to smile. I have millions of hugs to give. And words to listen to; to write; to read.

If I was… But I am not. And the rain falls down in its own way, and the wind blows in its own way. There is nothing more to say.

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.

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.

honest truth…

I write about being released and someone else having control over me… That’s bullshit. Honestly. They can’t have control if I don’t give it to them willingly. The cage I am in is one I built for myself. They cannot not release me if they aren’t aware of their grip on me. They cannot give up their control if they don’t know how throughout it is. What was I thinking?! Where did this feeling of being trapped in something or by someone come from? I guess it comes from that place that doesn’t want responsibility. It comes from that place that doesn’t want to acknowledge that, ultimately, I am the one in control. I never lost control – well, apart from losing control over my emotions and my depression.

My entire writing of these last years seems to be based on an emotion that is a lie. Yes, most of my writing is fiction. But some of it is not. I don’t regret my words nor my actions. But wow… Can I be an overwhelming person. My apologies, if I overwhelmed you. I overwhelm myself all the time, too.

Fuck me… What a bunch of crap you can find on this site… some emotional stripteases too… and some very powerful pleas for something – anything. But is is my space. My place you are visiting. And I am allowed to take up a certain amount of space for myself

With lots of too heavy emotions,

Cathy

music that pulls at the right strings

ButMusic… where to begin? It used to be my happy and safe place. That’s what favourite musicians and bands do. They make you feel safe. You see them live – 1-2-3 times, maybe even more. Safe. Always safe. Until you don’t feel comfortable anymore. Until you listen to that voice, you heard so many times whisper in your ears, becoming a distorted and uncomfortable torture. I never thought the day would come when music equals torture. When the soundtrack of your life, of your formative years, becomes the sound of your deepest sorrow.

Now, where did that come from? It comes from a dark place. A place I have been before and where I am headed to again. I was advised to not write and think for a while. I was advised to write it all out and not think for a while. Of course, I am headstrong, and I am doing what I want. What I need. I write and think. That’s what I do.

I thought it was a good idea to take this week off. I thought there would be wounds to nurse. I didn’t know they would feel like this. I don’t like to be ignored, rejected, invisible. But it seems that I am. I know that you see me right now. But that’s not what I mean. When we say that we aren’t seen, we have someone in mind who is supposed to see us. To hear our silent screams. When we reach out, it doesn’t matter who tries to catch us, if it is not the person we want us to catch, we are still falling. And falling. And falling.

The other day Nate Maingard (look him up if you don’t know him, great guy) wrote a blog post titled “The only thing missing in my life is me” and I thought, bloody hell, I know these feelings so much, I am kind of feeling them right now. If everything is perfect, why don’t I feel perfect? Why do I feel like a fraud? Why do I feel as if I am failing at life? Why do I feel as if I don’t belong? Why am I ruining this? Why am I ruining me? And then, I read this tweet:

And, Aiden is right, you know? He does great work with a clothing brand. He gives half of the proceeds he gets from In Music We Trust to a charity. Mind Charity. They care about mental illness in the UK. An important cause. So yes, he is right. No matter how dark it is and how blind I am… I made it through it all. And even if it looks as if I am not doing anything, I am not giving up.

And as I took a drag of my Luckies, I had to laugh. Out loud. Here I am. In my guest room. On the couch. Music in my ears. A book next to me. My phone close by in case someone wanted to reach me (and what do you know – of course, work calls while I am off…). There is an incense stick burning down… And I am doing what I am doing. I am being hard on myself. On top of that, I only smoke when I am not well, and it is self-sabotage, isn’t it? It’s like I know that it is destroying me and not good for me – and yet, I am doing it. But it is better than cutting my skin. Isn’t it? It’s been two weeks since I last felt the need to carve a memory into my skin. A memory that didn’t happen and that sits at my wrist now as a pink reminder that it didn’t happen. I have regrets, and I don’t have any regrets. There are reasons life happens the way it does. Maybe it wasn’t the right time for that memory to be made just yet.

A memory that was made last week was when I went to a concert of Anathema in Luxembourg. I went on my own. For the first time ever I went to a thing with a big crowd all by myself. It was scary as fuck to be there. At the same time, I was proud of myself for going. I mean, I am 34 and confident enough to take the space I need. I saw a good gig. I enjoyed myself, as much as I could. I stood in the back, between the mixing desk and a pillar. All without a drink. It was a clean experience. For a moment, I felt a complete lack of emotions. Scary for someone as emotional as me, right? I felt disconnected in a way. None of my favourite songs was played, maybe that was a reason too, but who am I to complain? These guys have played 50 shows, 11 in a row. And still, they are performing and doing what they do. And then they played The Beginning and the End – still not my most favourite song (again, who am I to complain about their setlist when a band plays for two hours straight?!), but it was the most amazing that night (for me). And as I left the venue with the crowd, I heard people talk. Some were disappointed and ripped everything apart – from the sound to the energy on stage, to the guitarist smoking without a care (and honestly, who fucking cares about that?! Let him smoke all he wants). Some were on that high you only get when you see the most amazing and brilliant music being played on stage. Me, I felt emotionless. I walked through the cold November rain and sat in my car for a while. I just sat there. And I waited. I can’t say what I was waiting for. But I watched the rain on my front window. I watched cars leaving the parking lot. And I was paralysed. My mind was totally blank. And I began to cry. Another good ten minutes passed before I finally was on my drive back home. I didn’t listen to Anathema then. I listened to Tim Buckley. Couldn’t have chosen anything more different… Goodbye and Hello.

Yes, memories were made that night. None of them was immortalised in a picture. It’s all in my head.

Being is hard. Existing is hard. Breathing feels like suffocating sometimes. It really does. But through it all – I am still there. I trust. I feel. I am. I will never be who I am not. I can only be me.

The cigarettes are smoked, the incense stick burned down. The phone rang twice. And music is still playing. The same music. No torture. No soundtrack of my deepest sorrow now. Just there. Pulling at all the right strings.

Thank you to everyone mentioned above. You matter to me. That’s all for now.

Cathy