101 things I dislike

Throwback to 2016 when I wrote this list. It’s been a long time, and I updated it somewhat — not a lot.

Can you relate?

Without fear of being judged (read: with near panic like fear of being judged) I will try to come up with 101 things I don’t like.

1. The colour orange

2. Flying

3. The cold weather

4. Snow

5. Chocolate

6. Ketchup

7. Christmas songs and decorations in November

8. Waiting

9. Being ordered around

10. People who don’t say thank you

11. Rude people

12. Unanswered questions

13. Lemon

14. birds

15. Feathers

16. The sound of my alarm clock

17. Being tickled

18. Being taken for granted

19. Negative people

20. Emotional vampires

21. Instruments that are out of tune

22. Cocky people

23. Jealousy

24. Drivers not setting the turn signal

25. Wondering if my English is good enough and if others understand what I am trying to say

26. Doubting myself

27. People who make lots of noise when they are eating (!! Important one)

28. Fruit

29. Killing animals – even flies

30. Not being taken seriously

31. People who aren’t getting the job done right

32. Belching

33. The smell of vomit

34. Touching door handles in public spaces

35. Not seeing anything at a concert

36. Payment declined – for no reason

37. Forgetting my pin code

38. Water touching my ears (anything touching my ears)

39. Swimming

40. Crowds

41. Ignorance

42. The smell of cold smoke

43. Sprite or any sweet beverage

44. Anything bitter

45. Having a stuffed nose

46. Being surprised

47. Offering presents

48. Shopping for clothes

49. Animals

50. Meat

51. Saying goodbye

52. Deadlines

53. Gory horror movies

54. Going to church

55. Thinking about negative things

56. Mess left by the kids after eating nuts or grains

57. Jazz

58. Musicals

59. Long fingernails

60. Not having enough sleep

61. Chanel no 5

62. Visiting a home for disabled people

63. The sound of chalk on a blackboard

64. Expensive rents or mortgages

65. Working in a garden

66. Sketching, drawing, painting

67. Pens that aren’t working

68. Coffee with sugar

69. My double chin

70. Milk

71. Hairy feet

72. Star wars

73. Harry Potter

74. Lord of the rings

75. The way eyes itch from allergies

76. Almonds and nuts

77. Bread (with the exception of French baguette)

78. No toilet paper when I am on the loo

79. Autocorrect

80. Forgetting to save my work when I just wrote 500+ words

81. 0 likes on stories or poems I thought turned out great; 21 likes on mediocre poems or stories

82. Questions with obvious answers

83. Gossip

84. Talking bad behind someone’s back

85. Losing track of people who once were an important part of my life

86. Wasting time (mine and the time of others too)

87. Forgetting things

88. Broken promises

89. Being unable to speak straight sentences lately (stuttering, not finding the right words)

90. Dentists

91. Being late (me or people being late)

92. Being intense

93. Migraines

94. Fishing for more things I dislike

95. No network or wifi

96. Social media knows everything about us (bye bye Facebook)

97. Being watched while crying

98. Being stared at

99. Not knowing how other people are seeing me

100. Oranges

101. That I found 100 things I dislike…

Are you surprised? Why? Now, what do you think?

Throwback poetry

Hands be still!
Thoughts go to sleep.
You make me breathe
You suffocate me too.

Voices be silent!
Stop the tremblings.
You fixed me.
It’s all because of you.

Don’t torture me.
Cold-turkey.
I am dying here.
Fulfill my cravings!

I lose my dignity.
Dirty trash.
Who will want me after this?
Branded by you.

Just a little more.
I beg and pray.
I will stop after this.
But it is a lie.

I need it.
I need you.
Give me what I want!
Don’t let me suffer.

The clock is ticking.
I am wilting away.
My body is shutting down.
Sick.

One last time.
For me.
Be there for me.
You were my saviour, always.

I become a prostitute for you.
Just ease the pain.
Fill the void
And make me float.

You are unyielding.
I hate you!
Please, no. I love you.
Don’t leave!

Cradle me!
A few more moments.
I need you.
But I am not an addict.

These are my parting words
As I leave this toxic world.
You didn’t give me what I needed
And now I vanish.

I disappear
Leaving no trace.
Your love
Is my death.

🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠

(December 2015, for the life of me, I cannot remember why this one was not included in Unquiet Minds)

The wings of a butterfly

Haunted by the butterfly’s wings
Hurricanes and chaos are what it brings.
Small and overseen
But I know what it means.

A flap of its wings doesn’t look like much
Just like we dismiss a fleeting touch.
You see? There is a reason for the smallest things
Did you hear about the chain and its links?

Yes, that’s what I am talking about;
About silence and nothingness being loud.
On the wings of a butterfly, we fly away
To somewhere, where we can watch the end of every day.

A simple touch, a simple mistake,
Often that is all it takes
A blink of an eye, a butterfly’s breath
I suppose you can do the math.

Everything happens for a reason
Just like the change of season.
Love your fate
And remember there is nothing worth the hate.

Free yourself from past memories
And whistle the future’s new melody.
The wings of the butterfly are strong enough to carry us
All it takes is one leap of faith and a lot of guts.

(Repost from October 2nd, 2016)

Tbt

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This was me in 2015… (Pic above) I am not sure if it is true or not, but I think I changed a lot since then. Not only that I aged and that I am wearing my hair shorter and in its natural colour (with the greys on display…), I also lost some weight. Subjectively seen, I think that I also look younger. Though that too might be just my own impression and I leave it to you to judge that.

img_20181003_1818447532229920495879683257.jpg

Those are just shallow things describing my appearance, though. I changed on the inside too. And that change can be seen in my eyes. Maybe that’s just my imagination, but I am pretty sure it is not. Also, the way I carry myself has changed.

I don’t want to be condescending towards people who don’t work, but work changed me. Personally, I think it changed me because I needed something to change. Work made me become a grown-up. (I was a mom, married, homeowner… But I was not an adult; I didn’t feel like one) Mind you; I was a stay at home mom for eight years, I understand staying home and taking care of the kids. And it is work that is often underrated. I love my kids to bits, but the truth is, I didn’t take care of myself. I neglected housework too. I was not well staying home, and I didn’t know it until it had to change. I was okay with it. In October 2015, I had a huge Telefon bill that I couldn’t explain to my husband (how do you explain that you called (and were called by) an international rockstar and built a deep life-changing connection with him), and I understood that I had to become active to take responsibilities for my actions. I was on the hunt for a job for a year. I didn’t find a job for various reasons (stayed too long at home, wasn’t experienced enough…) Until finally, in October 2016 I got an opportunity to take a job at a nursery. (I am an educator, specialised in toddlers and small children’s education and development.). Suffice to say; it didn’t work out. I am sure it was partly me, but it was partly them too. I didn’t have a chance to prove myself. After only three months I gave up, but I already had a new job by then. The one I am still holding today. This time, I clicked with the team, and although not everything is always easy, I still love to work there. I have one colleague who really brings out the best in me. Sometimes it is as if we are playing tennis, juggling ideas back and forth until they make sense. And that is why I love my job. As I said, she brings out the best in me at work.

It is no secret that these last months have been a real struggle. Last November was like the last nail in my coffin, and I fought until I was not strong enough to fight anymore. I was ready to give up. I am glad that I found some more strength in me.

These days, I am more positive again. Nothing particular happened. Just, one day I looked at myself and discovered that I am actually happy. I have great people in my life. Some are close; others aren’t. Some have been distant satellites for a long while and are a daily fixture in my life now, some just vanished. I have amazing kids (two daughters and a son). And I am a remarkable woman. Simple as that. A year ago, I wouldn’t have said that about myself and meant it. But again, I changed. A lot.

When I look at both pictures above, I think that maybe the Cathy with the purple hair was more innocent. She was less kinky. Fewer ambitions, less complicated, easier to please. The Cathy from the present is a very different woman. More mature. More adventurous. Opinionated. Easier to love. And more confident too.

I would ask you to judge me. But can I take it? What if you prefer young Cathy? I prefer the present version.

💜

The Road (throwback poetry)

I’ve been on this road for many years
Trying to forget all those tears.
And in the deepest low
Behind the darkest glow,
Hope was always hiding
A light was always shining.

I’ve been on this road, walking endless miles
Ignoring the past’s echoes and its cries.
And as I stopped and sat down
It took me a moment to understand that there were new friends in town.
My restless travels and my frantic searching were in vain
This was where I wanted to be stayin’.

I’ve been down that road so many times
Creating stories and words in my minds.
And in the shining sun
When I felt like I needed to run,
I found solace in my broken thoughts,
Tying together their fraying knots.

But this is not the end of the road,
This traveler’s pace has just been slowed.
Soaking in the beautiful landscape
Even the one that was manmade.
Just resting my weary eyes
And listening to the path the soul takes when it flies…

voices

It’s cold and I wrap my cardigan closer around my shivering form. Still, I don’t want to turn around and walk back home. I enjoy the peaceful quiet and loneliness that surrounds me. The wind blows, almost cutting my skin. I feel the cold sand sticking to the soles of my bare feet.

Nobody is at the beach. The sky looks grey, almost black and I know, that in a few minutes, it will open up and soak me in cold rain. I stop and turn to look out over the vast ocean. The waves are nothing more than white lines that crash eventually. The ocean looks threateningly big and violent, and once again, I feel small. Very small. Insignificant. Around me, everything seem to be big and meaningful. Me, I am a grain of sand. Not important at all. The realization hits me hard, making my eyes sting with unshed tears. I pretend, that it is the chilly air, but I know that I am lying to myself. It is not the first time that I am doing this.

He is back again. His voice in my head is back. Torturing me. Making my life hell.

There are days, when everything seems pointless to me. Every battle is lost, and I feel obsolete.

The lines between reality and the torment in my head blur, and I wonder how it would feel to drown. Not that I have any intention to walk towards the freezing swallowing ocean, but I wonder.

There are days, when I long to feel the serenity some people find at the beach. Finding inner peace and being able to keep that feeling inside, and letting go of everything else seems easy for many people. But not me. No, not for me. Nothing else matters anymore.

There are days, when it would be so much easier to simply give up. Listening to the voices in my head, obeying them, and fading away from the face of earth. Who would care anyway?

I shake my head, trying to make these thoughts stop from building toxic roots in my mind. Getting rid of that awful voice that is trying to pull me under proves to be impossible. I don’t want this. But it is stronger than me. He is stronger. A hole I fall in from time to time, orchestrated by his words. Manipulating me like a puppet on a string. Sometimes, it is so deep that there is almost no way to get out of the dark and lonely place again. Sometimes it’s not deep at all and the right scent, the right words, and the right notes can make me see the light again.

I struggle. An inner war is raging inside of me, when all I want to do is to strive for inner peace. It looks so easy for some. For me it’s a constant struggle.

The rain starts to fall. In a matter of minutes, I am soaked to the bone and frozen to the core of myself. I know, that I should move and go home. I know that I should put on my socks and shoes. But I can’t. I cannot move. Paralyzed. Something is holding me back. My hands fall down at my sides and I feel my shoulders slump. My head bends down and I fall down to my knees. My soaked cardigan is heavy on my skin. Pulling me down with an invisible, yet invincible weight on my shoulders. I bury my face in my hands. Accepting my defeat. Shivering in the cold, with my long wet hair pasted to my face. I cannot go on. I cannot keep fighting myself. I have to give in. I cave.

I give up.

For the first time in a long while, I am willing to give up and give in.

“Take me with you!” I yell into the cold and empty space. It is the last surge of energy before my inner self combusts. My heart burns with the emptiness inside. Ashes, are all that will be left within when all this is done.

I cower on the beach. Lonely and alone. Painfully aware of all of my flaws. Painfully aware, of the hole that is swallowing me. Too tired to fight. And why should I fight anyway? He doesn’t let me fight.

What is there left fighting for anyway?

This place holds no shelter for me anymore. I want to fade away and vanish. Too jaded to go on. Too hollow.

It’s like I am in a trance.

I hear a noise and startle. Thunder and lightening are keeping me company. I wake up from my trance, and see where I am; realize what I am doing. I’m trembling from the cold, and from the shock of my train of thoughts. A heavy smile creeps up on my face. She is here to save me.

It’s always like that.

Two personalities are residing inside of me. Fighting to get the reigns over me. One of them is overly optimistic, always positive and supportive. Always honest and chatty. The other one is a suicidal pessimist. One day, he is going to win. One day, she will not be there and win the internal battle at the last minute. I know it. It scares me. I know that he is stronger.

I get up and the sky clears up too. No more rain. The wind calms down. I am dripping wet. Sand is sticking to my clothes. But I survived the storm.

Finally, I move. I move towards home. Wherever that is.

“Home is were you hang yourself…

…some pictures on the wall”

I enter my home. It’s empty. Almost no furniture. No voices. Nothing. I can’t stand the quiet and so, my first move is to turn on the music. Loud. To drown out the last of his thoughts. The hardwood floor is wet from my clothes and I shed them. Struggling to get the wet cloths from my freezing skin.

I take a shower to wash away the morning and the cold. But his voice is persisting today. He wants to see me perished.

In the back, I hear her voice. She’s screaming loudly.

“This too shall pass.” I nod my head. She is right. Maybe. I sigh into the foggy steamed bathroom mirror. It’s going to be a long week. It’s going to be a daily fight. I wish I could hibernate. Let them fight it out and whoever wins can take over my body. Whoever wins gets to do whatever they want with me.

“Fight. You’re strong. Don’t let that bastard get to you.” Some days, I am a fighter.

“Give up. You can’t win anyway. I am stronger and you know it.” Some days, I submit and lose the battle in my head.

***
(Originally written in May 2014, slightly edited today.)

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