Douchebag

(Trigger Warning – allll the suicided)

Several months ago I stepped down from my position and moved departments. Took a pay cut.

The department I was in was so toxic. We are talkin’ daily verbal and professional assault. It was fuckin’ terrible. It was really hard to let go of my people, the team I built from the ground up. It was hard to give up and walk away. I spent three years being a buffer for these people. Helping them navigate a pandemic. Keeping them out of harms way and taking the punches. I just couldn’t do it anymore. The burnout is real.

I moved to the ICU in a lesser position. It’s been an experience, for sure. I have been in a supervisor role for so long that being in a role where I have no say in anything was refreshing and fucking weird. The people I work for and with are fantastic. I’d follow them to hell and back, so having no control is fine with me. They are so kind. I’m grateful for the break.

I worked really closely with ICU for years so the move wasn’t really a big change other than the work environment improved 100%. They asked for me, and I’m so glad they did. Because, I don’t know that I would have moved on my own. I loved the team I built and feared what would happen when I left (turns out everything I feared unfolded about a week after I transferred. Ugh).

May is their birthday week. It’s also our anniversary month. While at work, one of the ICU nurses that I work closely with asked me a question that I answered truthfully. It led to me giving a quick synopsis of their suicide and the aftermath. The nurse, Jon, spun around and looked me in the eyes and said: “Wow, what a douchebag”. When I say I laughed, oh my stars. That’s the first time I’ve had that reaction from someone. I laughed and replied “Yeah, a little”. Jon started to apologize. I was still laughing. Truthfully, it was a welcome response. Had it been 5 years ago this would have put me in mental choke hold. I explained that, and that he had no reason to be sorry. I then explained that for the most part, they didn’t have a choice in their thoughts or actions; I told Jon the diagnosis. I will never forget his response. Never. Because it was the first time anyone had ever completely understood the situation. He locked eyes with me and said “So, they blamed you then. They left a note blaming you didn’t they?”. The world spun. It fuckin’ spun for the first time in a while. I’d never told anyone. Jon went on to say something to the effect of (don’t quote me here my brain was coming to a full stop at this point): “people with that diagnosis, their chemicals are all messed up and they blame the spouse.” I’d never had anyone understand the situation, or connect the dots so completely like that. I never had anyone point this out. I don’t think I knew this was common.

He had no idea what he did for my soul that day. She did leave a note. She did blame me. I blamed me. I blame me even though I know logically it wasn’t in my hands.

It’s true that ICU is a different animal. Apparently it’s the one I didn’t even know I needed.

XOXOX

Catriona

Is it really the Holidays?

Cuzz it doesn’t feel like it. Maybe it’s because I didn’t get a tree this year. Maybe it’s because I’m burnt out. Maybe it’s both.

My Christmas tree is one of, maybe, three things I look forward to all year. It’s a like sign I made it another year. Ha, maybe that’s why I didn’t end up getting one this year, because I’ve been crashing and burning my way thru this year. So, it’s fitting that I didn’t get the thing I look forward to most.

Burn out is real.

I was going to do Christmas cards.

I was going to make chocolate covered oreos and hot coco bombs for my team and family.

I was going to make Christmas cookies for the first time since the pandemic.

I pulled everything out to do it. Then looked around and realized I don’t feel very merry and neither does my house. I climbed back in bed and waited for the day to be over so I could go to work. Night shift, wooooo.

I keep trying to be festive but between roadblocks and burnout, I think I’m done. I’ll try again next year. Lol.

Catriona

Deck everybody’s halls.

I’ve been trying to get into the Holiday spirt. It’s not working.

Here’s some photos of me faking it. LOL.

XOXOX

Catriona

I lost grip of my PTSD.

I had that bitch head locked for about 3 years. I pinned her to a wall and was in control for a while.

You know what happens when you shove something intelligent in a box? It evolves to release it self. Don’t ever underestimate how intelligent PTSD is.

I lost grip of her several months back. Ok, over 6 months back.

I knew it was happening; My plants were dying. My house wasn’t dirty, but it wasn’t clean. I was working harder and sleeping less. I was taking on more and juggling it all to fill the spaces PTSD wanted to occupy. I was forcing interaction. But my PLANTS. lol. I usually live in a forest. They are all just about dead.

Now I’m strategically avoiding all unnecessary interaction without a thought. I realized today just how bad it was.

PTSD, or Pansy, for those who have been with me for a while has evolved. While she is not as aggressively loud and obnoxious in random intervals as she used to be, she is constant now, albeit a dull roar. I’m actually not even sure which is worse.

I worked 16 day straight just to shut her the fuck up. And now because I’m a good lead, I gave away a day of my overtime (today) for one of my dispatchers who needed it. So, first day off in 16 days and I’m sitting here alone in my house staring at my responsibilities. They are staring back.

I just want to build a cabin in the middle of the woods and lose my mind in peace. However, I can’t keep track of my family that way so, here we have the problem. lol. I’m fully aware that the Universe built my kid to be the anchor that keeps me in check. Backfired though. Because, the thing that would be released should my kid be removed from this world would be unimaginable.

I’m supposed to be flying into town in the beginning of September to help my brother with our Mom and I don’t even know how to fake being put together at the moment. I am just hoping they will both be too occupied with the fact that Mom is actually dying from Cancer now to notice my undoing. I don’t even have my ticket yet, that’s how much of a grip I have. Well, to be fair it was so fucking expensive that I almost fell out of my chair when I went to book it. I was hoping the closer I get it would go down in price. I was also hoping the sky would fall and I wouldn’t be able to go – how fuck up is that? Yeah. I know.

The check engine light was late and I knew it.

Catriona

XOXOX

Bread & Open Diary

Trigger Warning – all the suicide

A few months ago I was excited-mortified to find that Open Diary had been resurrected like a pet long buried in the yard of your childhood apartment complex . Like, do we even know that’s our pet? Everyone buried their pets there, you know? Fluffy? FLUFFY IS THAT YOU? I’m tired can you tell?

I had been writing in Open Diary since middle school. No joke. I wrote very day. Even if it was just tell tell the world to fuck off. I used it as an outlet for my anger. When my first wife started to go into leftfield I used it heavily to keep my head on straight. And then when she spiraled and I followed her down the rabbit hole, well, I used it to keep record of things because my brain was melting from the stress. In 2014 Open Diary shut down much to my disappointment, it was the only constant thing in my life. LOL. I downloaded my entries and put them away. My wife went on to kill herself, twice. I went on to completely lose my face (before, during and long after). After was all said and done I was completed messed up, lol, as we all know (if you don’t just take a look around, you will get the idea). I shoved anything that could remind me, hurt me, bring me back to that time right into the trash. I abandoned e-mails, sites, life.

Time went on and to my own surprise my brain started to heal. It only took 4 fucking years. Prior to then, I couldn’t allow my brain to even peek at that area of my brain without all hell breaking lose for unpredictable amounts of time. As time has gone on I have slowly, very very slowly, doubled back to some things. But, when I read the Open Diary was back online AND had preserved all old account entries – I was a deer in headlights.

About a week later I yelled at myself and made myself go try to reclaim the account. I was relieved when it wouldn’t let me in. LOL. I threw my hands up and forgot about it. I didn’t forget, my brain was cowering in the corner. About 2 months later I scolded myself enough to slink back over to the site and read up on reclaiming accounts. It basically said if you didn’t know the password or still have the E-mail you were shit out of luck as they needed poof of ownership. I didn’t have either of those things. But, I thought “Oh, I can prove who I am. Most of my entries were private and I did not hold back.” So I emailed them with some things I just knew would identify me. I think this is the only time being twisted worked to my advantage. HAHAHAHA. I didn’t get a response. So I thought: “Ok. Then maybe I just shouldn’t revisit all that” and I moved on satisfied that I tried.

But you KNOW that’s not where it ends because that’s not how the Universe does things when it comes to me. LOL. Fast forward about a month or so, I’m on vacation bangin’ through the woods having a great ol’ time when my phone alerts me to an E-mail. Guess who? Open Diary wanted to let me know they verified the information I provided and I now had full access to my old account. Great timing Universe, as per usual. LMAO. I took a mental note that that would be a bad idea, and forgot about it until just now; I was fucking around the house ignoring the chores I need to do when I remember that I was able to log in. So, I while I wait for the bread to bake (Have you ever made Peasant Bread??? It’s FUCKING AMAZING), I signed in and gave it permission to upload 15 years worth of my brain from the server. Just Now as I write this it finished uploading everything in the new interface. Oh man, this was my last entry:

“Fuck it, here it is.

The situation that I was talking about was this: 

She got smashed and attacked me. Punching, BITING, attacked me. I had to fucking hold her down. She was trying to torture me but was too drunk to pull it completely off.

For those of you who don’t already know, I’m a little over 100lb and 5’4. She’s 5’6 about 166lb..seeing the point here?

The thing is, I’ve seen her drink waaaaaay more than she did that night (several times) and never be like this. It was fucking crazy. I was afraid to go to sleep. Then two days later, even AFTER I showed her the videos (oh yes I took videos, so she couldn’t tell me I was lying) she was drinking again. She’s made a rule that no more than 6 beers can/will be in the house at a time but COME THE FUCK ON. YOU ATTACK ME, THEN JUST KEEP ON DRINKIN’? YEAH FUCK RIGHT OFF.”

That was June 30th 2012.

I didn’t even remember this until now. I guess that must have been around the time I shut down completely because I didn’t write again until they announced in 2014 the site was going down and only then I just simply wrote my E-mail address for my readers to find me.

Well I think Imma eat this bread and be done with the internet for a while. LOL.

Anyone else use Open Diary back in the day?

xoxoxo

Catriona

Disclaimer for those who have not been with me though all of this: My first wife had a very serious mental illness. One that we and her Doctors were trying to identify for a very long time, years. Things had spiraled out long before this. I was well versed in all that entailed being main caregiver to someone who was literally coming undone. It wasn’t her fault, for the most part. I was just tired, angry, and losing hope.

I’m guilty

…….I watch a lot of tiktok. …….eeekkkk I know. I know. LOL

But I do. I’m a people watcher, we know this. Tiktok is useful to a point for people watching. And ART. oh the Art. These are two of my favorite things: Art and people watching. I mean really people are Art. Really fucked up Art for the most part. But. Art.

Really what interests me are people’s stories, so when I can’t sleep or when my PTSD rears it’s really fucked up head I run away to other people’s thoughts. Also – Did you know Lindsey Stirling does lives and plays on request on Tiktok? She’s playing live right now and I cannot get enough.

On tiktok there are so many people finding out through 23andme that the parents they grew up with aren’t their biological parents. Some of these stories are heartbreaking. Most of these stories are heartbreaking. You know, stories of people finding out they were switched at birth, finding out their dad wasn’t their dad or their mom wasn’t their mom, and how horribly awful it made everyone involved feel. Annnnnnnd all I can think is: Damnit, I took that damn test so that it would show me that I was switched at birth and my birth parents weren’t my birth parents, why couldn’t this happen to me. lol. I know that’s nuts, but my parents spent the time they had with me showing me, for the most part, that they didn’t want me. I am pretty sure I was the black sheep as a baby. lol.

23andme didn’t show I had been switched at birth, by the way. lol. I mean, really, it didn’t show me anything. Apparently both sides of my biological family don’t use 23andme Hahaha.

I think even if my biological parents turned out to be cereal killers I would have been ok with that. My mom wanted a baby, I was just the wrong baby. My dad wanted a son, but never the responsibility. Turns out I’m not a boy. Maybe this is where I grew the black wool?

I guess I need to do laundry and clean up the bubble mess I definitely didn’t make in the kitchen by using the wrong automatic dishwasher detergent. bahahah

xoxoxo

Catriona

My check engine light is on

I’ve hit a wall.

I am a firm believer that when you or your family hit a wall you move the wall. Break it, blow that shit up, you do whatever you need to. Hitting a wall is just a pause or a warning. You reevaluate. You move the wall.

I’m burned out. I pushed hard when we got hit with Covid. I pushed harder than I have ever pushed to make sure I could take care of my family. People were losing jobs, told to go home all over the world. I was not going to be one of them. People were losing their homes or living on borrowed time because they couldn’t pay their rent. It was only a matter of time for them. Healthcare professionals were being sent home in droves, or sent into forced early retirement. It was bonkers. That was not going to happen to us. I pushed. I moved up twice. I took on Covid from the beginning even when we didn’t know what we were working with because my coworkers were just kids. Scared kids. I headed the covid “Team” because I wasn’t scared (not in the way everyone else was). I knew scared people make mistakes. All it would have taken was one scared kid making a mistake and taking out the entire team. In in beginning, even highly trained professionals were breaking under pressure, so it had to be me. So, I did it. Every day until I couldn’t. For over a year I was one of two that responded to EVERY Covid patient. I was the one that directed how we handled things. It was the only thing I could do to help. I ended up with my own team, and then my own shift. I moved the wall more times than I can explain to you. I’m tired now. I’m a workaholic and for the first time in my life I need a break. Even when I’m sick I don’t sit down. I need to sit the fuck down. (Click here if you are new here – might help. lol)

I just explained it to my other half like this: “My check engine light is on. You know the one that comes on even when everything seems fine, but you know that it’s only a matter of time before everything comes to a full stop? Yeah. That. My check engine light is on.”

I have to change courses and slow down. Maybe the new trash human taking over as Supervisor is the Universe intervening. Horrible timing tho, wtf Universe. Braces and college, hello?

So, back to the drawing board. Working on some passive income so I can slow down at work. Or, you know, if that fails I will be that 40 year old on the pole at your local dance club. Hahahahah.

Off to ignore the laundry on my bed.

Catriona

XOXOXO

18

This kid is 18. Can you believe that?

I remember when they handed me my newly birthed baby. Everyone left and I was alone. I put the baby on my chest – I remember thinking: “Fuck. What am I going to do now?” Hahaha. In that moment, I really had absolutely no idea. It wasn’t that I didn’t want this baby. If there was every a baby that was wanted or needed, it was this one, let me tell you. But, I was in over my head and I knew it. My bio parental units were broken long before they had me, so trust when I say I didn’t have a lot to work with reference wise. Well, maybe that’s incorrect. I knew what I wouldn’t be doing, lol. But passed that, I was a teenager with an infant and I was well aware.

I went to sleep that night and woke up in a nightmare in which my teenage ass was responsible for an infant that had a frequent habit of trying to die (internal bleeding & allergic to everything, EVERYTHING).

Then suddenly I had a toddler.

Then I had a 6 year old skipping grades because when we transitioned from homeschooling to Montessori school he was testing at 8th grade and 12th grade in some subjects.

Then I blinked and this kid was telling me he didn’t think he wanted to be a Neurologist any more and why. So we reworked what college he was aiming for in the coming years.

Then I looked away for a min, I swear to you it was just min, and he graduated High school.

Then I leaned down to pick up his hat, and he turned 18.

We were in Target one day and he said “MOM LOOK” and smiled real big while telling me the “D” in the front of the cart looked like a mouth smiling. This is by far one of my favorite photos. He couldn’t have been more then 4 or 5 here.

This was yesterday. Look at this kid. I’m speechless. My whole heart turned 18 yesterday. Watch out world.

We spent the day eating junk food & Hershey’s Icecream cake while watching Moon Knight (what a weird show, not bad…but).

18. I don’t even know how we got here. LOL

Catriona

XOXOXOX

P.s. C. where you at? Check your E-mails.<3

May

Yesterday was her birthday.

Several days before that would have marked 9 years married.

Memory problems keep me protected for the most part.

Feeling suicidal?. .Click here

Need to talk? Catrionaiscrazy@gmail.com

Now, I need some more coffee since they don’t serve whiskey at the hospital.

Catriona

Xoxoxo

Little blue bag of feelings

Grief is a weird thing. It looks different on everyone.

Recently, I lost a friend from work. She was an amazing human. Always had an answer and a smile. She was always helpful. Even when the pandemic made it hard to be.

I took it pretty hard. My better half must have known. Came home with a pretty blue bag filled with “The stages of grief”. It was literally a bag of pastries. Each one names after a stage. I laughed so hard.

I ate “Anger” for dinner that night, funny enough.

“Depression” was amazing. But, “Bargaining” , “Bargaining” couldn’t have been any better.

I guess what I am trying to say is get yourself a partner that will bring you a little blue bag of feelings when you’re sad. Hahahah.

Catriona

XOXOXOX