Category Archives: I never cry

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

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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

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Sike Bitches, Pansy never left

Anyone order a Breakthrough PTSD episode? Anyone? No? Must have been me.

It’s my own fault. I got cocky. I poked the bear too many times in too short of a time period. Coming back here. Reading old entries. Allowing my brain the open that file again. Looking at things I usually avoid.

Cleaning my room out, trying to get rid of things. Somehow my oldest computer is out and my kid is calling my name. I look up and “I found something”. The look on my kid’s face. Sigh.

It was in the disc drive of the computer I’ve avoided for years.

I’m a crying mess. I haven’t been like this in over two years. Turns out I’m not better, I’m just busy. Hahahah. Fuck. FUCK.

Now I’m sleeping (not sleeping at all) next to my laundry because cleaning came to a screeching hault.

Can we not? Can we not do this? Fuckkkkkkkk. It’s 3:56am and I have to be up at 9 for the kid’s ortho and then work. The sky was weird today; I knew I shouldn’t have pushed my luck.

Catriona

Xoxoxo

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Bathroom Explosion

I wrote this in September 2017 right after we were rocked by a Hurricane. Something I’m sure I will share, eventually.
Don’t run away! It’s not that kind. Wrong end, really.
I took a walk the other night to get catfood after the storm. Wal-Mart is a scary place after a certain time. It’s also more quiet. Something I rather enjoy if I’ve got to brave Wal-Mart.
I grabbed the catfood and sorta just browsed. I came to the Bathroom linens and accessories. In my head I said “Oh, ok well while I’m here maybe I will look at what colors I’d like the new bathroom to be.” and then, it was all down hill from there.
“Oh, look at that color. That’s pretty. I really like that. Oh, but it reminds me of the time we (my wife and I) painted the master bathroom that color. Nope.”

I moved on.
“Oh, this is a nice red. I could get.. No, that reminds me of the master bathroom again.”

I moved on.
“OH black and white. That would be easy! I have all the… Annnnd that reminds me of when we had zebra print in the bathroom… And that one rouge zebra towel I could never get rid of.

I moved on.
“Fuck Purple.”

I moved on.
“Grey is pretty. Two shades of grey and maybe.. Nope. Fuck. That reminds me of my master bathroom. It was Dark grey, as were the towles at one point. Fuck.”

I moved on.
“Coral! That doesn’t remind me of anything!… Except. How ugly coral is. Damnit.”

I moved on.
“This is starting to get ridic….Orange! Orange. It’s not the most calming of colors… But I can deal with that. Throw some abstract Art up and… Crap. And it reminds me of the Cocopelli theme we once had in the master bathroom.”

I moved on.
“That’s ugly. Nope. Nope. Fuck pink. Nope. That’s ugly too. NOPE NOT THAT ONE EITHER. WHY DID WE CHANGE OUR BATHROOM THEME SO OFTEN?! WHO DOES THAT?! I’M NEVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO DECORATE MY BATHROOM EVER AGIAIN!” annnnd I burst into tears. At Wal-Mart. At 12am. At 12am I became a Person of Wal-Mart. Fuuuuuuckkkkkk.
In my defense, I hadn’t slept in days due to the storm. I’d been up well over 48 hours and eaten very little (and, really now that I think of it… We did change the color and theme of the bathroom frequently.. Lmao)
So I’m leaning against the shelf, catfood in hand, in tears…. And suddenly the realization that I’m CRYING IN WAL-MART ABOUT MY BATHROOM DECOR hits me. I start to laugh out loud, hysterically. Like, crazy laugh. I know you know what I mean. Then I realize anyone watching just watched me go from crying to laughing like an idiot. I laugh even harder because I’m now a Person of Wal-Mart. Bahahahahahah.
I finally got my shit together and left the aisel… Not before looking over to see 3 young guys staring….. Yep, I’m the seemingly crazy Cat Lady at Wal-Mart. Yep, that’s now me. Great.
I continued to laugh like a hyena to the cash register. Fuck it.

I didn’t finish this… But, do I really need to?

Catriona

Oxoxoxo

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Catriona in the cow field 

My better half had this weird thing with winning me cows from various fairs, machines, and weird game stands. I don’t even know how it started. Lol. We had two particular stuffed cows that were my favorite Henfers. (Better Half named all cows “Hefner”, it was hilarious). One was obnoxiously large and round. The other was so tiny, you couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer ridiculousness. Both Hefners lived on our bed for years. 

Unfortunately, I only have one Hefner left. The small one. It’s now locked in a box I had made for my son….I will go into that another time… 

Every cow I received had this goofy friggen look on its face. The kind you could be Earth-Shatteringly-Angry, and still couldn’t keep a straight face if you saw one of these things. So, as you can imagine I can’t see a cow, even a real cow, without laughing like an idiot. Every. Damn. Time. It’s made worse if the cow desides to throw a “Moo” at me. I can’t see a cow, or hear a cow, without smiling like an idiot. 

Annnnnddddd then there’s the part where I live close to cows pastures.  I can’t really go anywhere without seeing a cow. It’s a bit obnoxious, really. Even my son has started to notice. We’ve been taking long walks lately, and just sort of exploring. Recently he looked up and said “MOM! Hefner got huge!”.  I laughed, the cows started Mooing, we laughed more… I had to eventually pull us away. Which really proved hard, as their were cow fields on both sides of us for a good twenty minutes. Anyone passing us by would have thought we were nuts. 

It’s been over a year since she died. Yeah guys; I said she. 

The thing about me coming back to writing is that while I was away… We will say “someone”…  decided that stalking me on the internet, cloning my media sites, posting fake nudes… Yeah, you read that right…. Throwing all of my private information (including the town I live in, my son’s name and nick names, my business information, including this blog) out in the open while at the same time harassing anyone and everyone they could. The idea was to ruin my reputation. The idea was  to pop the safe little bubble I had created to protect my son and myself from the internet… Because parenting, and privacy… However it didn’t work. Those who knew me laughed and kept on truckin’. Those who didn’t know me, sort of shook their heads in disgust,  but came back to me with questions.. Concerns.. Because what was posted and said was so bizarre. In the end none of it matters other than I no longer have the privacy I once had, and really at this point: fuck it. LMAO

 You see, if you have been following me regularly I generally use gender neutral pronouns for my better half. Was I ashamed, you ask? Hell no! I didn’t want readers to get stuck on WORDS. I didn’t want it to be even more obvious of who I was. Lol. I skimmed over things that would easily identify me. But, “someone” has made it so that it is easily tracible to who I am. So, from now on, it’s going to be all out in the open… Watch out internet, BECAUSE NOW I REALLY HAVE NO FILTER! LMAO

So, join me on this new journey of letting it all hang out… And finally knitting some penis socks. 

Catriona 

XOXOXOXOX

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Floating around in nothingness.

I’m having such a hard time with life. My marriage was a disaster in the end. It truly was. But, the first few years before she became ill were fantastic. I’m not even sure what I am doing any more.

 

I’m wounded.

Probably more than I’ve ever been in my life. As of February 8th, two years ago, I clutched the phone with my head and shoulder as I pulled the lifeless body of my wife from our bed to the floor for resuscitation.. A day I see every day, several times a day, when both awake and asleep, relentlessly. Treatment for the subsequent PTSD and anxiety disorders are a joke. Even my doctors have called it, collectively. She was the only person I ever truly loved aside from my son. My wife was without oxygen for a damaging amount of time, something they told me while I stood in the ICU for a week could take her away from us mentally, physically, or both.

When she eventually woke, she was no longer my wife. The person I brought back from death wasn’t MY wife at all. And even tho she lived, I swear I died in that room that day. Our situation both before and after that day broke me. I cried everyday where she couldn’t see because I couldn’t help her, because no one could help us, Because she was so messed up, because I was so messed up. I broke under the pressure. She beat on me emotionally and physically because of her issues, yet I would do it again, truly I would. I know she knew what she was doing half the time. And the other half I think her soul was being called somewhere else and she had no idea what she was doing. She told me the day I moved out that we would be married again some day, that we needed to heal apart, that she loved me, that it was killing her to see me go. Months later I could see both deep love and deep hate in her eyes. We got worse apart, not better. I truly believed one day I’d get MY wife back, some day, maybe years but, maybe one day. I would have walked thru hell (and in some ways I did) to heal her, to have kept her, MY HER. After years of failing to help her I was resentful because I was drowning/hurting/helpless and couldn’t see the light. I made mistakes at the end of our relationship. Not the ones I was accused of, but mistakes nonetheless. I will carry them with me everyday. A few weeks ago, short of the two year mark, she died.

She was no longer my wife, or mine in any way.

My son’s other parent is gone, and when I got home I had to tell him while holding my shredded heart in my hands, while trying to hold his together. Through all the hurt, though all the pain, if given the choice I’d walk through hell,  blind if need be,  to find her and drag her out. I’d do it every day if I could have back the woman I fell in love with so many years ago.

Don’t waste time, it’s running out. 

Due to my wife’s illness, and perception of the situation, coupled with a former “Friend” of mine crossing lines and contacting my wife out of anger for me, saying who knows what – I wasn’t even made aware when she died. My son did not get to say good bye, they would not allow him at the service, or speak to us at all. My Wife and I weren’t on bad terms. But, someone trying to hurt me ended up hurting my son more. My son lost his mom, and his Grandmother in the same week, and was left on the sidelines all because of vengeance.

You never know who people are. Even if you have known them for years. I cannot even believe the things that have transpired.

Hold your loved ones. Tell your friends how much they mean to you. Identify and walk away from the ones that truly aren’t your friends. Tell the people in your life you love them once a day.

life with my wife toward the end was a horror show. I used this site as an outlet for my anger always thinking that in the end I would be able to write about the good things that would happen in the future. It was always my hope that she would get it together, and be around for my son. I know it was a long shot. I know it was stupid. but, I always had a spark of hope.

That hope died when she did.

My son is shattered.

But, everyday we talk about one good memory we shared with her. Some times the only way out, is though.

OXOXOXO

Catriona

 

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I have no back burner

You know how you have subjects and thoughts that you just….throw on the back burner and touch on them ever so often? Well, I don’t have one. I have a thought hurricane. It’s a constant tornado of thoughts. (Not to be confused with a ‘Pornado’, that would be fun.) My brain just never stops.

In September I moved.

In October my Aunt started to get sick.

In November I  spent 3 weeks sitting beside my Gram’s best friend (Aunt) as she died of lung cancer. She was diagnosed, and within 3 weeks she was gone. Gram and I drove the 35 mins everyday to and from the Hospital to be with her.

j13

I did a lot of sitting on the ledge praying, looking down from the seventh floor.

j12

This was taken the day before she died. I was sitting next to her bed, I had been holding her up. She was so weak toward the end.

In January my heart was shredded by the loss of yet another family member from lung cancer, and the loss of my actual heart. Telling my son was just as painful as the three actual losses. I cannot express my life at the moment.

I have not forgotten about cards, you guys. As you can see…uh, things are not settled. ha.

I just noticed the dirty sock on my desk. wtf?

Catriona

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Spots of Happiness

About three weeks ago I found myself standing in my Grandmother’s Bedroom while she told me not to waste my time packing in there, she didn’t want it. We went back and forth, she refused to take any of it. I finally agreed she was right, told her we wouldn’t take it. She walked from the room very upset. The moment she did I emptied every piece of jewelry, which is really the only hobby she has, into several bags. I then handed those bags to one of my closest friends and asked her to take them to her truck, discreetly. I then quickly found all of the personal things I knew she would miss; her mother’s address book, gifts from her father from her childhood, her mother’s personal items, things my late Grandfather had given her, her scarves she loved so much, notes from her children when they were young, letters she treasured, and packed them up without her noticing. We left the house that day with a fraction of what my Grandmother owned.

And then I waited.

Today, Grandma came to me very sadly and said, “I left all my memories in that house.” She named several things she had refused to take – things I had my friend help me sneak out of the house.

“Nope, I am the keeper of your memories.” and I walked from the room. I heard her laugh.

I returned with all items I had taken behind her back:

“I don’t listen very well.” (I don’t, never have) and I laid all of her stuff on her bed. I watched as she went through it all in shock.

“I have a little bit of everything back, Thank you.” She said after putting it all away in her room.

I swear I smiled for hours.

She’s not going to remember what I did for her, but she will have her things that remind her of happy times in her life.

When things get hard, look for the spots of happiness. 

OXOXOX

Catriona

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SCREAMING

This morning, my Grandmother called me to invite me to see my Aunt, who came in last night. She didn’t sound right, and her “I just didn’t sleep” excuse didn’t sit right with me. We weren’t expected to see each other for hours, but I started to get dressed. It’s only an hour walk and something didn’t seem right.

By the time I pulled my pants on, Gram’s number flashed accross my phone. I didn’t get it in time, so I called back. My son, who was visiting for the afternoon picked up and I will never forget his words.

“I think my Grandma just had a stroke.”

I got nauseous. I knew it. He was in tears. I ran out the door and sped toward my Grandmother. My son stayed on the phone with me. The Paramedics came and then WENT because her Husband refused to let her go to the hospital,  insisting she was fine. I heard this and made the 60 min walk in 25 mins.

I walked in and she was sitting at the table with her Husband  (not my Grandfather,  he died years ago) and it took her a min to recognize me. First flag. Her behavior was not that of my grandmother. She was slow, and only half there. I said something about a Doctor,  and her Husband JUMPED DOWN my throat. I knelt at my Grandmother’s feet and asked her “Do you trust me?” She slowly said “of course”, and I so I looked her in the face and said “Then I need you to trust me that you’re not ok, you need to come to the hospital with me, your husband is wrong.”

He started screaming about throwing me out of the house, and HE WAS THE MAN OF THE HOUSE (Charming, no?). But, she descreetly nodded her head, and I set about getting her to the hospital.

30 mins later, a fight and threats of harm coming to me “when I least expect it”, I had my grandmother in the ER. They skipped intake because of how visible her symptoms were. She indeed had had a stroke.

My. Grandmother. Had. A. Stroke.

WHAT THE FUCK. Seriously has my son not suffered enough? Have I not lost enough. 

I’m still sitting in the hospital. She was admitted. She is still slurring, But awake. She’s still slow, but I’ve been making her laugh for hours. She’s going to be here for days.  And so am I. I’m not leaving her side.

I hadn’t eaten all day, I can’t go to the cafe, it triggers my PTSD (I’d rather not go into it I’m sure you can guess), but I have to bribe people to go to the cafe for me, but it flippin closes at 4pm. wth? Upon hearing that I hadn’t eaten, one of the nurses brought me anything that didn’t contain meat, that she could get her hands on. hahah.

I guess it pays to have spent years in and out of this place with my spouse that the nurses STILL know me. Sigh.

I refused to leave the hospital. Went toe to toe with my Grandmother’s Husband, and the Hospital Staff. I won.

I’m driving her nuts in the best kind of way. My grandmother is very proper. And I’m the only one that would get away with returning from the in room bathroom to say: “Don’t worry Grams, I didn’t pee in your hat.”

I’m not going to sleep for days. She’s sleeping now, and I’m fighting anxiety issues, and trying to pretend I’m fine every time to opens her eyes to make sure I haven’t left.

Please Universe,  take it all from me, but not her. Not yet.

Catriona

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I name you Pansy.

To be told several weeks ago that I have “PTSD medically proven to be comparable to soldiers coming home from Afghanistan” is just flipping ridiculous to hear. I KNOW that PTSD doesn’t just happen to Vets, but it is just disturbing to hear. I didn’t fight a war!  The Nine Month PTSD Treatment Plan has been thrown out the window. I will continue treatment until my brain gets back to it’s regularly scheduled program. Who the hell knows when that will be.

And because life is already colored so perfect, I have Bursitis in my left arm from incorrect injection location, from all the rounds of meds a few months. It could take a year to heal.

Medical diagnosis: FUCKED.
LMAO

fox

 

 

I’ve named My PTSD Pansy. Why? Why the Hell not?

And, because I feel like a pansy being shacked up with Pansy. Oh and, it’s the English word for a type of flower, ultimately deriving from Old French pensee “thought”.

I feel like I’m flippin’ nuts all the time. Me and Pansy, we go at it several times a day, and not in a good way. 

Anything and everything, and NOTHING sets her off. Then there are three glorious types of Pansy Episodes:

Pansy Episode A – I lose compete audio of what is going on around me but keep my vision. The volume gets turn up to an unbearable level and instead of hearing what’s around me – I hear nothing but the memory of finding my Ex dead. The alarm going off. My saying ‘No way’ at what I walked into. The 911 call, the thud of a body hitting the floor as I pull my ex off the bed. The dispatcher telling me what to do, the fire department, my son terrified in the livingroom. The EMTS, all the questions, the Ambulance. The noises as they worked on my ex. Hearing my Ex code out, and the EMT’s scrambling in the back of the Ambulance. The wheels of the stretcher coming off the ambulance, then on the concrete, and then the hospital floor as we follow behind my Ex and the truck load of people working to stabilize. The Doctors and Nurses kicking us out of the OR as they tried to save a life. My Voice as I try to explain to my Ex’s parents what had happened. The Nurse who brought us to the Serenity room, the cracking in her voice. The loud silence of the fucking Serenity room. My voice as I lose it after over an hour of waiting in that FUCKING ROOM, and storm the nurses station to DEMAND someone tell me what was going on. Hearing the words that described the possible death and brain damage, the lack of oxygen, coma. The thought ‘Oh my god I didn’t get there in time‘ screaming across my brain. The noises of seizures when they finally let us in the trauma room. The nurses shoes rushing across the floor. Their worried voices as they work to get and keep my ex stable. More questions. The days and nights that followed in the ICU. The noises of life support. More questions. The noise as they pulled the respirator from my Ex’s throat. Ex’s first words so broken up I wasn’t sure what was said. The days that followed. All playing in my head. Never stopping until it reaches the end.

Pansy Episode B – I keep audio. I can hear everything that is going on around me in real time, but the volume is cranked up so high it hurts my ears, and I lose visual. While I can hear what is going on around me I cannot see anything but the memory as described above. My bedroom. Pulling the blankets off my Ex. My son in the door way. My phone as I call 911. My hands and feet as I brace myself against the bed to pull Ex to the floor for resuscitation. The look on Ex’s face, I will never for get it. Clearing air way. Listening for breath. Following the dispatchers instructions. The EMT’s. The Fire department. The scene as they work from the floor. Me grabbing the nearest EMT to explain my son’s Autism. The EMT who  took him outside. The EMT that pulled me from the room to pummel me with questions. The three men that carried Ex in a white sheet, like a corpse,  from the bedroom to the front door because the stretcher wouldn’t fit. Grabbing my son’s hand and directing him to the Ambulance. The sight that could be seen as they worked on my Ex in the back of the Ambulance. The procession of EMT’s, Doctors and Nurses that met us at the hospital working as they wheeled the stretcher into the OR. The looks on the faces as I was told I would have to wait in the waiting room so they could work. Pushing open the door of the waiting room to find my Ex’s Parents. The look on their faces. The Nurses eyes as she had us follow her to a Tiny room filled with tissues and bibles. Me stumbling as I saw where we brought. The sign that said “Serenity Room.” Staring at my Mother and Father in Law as we waited. The hallways as I stormed down them to find the Trauma center and someone to tell us what the hell was happening. The look on the faces of all of them behind the counter before I even opened my mouth. The 30 seconds in which everyone looked to the person next to them not sure what to say to me. The Nurse who had locked eyes with me as I rounded the corner and never took them off me, even as she rounded the counter to whisper to the Doctor. The halls again as I following that same nurse back to THAT FUCKING ROOM. The look of horror on her face as she explained the situation. The Trauma room nurses rushing around the room. The days I stood in the ICU with my Ex hooked up to every machine known to man. The nights in the waiting room because they wouldn’t let me stay. The pure sadness on everyone’s face, including the nurses,  until the day Ex woke up almost a week later. The condition and lack of motor skills when Ex woke up. The days that followed.  All spinning around me as reality buzzes in my ears.

Pansy Episode C A combo of both A & B. No joke. It’s like I’m swept away and slammed right into the memory as if it were real time. Only I’m aware that it’s not what is actually happening at the moment, but I am trapped until the memory plays itself out. I have to wait until Pansy releases me from this other dimension and then pretend like I am totally fucking normal, and carry on with whatever I was doing prior; Laundry, work, riding the bus with my son, ordering coffee at the bakery, the grocery store, the Mall, the fucking Pharmacy. You name it. Pansy doesn’t care that I might be walking my son to school, or crossing an intersection.

It’s like having an abusive Spouse that follows you everywhere.

 

 

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This is how I know Pansy is Female. LMAO

My doctor says that I will most likely be dealing with these issues, to some degree for the rest of my life. Oh. Fucking. Goody.

I say OFF WITH HER HEAD. Who wants to help me with a brain transplant? Anyone? LOL

 

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All in all, I say being in a relationship with Pansy is great. Everyone should try it (Help she beats me), and this:

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(Hey, why is the person in this photo wearing Rape gloves?)

Hope you are all well and didn’t actually read this. LMAO.

Pansy says hello (not really, what she actually said was obscene. She’s a Bitch.)

Love you guys,

Catriona

OXOXOX

 

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