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

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

OK, but now in French

Has anyone ever tried to read a physical book using a “Scan and Translate” App? No? Well, fuck. Guess we are going to find out how annoying *that* is. Hahaha.

A dear friend of mine wrote a book of her life and it happens to be in French. I’d been holding off on buying it. I have been trying to figure out how to get it in English as I am, sadly, only fluent in one language (two if you count sarcasm). She and I suck at communicating through E-mail, hahhahah (You get my E-mails yet? I have sent you all means of contact, lol). Anywayyyyy now I have a French book headed to my non-French home. BAHAHA. We are going to see how much gets lost in translation, hahaha.

I mean really this is my fault. I keep meaning to learn, and become fluent in, another language . BUT I CANNOT MAKE UP MY MIND WHICH ONE! It’s an important decision. I mean, I don’t want to waste what few brain cells I have left on the wrong one! lol. French is very high on the list. It’s in the top 3. I mean, also, I don’t even have time to brush my hair so learning a new language seems impossible.

In a surprising turn of evens my phone has told me to kick rocks and refuses to download google translate. BAHAHA. Stayed tuned for how much French kicks my ass. LOL.

I just keep thinking I need to figure out which country I want to be in once my kid graduates, because really that will dictate which language I stress my brain out with, cuzz you know, I’m getting old.

OK! I am off to day drink (keep your pants on, it’s regular drinking for me cuzz I work the night shift) and eat snacks.

Catriona

xoxoxo

Droping hints

For my birthday a few years ago my kid and my wife got me thirsty stone coasters. They were fitting because they had little sayings on them that sounded JUST like the things I tell (read “would yell at”) my family.

two days in a row I have found that the one I keep under my water on my bedside table has been placed on my sides of the bed. .

Think she’s trying to tell me something? hahahaha. I’m dead.

Guess I need to check in with my wife. BAHAHAHAHA!!!

Catriona

xoxoxox

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.

Potty Mouth

I have received some, um. Interesting responses to my blog in the last 10 years. But, I have never been told to watch my mouth when it came to writing in my own blogs/websites/media. lol. With that being said when I respond or interact with people on their media I don’t generally swear. You know, respect of their space and all that.

I have a close friend that reads my stuff here and there. He came across a short conversation that happened in my comments and just now it came up that he left I was too “rough” with my response. I can take constructive criticism so I asked him why. He explained that maybe this person was an “Old Timer trying to make you better and you bit his head off”…. Now, while I value this person’s opinion – you know what? Let us do this – what do YOU think?

So, let me have it. I can take it. Was my response too harsh? Was he “trying to make me better” and I responded too harshly?

Was I a dick for asking him if he likes penis socks?

Tell me all the things.

Catriona

xoxoxox

Oh I did it now

I reported to the Hospital around the same time Covid did. Since then, I have been the department Trainer as well as the shift manager. I work overnight, the only one in management is me. Shit goes sideways – it’s me that catches it before it hits the fan. I really enjoy my job, for the most part. I am sent in for tough patients (read: dementia, suicides, and just plain assholes). I respond to codes. I work with ICU and Trauma all night. My staff is pretty amazing and the people I work with are a different breed. Pretty proud to know them. Especially my House Sup (Read: God. She runs the hospital). I only hope to be like her when I grow up.

This week, I wrote my resignation. My intention was to hand it in and give notice in about a week. See, I love my job, but two members of upper management in my department are complete shit, homophobic garbage humans. Since I cannot be pressured and manipulated, and because I have morals I’m not of much use to them. The Hospital loves me and I nail my job every day, but because I will not intimidated and don’t tolerate abuse these two individuals and I have uh, we will say – have butted heads (read: I nuked and they got smacked by their management for their treatment of me which only expanded the target on my back). Up until now they didn’t effect me much. That all changed the min my Supervisor told me he was stepping down and one of the other Supervisors (described above) is who I’s be reporting to, permanently. I laughed in response. Nope. That’s not going to happen. I don’t need this job, and def don’t need to deal with a nefarious wanker with a god complex. My exact words to my Supervisor were: “I will shit in my hands and clap while singing the Song That Never Ends, naked in the Atrium before THAT happens.”

With that being said, I reported to the ICU last night as part of a responding team, like I do every night. The Charge Nurse (Head of the floor) said something to the effect of “I don’t know why you don’t just come work for the ICU” (I get this a lot for several different units, I just have never moved on it). I just laughed and said “You aren’t hiring, I looked” and kept working thinking nothing of it. She rounded on me, told me she wanted me in the ICU and marched my ass to her Director’s office. I didn’t even have a choice at that point. LOL. Thank the stars she wasn’t there. I was a sweaty gross mess. I had just responded to a stroke and 4 ICU patients, I was in no shape to be meeting any Director. Charge told me she would call me as soon as she returned. I thanked her and headed back towards my office still pretty stunned at what just happened.

On my way back to my office I stopped by House Supervisor. I consider her a friend and wanted her opinion. I asked her what she thought. The turn over rate in the ICU is high and I wanted to know if it was because of burn out, or because they treat their staff like crap. She told me what I figured she’d say. Our convo was cut short by a phone call so I made my way back to my office. About 20 mins later House Sup called me to tell me I had a meeting with the Director the next day (tonight). LOL. I swear I have no control of this thing. Hahaha. So, I’ve done it now, and I didn’t even mean to.

I have no idea what is happening. hahah.

Catriona

XOXOX

Fuck Laundry!

Uh. wait. No. Not like that. I’ll just have to wash it again.

I have no issues washing cloths. But folding it and putting it way is just fucking stupid.

Ugh. Maybe I will hire a maid, but just for the laundry.

Ugh. My power just went out. My battery back up will only last for another 10 mins. Damn storm.

HA!! WAIT. I DON’T HAVE TO DO LAUNDRY NOW. Fuck yeah.

Catriona

XOXOX

Let me read you this book…

Of course my kid would choose and get accepted to a private college, out of state.

Offfffff course it would cost 40k a year. Of course. Even with the college fund and my savings – it’s a four year program. sigh (that’s after the massive scholarship).

Maybe I should learn to make penis socks.

Stand on the corner maybe? I think I’m too old to get on the pole.

I never asked my kid’s bio father for child support. Man am I kicking myself now. Kidding. Fucking that.

Even if I kick the bucket right now, my life insurance would only cover two years of school. LOL

What if I start an OnlyFans of me sitting in the backyard reading aloud nineteenth-century literature? Because really I feel like that’s all I am capable of.

To the back yard I go!

Catriona

XOXOXO

What is under your bed?

Books?

Dirty socks?

Porn?

Penis socks? OH MY STARS, IF IT ISSSSSS PENIS SOCKS I WANT TO SEEEEEEEEE!

Can you guess what’s under my bed?

Did you guess Ramen?

NO? Well you obviously don’t have kids pftttt.

• 

This is parenting. Duh.

Catriona

XOXOXOX