Transient Friends

I try to keep my circle tight,
That way I avoid squares.
An introvert by nature,
People think they know me.
Quiet. Reserved. Happy.

Then they get to know me.
And what do you know?
Surprise!
I’ve changed.
Loud. Talkative. Cocky.

I’m too old for small talk.
Please, don’t waste my time.
Surrounding myself with intellects.
Discussing ideas – thoughts – opinions.
Not people.

It’s grounding.
Sometimes it makes me feel small.
Sometimes I want to be small.
Sometimes I need to be small.
Unseen. Hidden. Lost.

“We’re friends – you have to agree with me.”
I think, “Because we’re friends is why I don’t.”
But, now I revert.
The noiseless introvert that made you want me.
I want to be wanted.

So if you’re wrong I won’t vocalize it.
That’s how this happens,
I just nod.
There’s no need to speak.
Why bother? It falls onto deaf ears.

The tension remains.
“The air feels heavy now.”
I say it’s the humidity.
I leave.
Distant. Lonely. Empty.

Held at arms length – where I prefer to be.
Don’t cuddle me with your body.
Strangle me with your hands.
That’s where I belong.
Pain. Broken. Worthless.

“Don’t get to know me. You won’t like me.”
“That’s not true!”
But it is.
I don’t like me.
So why would you?

The closer we get.
The harder it is.
Vulnerability.
I hate it.
I just don’t want to be forgotten.

Take me forever or leave me for now.
Because once I give you me,
You’ll  eventually get all of me.
Because I don’t give myself to just anyone.
And I don’t want just anyone to give themselves to me.

Special. Unique. Friendship.

26 Years and 6 Months

26 Years and 6 Months of living in this body,

Confused. Angry. Hating myself.

26 Years and 6 Months of denial, depression, suicidal thoughts.

Hidden. Untold. My secret.

26 Years and 6 Months of putting on this beautiful, God given smile.

A lie – show the world nothings wrong… and nothing will be wrong.

All the while, 26 Years and 6 Months of everything being wrong.

26 Years and 6 Months of living a lie and wanting nothing more than to die.

The only safety to be felt was in the dark abyss – never wanting to see light again.

26 Years and 6 Months of accepting that just maybe I can live this lie.

Get the husband, bear the child, buy the house, drive the minivan, feed the dog.

The blueprint of my life. Just follow the steps. Like I always have.

The life everyone expected from me – wanted from me. Be the people pleaser you were born to be.

Then – My world changed.

26 Years, 6 Months, and 1 day.

I looked in the mirror. I saw nothing.

Worthless. Broken. Empty. Misery.

The only self I’ve ever known, yet the only person to see it was me.

26 Years, 6 Months, and 1 day.

I decided to be free.

Weightless. Alive. Gay. Happy.

26 Years, 6 Months, and 1 day.

You gave me this. The ability of acceptance.

Strength. Love. Hope.

26 Years, 6 Months, and 1 day.

To the Woman who gave me myself, Thank you.

I love you.

26 Years, 6 Months, and 1 day.

The first day of my life. Reborn.

Why?

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Hey everybody (or nobody), the names Caitlin and I’m here to discuss, vent, and overthink a variety of topics.  Let’s start with the basics.  Why now? Why am I starting to get into blogging now?

First of all, I’m hoping this is going to become a blog where people share or interact with my content, but realistically, I’m aware that this may just end up becoming a public journal consisting of the nonconventional thoughts of a possible sociopath. I’m taking a small chance here, while understanding that some people may just read what I write, scrutinize or mock my thoughts, kind of like a Live Journal. Anyone remember Live Journal? Live Journal was fuckin’ lit! But we digress…

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Blogging is something I’ve always enjoyed.  And I’m definitely not talking about my Tumblr days where I’d waste time reblogging pictures, gifs, or funny videos. I mean “real” blogging where people share thoughts or ideas, giving others the opportunity to interact with or cyberbully them. Also, I figure, why not take a chance? I can be a 27 year old, gay, mail lady taking a chance on writing a successful blog, or I could be a 30 year old, gay, mail lady who spent 3 more years locking in my thoughts, feelings, and emotions causing mental turmoil and irrepricable damage to my psyche.

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I remember watching a video once where someone on Taylor Swift’s “team” was discussing how talented she was. The interviewer asked something like, “What do you say to people who say she can’t sing?” And the interviewee responded with, “Her talent goes beyond singing. Who can just sit down and write a song because the feel like writing a song?”

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Now, I’m not saying I’m Taylor Swift, but I’d happily accept her paycheck.  However, I really believe we all have something to say. Thoughts come in and out of our minds constantly.  Our brains are always moving, yet, most of the time we don’t sit back and reflect on what’s happening inside our heads or we hide our opinions behind what we’re “supposed to think.”

Personally, I have thoughts, quotes, phrases, “what’s that from?”‘s running through my head more rapidly than than a heart monitor attached to a shot gun wound victims chest. Working alone for most of the day will do that to you. And then I’ll think about it, overthink it, forget about it, then think of it again. An endless cycle.  It’s not always bad though. It gives me time to reflect on my thoughts or statements on whatever audiobook, podcast, or song I’m listening to at the moment.  I love to text my cousin or call my friends to hear their take or have a discussion on what I’d just heard or thought of. Take feedback, learn, grow.  That’s how we become better people.

I’m taking back my voice and seeing what others have to say (or not say).  Maybe I’ll get something great out of this or maybe no one will even see it. Who fucking knows…

“But blogging is becoming a thing of the past Caitlin, why not try vlogging or something in that metric?” (no one has said this, but I assume it is a possible question).

My answer is simple. My man, Richie Crocco didn’t talk about my vlogging skills for years to come at good ‘ol Kolbe fucking Cathedral.  He talked and used my writing to show the youngins how shit was supposed to be done.  My college essay was a work of freakin’ art.

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Also, expressing your feelings and thoughts is a truly healthy form of clearing your mental state.  Not everyone has the ability to write a poem, paint a picture, or sing a song, but we all have the ability to form sentences and try to construct them into paragraphs only to bear your soul to strangers. Words are just so expressive and to limit them is absurd. We should use as many words as possible. Learn them, study them, and fucking use them!

Writing is also a form of venting. A release. It assists in the positive progress of mental health! I personally have had my run ins with mental health and didn’t always seek out the healthiest of ways to go about it. I’m working on it… Life’s a journey bruh, not a destination.  Every single thing in your life takes effort, consciously and subconsciously, so I’m just gonna take it for the ride.

And in the mean time, just gonna try to be the best possible version of me I can be.

 

So sit back, pull out the reading glasses, tip back your evening brandy, and enjoy.

 

Final Note: Mama wouldn’t hate if this turned into a side hustle, attempting to retire by 55 nah mean? You can hit me up on Venmo, or nahhhh.