Tag: anxiety

Trauma Dump

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | 2 Comments on Trauma Dump

ISSUES Are Troubling Me

OK. I got issues. I keep having family nightmares — or I don’t know — bad dreams. Every night lately and yesterday even in my damn afternoon nap. I’d say Gods telling me to contact my family, but I feel like if that were the case, he’d send me a happy memory and not just a lot of fucking trash. Also, they all got my number and they all have my address. I did try to reach out about doing lunch on moms birthday, but my bro said he’d check their schedules and never got back to me. But they had a dinner with my sisters in moms memory. Which I get it, my sisters are right there and I’m 90 miles away but COME ON.

I’m Too Poor for a Therapist

I could probably work this out with a therapist, but I don’t have a therapist. I do have a psychiatrist and it’s $130 to see him. Why? Because we have a lack of every type of medical professional here, including mental health and none of them accept insurance because they don’t have to — they’re overloaded with patients as is. And he only does like 10 minutes to talk about meds — not problems. Psychologists are for THAT. So do I want to pay a hundred-plus dollars to talk to someone? Not really. I want to work on my tattoo.

But I can’t work on my tattoo until I pay back my savings I took out to build the deck (which I have HEAVILY enjoyed for two summers now, BTW — totally worth the cost). That was the deal. I’ll stop throwing boat loads of money at my tattoo until I payback my savings I took out for the deck. And I have paid back the deck — but then I also ended up need to replumb some pool pipes. And then get a whole ass new pool pump last year. And then a new salt cell this year. And next summer I’m gonna need a pool robot. And do I want to replace the pool lights? They haven’t worked for like 3 summers — which I’m told they don’t last very long (they’re actually small LED lights, not the big old pool lights that I used to fear were secretly doors that they could open for the sharks to come out and swim at night). Supposedly a super easy replacement that doesn’t require draining any water — so I might depending on the cost. BUT COST. Yeah I paid back the deck, but thousands went into the other shit. I could have finished the whole damn sleeve by now!

I mean to be fair, the pool is nine summers old. So it’s not that the pool is a clusterfuck, it’s just the age that these things fail. The pipes were in full blast sun and the PVC broke down enough to burst. Repiped — but when they burst, the pool got low enough to run dry and burn out the pump. Of course they don’t make my pump anymore so I couldn’t replace just the electronics, I had to replace the whole damn thing. And salt cells usually only last 5 years, I’m told so ours held in pretty long. So has Clarence the pool robot. He’s about 3 years past usual life expectancy but I did have his under carriage replaced a few years back so that might be why he made it so long.

Therapists Suck

Also, it would take like 5 sessions to catch a therapist up on my problems before we could get anywhere. And of course a TON of time is going to be wasted focusing on me being fat being all of my problems. BECAUSE THAT’S ALWAYS THE CASE. I tried therapy back in like 2000 cause I was suicidal and self harming and the motherfucker thought it was all about me being fat and “socially unacceptable” and that was his plan to go forward. Not to fix generational trauma and abuse — I’m just fat.

By the way, the only time i ever lose weight or maintain weight is when I’m happy. Weight is a symptom not the problem at all. Even when I got skinny after Gastric Bypass I was still miserable. And of course that was just an embarrassing failure. And now I’ve gained 7 pounds because perimenopause is kicking my ass so fucking hard and I’m anxious and I’m depressed and I’m being fucking haunted.

That’s right, I said haunted. Yesterday I had to get out of bed at 6 fucking AM with a panic attack. And it’s just all nightmares. I tried to take an afternoon nap to be happy on my long weekend and catch up on sleep and I woke up in another sweaty nightmare.

Like I have an anxiety disorder. “General Anxiety” I think is the technical term? But I don’t think they mean like “oh she’s generally anxious.” I think they mean we can’t put this in a category of “social anxiety” or anything specific — shes just got a lot of anxiety about fucking everything. And now my GYN is like yeah you have menopausal anxiety. THANKS, LIFE.

Now You’re My Therapist. Be Warned, Shits About to Get Real

So my nightmares have generally been family mess. It’s always family fights. Surprisingly usually set in Florida. So Florida was always our summer vacation. Timeshare. It was moms favorite place and I loved the beach too — but like with my family there’s always gonna be some drama so it’s not like that didn’t just take place in new locations. So yeah, when I was very young and stupid, I looked forward to Florida like crazy. But then it stated just becoming a clusterfuck. And I don’t get why mom loved it so much. I mean maybe she was like yall are a hot mess anyway so we might as well be a hot mess at the beach. But I actually felt horrible the last few years of her life because I felt like I was contributing to the drama. By refusing to just not rock the boat and not let shit go, I’m the bitch. I was the bitch complaing about my sisters so just as bad as them on everyone mental health.

My brother always called me and my sisters “the Golden Girls” — he knew it got under my skin at least like no other. Any fight and “oh they’re the golden girls.” Mother fucker, I’m not the crazy ass one here! I’m just trying to have actual healthy boundaries and not let them get away with their shit! Which let’s start there. I adore my brother. But he’s not blameless. He always lumped me in with my sisters which UGH. And my length of college was a huge running joke in my family — mainly instigated by him. He’d always ask when I was going to finally graduate. There’s a Christmas ornament of a graduate on my dads Christmas tree dated 2009. Did I graduate in 2009? No. They just didn’t have any other personality trait to choose for my ornament. Bro was a nurse, Sister1 was a nurse, Sister2 had a paint set, and I had a graduation outfit. Cause I was in college for 10 years. Not because I’m stupid but because I was trying to get through a lot of shit, okay? Did anyone wanna ask about that? No. It’s funnier not to.

That was part of one of the dreams last night. Like I was getting ready for a party — like a nice dress up party like homecoming or something. But we were in Florida so I only had a few things to choose from and I had gained weight so my best options were too tight. And Sister2 for some reason was supposed to take me or go with me or something (a reoccurring of her always stealing the spotlight in my dreams). I think brother was going to take us because he was mad that we weren’t ready. But I was ready! Sister2 was in the bathtub crying for hours and yelled at me when I went in to get my toothbrush. And in her/moms room there were pills everywhere. Like piles of pills laid out — prescription drug-problem shit. So I show brother and he just gets mad. And why do I want to go to this dance anyway? Because it’s my last year of highschool so I want to go to at least one. But wait, I’m 27 (in the dream) and don’t most people graduate high school at 18? Why am I so late? Did mom hold me back some grades and not tell me? What happened?

Yesterday I was napping and we were in Florida and I had a nice room and Sister2 demanded it and I was super sad because it had windows and views and mine now didn’t. And the windows were open with tons of fresh air and beautiful flowers and scents drifting in… And I go shit all.

And the night before last, we were preparing a party for my nephew. They were making cookies for the party and I really wanted to make some too. But I had to clean so I was vacuuming. And Sister1 was acting like I just didn’t want to make cookies and it was my fault I didn’t get to participate. And then brother was yelling about how dirty everything was. And then I finally went to make a cookie but all the sprinkles were gone — but I was like whatever, I’ll use this icing and then bro got mad and started jerking around the vacuum cleaner cause everythings so filthy and none of us will ever clean anything and he gets the cords all in the icing and it ends up all over the carpet and now we can’t have the party cause I ruined it. And now everyone’s mad at me. Also, I thought Sister1 was teaching nephew how to cook burgers in the kitchen but it was my dad. Which might be my subconscious acknowledging that he’s pretty much a feeble old man now.

Most of the time Florida is over and we have to pack up the cars but Sister2 brought like 3 fucking suitcases and hasn’t packed anything so I gotta do it and clean everything up.

So yeah, are these spooky monster dreams? No. I’m not saying they are. But they are clearly my brain ruminating on something it wants out.

Sister2 was always a problem in Florida. She would always bring way too much clothes that brother and sister1 always bitched about because they took up too much space in the car and on the dolly up to the room and in the room. and Sister2 never went to the beach or wanted to do anything. So they were always mad about that. And as we got older, the problems were worse. She was always a binge eater, so she’d eat all the groceries and everyone would be mad because now there’s no food when we had bought food for the week.

She’s been an alcoholic since I can remember. But can my family just maybe NOT have alcohol? Of course not. So she’d just drink it all and get sloppy drunk and piss herself. She always drunk to get black out drunk. Like that was the goal. And we’d all go down to the beach to enjoy the day and she’d steal money from someone and go across the street to get alcohol to do it again. Once she locked herself in a closet with a 24 pack of beer and there was much screaming and ranting and brother threatening to break down the door. Once she got drunk and left to “go kill herself” — so of course mom was freaking out and we had to go find her. There were quite a few times we had to go find her while she was drunk out of her mind. This was before cellphones. I’m old.

She’s always smoked too. And everyone ALWAYS bitches about it. But it was particularly annoying because she had to inconvenience mom the most. Like in Florida, she wouldn’t go through the living room to get to the balcony to smoke — she had to go into moms room and use that balcony door. And in the house we lost to the second bankruptcy, she couldn’t go through the garage to go outside to smoke, she had to go through moms tiny room which had a sliding door to get out. And even as adults, people bitch about “she’s over there in the corner smoking” or something. When we lived in the apartments, shed toss her cigarettes out the window and the maintenance people got mad and gathered them all up and piled them outside our door in moms flowers. Pretty sure I had to clean that up.

And my brother and sister1 always hated her. So I always had to deal with it. She pissed herself and passed out in the living room? Mom wants me to get her to her room. Then I gotta clean the damn area rug and I’m covered in piss. Once she passed out on the lawn and I had to go get her immediately before the neighbors saw. Why am I always the one taking care of this shit? Cause brother and sister moved out and I’m the youngest. But even in our first house we lost to bankruptcy, I was cleaning her messes. Like she was bulimic. But for some reason she threw up in a 5 gallon bucket in her closet instead of the bathroom. Who the fuck knows why. So do you know how bad a 5 gallon bucket of vomit smells? Real bad. And do you know it’s too heavy for mom to get? Yeah, so I gotta do it. Get it downstairs and across the yard to dump it. Like am I the vomit bucket fairy? It’s like people think trash and recycling just disappears if you leave it long enough. THAT’S BECAUSE I’M THE VOMIT AND PISS FAIRY.

This might be why I’m so anal about my house not smelling bad, BTW.

And brother was always just angry and disgusted with us. We had far too many pets because dad dumped his dogs at our place. So we had like 10 Beagles to breed and train. Oh and who had to go hose the dog shit out of the kennels? Yeah, ME. So much dog shit. Wet stinky dog shit being hosed off concrete. By me. And I never did it enough so I felt bad for the dogs. I was the only one who cared to go pet them.

And the cats just used the dining room as a litter box. Just shit everywhere. And mom worked 4 jobs so the only one ever cleaning anything up was me and I wasn’t good at it or did it enough so of course the house is always filthy and it’s always me getting yelled at for it (not by mom — she was just broken and trying to survive). Cause I’m one of the disgusting worthless golden girls.

You know, I cleaned up a lot of shit and vomit and piss was growing up, now that I think of it.

Anyway, Sister2 was also insane and abusive. I couldn’t sleep cause she’d wake me up by hitting me and yelling and shit. Usually because my TV was on. I liked to fall asleep to QVC and I was allowed to. But no matter how low the volume was, it was too loud for her. And after school she’d be mean and yell and throw shit at me. Like hard core throwing shit at my head. Once I flipped the recliner ducking something. She was like a harpy.

That’s why my dog hated her. He wasn’t a bad dog, he was defensive of me. The only being to ever give a shit about my child self. I slept in moms bed a lot cause I had this intense fear mom would die. And she had a california king bed and I was scared of the dark… and sister2. So the dog would sleep at the end of the bed. And sister2 would walk all the damn way across the house past their bathroom to use moms bathroom in the middle of the night (seriously, WHY WAS SHE ALWAYS HARASSING MOM) — but if me and dog were in there he’d just growl and not let her in the room. He was just protecting me. But she couldn’t do anything when mom was home. But after school she could trick the dog by baiting him and wrapping him in blankets to throw in the closet — only to let him out right before mom got off work so she wouldn’t know.

Bitch be crazy. So dog hated her and attacked her. So dog had to go. Mom says she gave dog away but dad said he tied dog up and drug him out in the woods to shoot him. He told me that after school when I got home and dog wasn’t there. Why are these people so fucking insane?

I mean, I know the answer. Sister2 has been diagnosed with antisocial personality behavioral disorder. I’m sure that’s dads problem too. And dad is for sure a narcissist to rule them all. I didn’t know that when I was little so I idealized him. Everyone else hated dad, but I loved him. When I visited his apartment, he’d buy men CANNED COKE. We were too poor to have that shit — so like awesome. He’d only come over to the house to work in the garage on wood projects — but I’d go down there and watch. His friend would sometimes give me scrap blocks to play with and help me put together little creations I made with the scraps. The friend, not dad.

Those weren’t the only dog problems. We had a newfoundland in fucking Alabama that we just tied up in the backyard when I was really little. She was pretty neglected. I did take care of her food and water, but she was so big and drooly and matted and smelly that I didn’t really like doing it. Not that I was ever mean to the dog — no I petted her, and we played in the backyard together. But I was the only one to take care of her and when she died dad went on a rant about how I was the only one to give a shit about that dog and I felt existentially terrible because I didn’t like taking care of her and knew she was neglected.

Then we got the dog that hated my sister that dad may or may not have killed. I liked that one. But I couldn’t save him or protect him either so I swore to never let down another dog. I couldn’t even get him out of the closet.

We DID try family therapy once. It was a group session with us all in the room. And like yall expect me to talk about my abusers — WHILE THEY’RE IN HERE? Yeah fuck you, I’m fine. I’m great even.

But when I was little, I actually did believe that. I didn’t know I had problems or was unhappy. I didn’t know I lived in an abusive codependent household. In FACT, I was so jealous of the mentally depressed girl and troubled girls at school cause they go so much extra attention. I tried to hide in church and being a bubble Christian. Gotta be crazy to be interesting, I thought. Then like 5 years later I busted and went bat shit insane. So there’s that.

I used to think my sister was haunted by a demon. I’m not sure I don’t still think that. I do know she is highly troubled. I remember once she was crazy drunk and I was trying to get away and go to my room but she was taunting me. I was studying my Bible and she asked me to read the Bible to her. I passed, ’cause hey Satan, not today. And it was just this creepy horror movie taunt about why didn’t I love her enough to read the Bible to her. Now that I’m older – I’m not throwing out the demon thing – but I do know she had multiple abortions. Maybe she was trying to drown that out. She was obsessed with this asshole for years and YEARS — like a decade. Fucking Ryan. But he never loved her back.

It’s pitiable, really. Truly. But does that negate all of my suffering at her hand?

As far as Dad, everyone hated him when I was little, but then it flipped. I had a mental breakdown and realized hey — Dad is a son of a bitch. He’s been trying to ruin moms life for 40 years. So much of our family is insanely fucked up and this motherfucker is why. He sprung a secret ass family on me when my step brother was 16 and moving in the next week. Then yelled at me for not being accepting. Not that I was unaccepting, I was emotionless as I had been trained to be from a very young age. I didn’t say shit. But dad projected that I was angry and was furious.

Oh yeah, after the first bankruptcy, I moved in with dad. See, he had moved back into our house (not as like being with mom, just like — hey I live downstairs now). And we lost the house. So we had to get apartments so we got two two bedrooms and sister2 lived with mom and I lived with dad — because this was before I knew dad was an evil son of a bitch. And that’s when I found out secret step brother was moving in. (Looking back, 30 years later — this is why I wasn’t allowed to keep anything in “MY” room at dads — makes sense, it was really his room). It was a cluster fuck cause I was in high school and people were like wait, you live with your dad? Cause mom was everyone’s beloved teacher (rightfully so) and I came to school with her. And even from my youngest age we always centered holidays around dad. They were at his apartment or his house. No presents could be opened until the video recorder was set up for dad to watch later.

I was just dead inside when I lived with dad. Like emotion-wise. Not ailment wise. The stress was killing me I just didn’t know it. I was on smooth muscle relaxers for the constant stomach cramping pain and vomiting. But I was so broken, I didn’t even think I had problems. Anyway, after a year of that, my brother and his wife were like “Mrs C can’t live with dad anymore” and we got a three bedroom so I could move in with mom and sister2. Yay! More abusive, psychological warfare, and piss!

Then we got the second house we lost to bankruptcy (fun FACT! This is where moms flamingos are from). Then I moved to college. And started getting therapy. And started hating dad. But like, now everyone loves dad or at least sees him as worthy of living in his delusion. So last year when he almost died because he refuses to control his diabetes and got an infected hair on his balls and went septic, I didn’t wanna baby sit. And somehow I’M THE BAD GUY?

So they like disowned me for the year, right? My sisters still haven’t opened the christmas gifts I sent them. They didn’t come to Thanksgiving at my brothers. But Sister1 weirdly stayed here when she was in town and needed a free bed. It was awkward.

I finally talked to SIL the other day — after like 9 months of unreturned calls. I mentioned my banishment and she was like naw, they just don’t communicate. She says she never talks to them either but thats not true cause I have facebook and see photos. I wasn’t invited to the family vacation but they’re playing the “everyone is always invited” card. And my sisters have started commenting on my posts sometimes. Like WTF? Last week there was a post by dads girlfriends that mentioned Sister2s cats were leaving at the end of the year. I was curious but didn’t know what was up. Cause I was disowned and no one talks to me anymore.

Background on Sister2s cats. When we lost the second house, mom moved in with my brother and his wife and Sister2 moved into my brothers old house. She was supposed to pay rent but hardly ever did. Eventually SIL got super self conscious that mom was running her house way better than her so they kicked mom out to live with Sister1. Well, the only way to get Sister2 out of their house was to sell it. So they did and mom convinced Sister1 to take in Sister2 for 4 months. So Sister2s cats went to live with Dads girlfriend. But Dads girlfriend doesn’t even live at her house. She kinda lives between that house and dads. And Sister2s cats don’t get along with her pets so they’ve been confined to a single bedroom for… oh 10 years now. Sister2 never visits them.

Yes, Sister2 has tried to move in with me. No. Yes, Sister2 did try to get me to take her cats for “just a month.” Then they wanted me to take them again after Jack died (hence my keeping Louie a secret at first).

Sister1 is just a completely bitter bitch now. So hateful. BY THE WAY — mom was afraid to move in with my husband and I because she said she’d destroy us like she did with my brother and SIL (getting kicked out) and turning Sister1 into a little dad. So sad. It wasn’t mom, it was that fucking leach.

Sister1 hates Sister2 and is so angry that she’s been stuck with her since mom died. But like, kick that bitch out, I’m not taking her. And there’s resentment from Brother and Sister1 that I lead this great life 90 miles away and they still have to take care of Dad and I refuse to help cause fuck that asshole. I’m polite and cordial. But no, fuck them.

And it’s so weird cause Sister1 has this facebook persona of the sweetest most hilarious person ever. Even my inlaws like her. But she’s not that person. But everyone buys it and adores her. I think husband would buy it if he wasn’t there witnessing her interacting with me. It’s really weird. I like her facebook persona. But she’s a wretched bitch.

My whole family has always had this weird two faced ability to be loved by people. Like I worked at Target for 5 years. Got sister2 a job there and people would be like “OH MY GOD, YOU’RE SISTER2’s SISTER?” Like bitch no, I’ve been here 5 years — she’s my sister. And Dad manages to get affair partners and wives and now a girlfriend. And Sister1 is beloved on social media.

IS IT ME? This might be one of my biggest reasons to absolutely refuse to have two faces. It’s fucking disgusting. But like, am I the problem? Because we could just have a fake holiday with the fake personas but like I cant do it. I hate you. I can’t let it go.

Maybe it me.

Is it me?

Yesterday, I was on a family group chat — the first in almost a YEAR. Sister2 has a new job with business cards (holy fuck, she only ever had a job like twice in her 50ish years). Everyone’s congratulating her (yes, I did too). And Dads girlfriend says she’ll tell her cats. Sister2 replies that she hopes to have an apartment by February. So that’s new.

But this dream haunting was already going on before that. Every night — fights with my sisters, sometimes my brother. Sister2 getting wasted and destroying everyone’s lives. Me getting fucked over so Sister2 can have what she wants. Me being blamed for everything.

The holidays are coming. what the fuck is happening for the holidays? Last year brother hosted Thanksgiving but I was the only family that went. He said hes not doing it again but SIL says they are. I thought about saying I’d do it — but like, that means I have to invite them all and have one of those fake persona parties. And pretend like yall haven’t ignored me for a year. I just want my brother’s family to come.

Works been a shit show too. I got into with my bosses (rightfully so). After one meeting, I was discussing it with two colleagues and my coworker-friend said she didn’t listen cause once me and x start going at it, she tunes out. I was like fuck me — I’m AW. He’s a guy who does no work and talks an ungodly amount. So at every meeting he talks for like 30 minutes and fucking everyone hates him and just doesn’t listen because it makes no sense so we just ignore it until it stops. AM I AW NOW?

AM I THE PROBLEM HERE?

This brings back a lot of childhood trauma. Sister2 is batshit (verified with paperwork) but she doesn’t KNOW she’s batshit cause the crazy. So when I was little I used to cry about it to mom and ask if I was like her. And mom would tell me no, of course not. But I was like — she doesn’t know she’s like her so HOW WOULD I KNOW?

And now I’m having an existential crisis as I type this — HOW WOULD I KNOW?

It could be me. I could just be a human piece of garbage. Maybe I am and I just don’t know it. What the difference between I have therapy and healthy boundaries and I’m just a bitch? I’m the only one who has to go to a psychiatrist to function.

I mean I do hate everybody.

Holy fuck I think it’s me.

Would the world be better without me? Cause I’m gonna be honest — it might be without dad and Sister2. Like I’m sorry I’m being honest. Mom would have been better. Sister1 would be better. I’d not have needed 20+ years of therapy.

Maybe I’m just a despicable fat blob of a toxicity like my uncle in law said. Well, he didn’t say the FAT part — I’m adding that on. I honestly have no idea right now. Wheres the ice cream? I need ice cream.

How do I make the nightmares stop? I can’t even fucking take a nap and pretend I’m dead because they’ll be there.

I’m literally going to cry with ice cream now. This is why I’m fat.

I suck.

Getting shit done at 4AM

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I’ve always had insomnia and extreme anxiety. We know that. I’ve had a sleep study done. I live in a perpetual state of “my sister will come in and start hitting me for leaving the TV on QVC again at any moment.” They were like you just have “spontaneous arousal” plus periodic limb movement disorder. So basically after every REM cycle, I come back up to near wake — which means pretty much ANYTHING is gonna pop me to fully awake. So I don’t get those ever deepening REM cycles. And yeah, I’m crazy.

So when perimenopause causes insomnia and anxiety — what happens when you already have those? WHAT HAPPENS?

You know what happens? You just start freaking the fuck out and you never sleep. I’m on staycation supposed to be relaxing but I can’t sleep. This is me doing laundry at 4am. I woke up to pee and was like fuck it, I’m not going to fall asleep for a few hours. I should do laundry.

That’s my staycation. I don’t have to freak out about my sleep schedule and husband is gone so I’m not disturbing anyone. Great time for this. I haven’t put up my laundry in at least over a month. Well over. But there’s always something I’d rather do. But hey, 4am, let’s do it.

Look! All my Duluth camisoles are clean!

Yes, I do have one in every color they’ve put out since I discovered them. I don’t know why three of those colors are shades of purple, but whatever. These are camisoles with built in bras. NOT a shelf bra. I don’t even know what the fuck a shelf bra is for. Like that only holds the shirt to your boobs. There’s no support. There’s no nipple coverage. It just holds the shirt in place. So you still gotta wear a bra.

These have a sewn in bra. Like pads — not removable pads either, they’re fully sewn in there. Do you know what that MEANS? It means I can wear the coolest-yet-still-coverage shirt with not bra. I can answer the door. I can go to the mailbox. I can have people in my house — in my camisole. No nipples showing. Tattoo on full display. Adjustable straps. I’m just comfortable. I LIVE IN THESE. Yall washing clothes when you run out of underwear, these are my washing cue.

Duluth. I fucking love Duluth. The clothes are just good quality shit made to fit a normal sized person who actually moves around. Nothing is stylish — it’s all functional core pieces. And that shit’s gonna LAST. Everything has a one year guarantee. Bring it back for any reason and they’ll replace or refund. Who else does that with clothes? Who else it gonna take back you 9 month old tshirt? I tell you who, Duluth.

I even got my husband on this brand. I bought him some of the bucknaked underwear and their classic 5-pocket pants. He liked the pants so much he got me to get them in another color. MY HUSBAND. So I went and got him some jeans on Wednesday. I had to return some adorable shorts I bought online that were too small for my thighs (sad times). So I was like, I’ll return these and get husband some good jeans. Cool. So I didn’t even bother looking, I just asked the guy whats the closest jeans you have to these pants. And that’s what I bought. Home free right? No. It’s Duluth.

So I’m walking out and I see this little dress thing on clearance. It had caught my eye the other day but was still too expensive, even on clearance. But now clearance was an additional 20% off in store. So I glance at the again. Built in bra — nice nice. Oh wait, holy FUCK ME, are those shorts?

So I grab some to try on. I never would wear something like this — but my friend, this dress is everything. All you need is panties. Very supportive bra built in. Shorts with pockets, check. Extra pockets, check. Open back shows my tattoo off, check.

Well, fuck. I’m wearing this to the Trash Pandas next week. I think it’s made for hiking and shit but you could do anything in this. It’s basically a leotard/bodysuit that looks like a casual dress. And I thought it would be fun because I don’t own anything even close to this. I’m gonna pick husband up from the airport in it!

Oh, and while I’m doing laundry over here… Here’s my top favorite Tshirts at the moment.

We got a pop culture reference, a cat (with a Vneck – love a Vneck), and three shirts referencing the word fuck. One with a muppet. I love Chef.

So yeah… “Cursing Cats and Curiosities” — NAILED THE NAME.

Oh and I called my psychiatrist and was like “yeah no, I’m no longer a functioning crazy person.” I’m requiring a nap EVERY DAMN DAY. Panic attacks every day. Perimenopause is like MY DEATH SPIRAL.

So he gave me MORE valium. I swear to god, my only super power is my inability to sleep. Once I told a pharmacist friend all the shit I take and she was like “I’d be passed out.” No, that’s the level of anxiety we are medically suppressing here. One day we’re all gonna get gassed and kidnapped and I’m gonna wake up and save us all cause aint nobody taking my ass down. Kidnapper farts and I’m awake. Oh you thought I was asleep? ME? HA! I heard everything you said. Now which reality is this — is this the one where I still have one class to take to finish my degree before everyone finds out I’m a sham (because they let me fake graduate with everyone, as long as I finish that one class)? Or the one where we are perpetually packing up to go home from the Florida trip because my sister brought an insane amount of shit that needs to be jammed in the car and she’s drunk off her ass pissing herself in the closet so I have to do it all? WHERE IS MY CAT, MOTHERFUCKER?

I’m gonna categorize this under “Health > Ageing – Not Gracefully.” I have a valium to go take.

DID MY HUSBAND FORGET TO CALL ME AGAIN?

I have an anxiety problem

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | Leave a Comment on I have an anxiety problem

Do you ever have a panic attack?  You know how they spiral downhill quickly if you are not like ON IT immediately?

Well, I just had one, and thought “this is like the third panic attack in 25 hours.  What if it’s really my heart?” And then started panicking WAY MORE. 

I’ve found only recently that for me, stretching my chest out (cause my chest hurts a lot in panic attacks) and doing the counting breaths in and out helps.  In 1 2 3 4, out 1 2 3 4… But I’m also not good at it. 

So I just start pacing with my chest out beating my breast bone and speed counting 1 2 3 4 1 2 3 4 1 2 3 4 like I’m trying to cast out or summon demons.  Or 11’s mom.

Just thought I’d share.

Is it the perimenopause? Because I don’t need MORE SHIT.

Hiiiii

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment on Hiiiii

I know, I should post. But like, I’m still spiraling out of control with my perimenopause over here. My anxiety is off the charts. So much so that I had a stressful work meeting this morning and had an anxiety attack and took the afternoon off. Work is shitty right now and I’m not in the mind space to handle this clusterfuck. So I laid down around 1:00 and slept till 5:00. DAY GONE. Awesome. But I did need the rest.

So I was going to post about the bedjet that I bought. It’s fucking awesome. But you know what? I’m not cool. And I want to post a really good review of it to help people like me that were trying to get some actual details on that shit. So I need to get some pictures. Also, they’re sending me some more (free) risers because my mattress is taller and I’m using the cloudsheet. So that’s coming.

When, I was trying to research it, I ended up in the Reddit subreddit r/menopause. I read a few threads about it but still had questions. So I asked my questions. And while I was posting, I mentioned the Estroven my doctor recommended and asked if anyone had any experience with that. Well, that was a mistake.

Crazy people can’t make support groups with just other crazy people. That’s how cults happen.

Apparently, r/menopause is a bunch of hormone replacement therapy (HRT) evangelists and anyone who doesn’t immediately give you HRT is a shitty doctor who doesn’t know shit about the “current research.” Well, I mean, I’m 41 — I just got diagnosed, I don’t wanna jump straight into HRT. Maybe I’ll regret that later. Probably. But my doctor said to try a few over the counter things first. And I’m cool with that. I don’t agree with their opinion that you should use a telehealth doc that you can lie to to get it prescribed. Also, the threads about the hell of menopause and all the horrible effects are terrifying. Itchy ears? WTF? that’s a thing!? Like what are we talking, a contestant itch? Outside the ear? Inside? Does scratching help? How common is that?

So basically, it’s just a toxic cesspit and I had to leave that subreddit.

It reminded me of when I joined all the misophonia support groups. I found the constant focus on it and people bitching about it made it much worse.

I still would like info though. So I try googling about it, but there’s just a million differing opinions. And people selling supplements. And doctors have different opinions. It’s a clusterfuck. And I don’t see the point of trying to join anymore groups. The people seeking out these groups are the people like me — we’re spiraling out of control crazy people. And so then it’s a echo chamber of bat shit crazy woman demanding fake hormones and divorces.

I mean think about it. If you, say… worship Trump and feel like you’re being shunned by all your friends who say you’re crazy. You go online looking for solace and similar minded folks. All the sudden your in an insane echo chamber of Q-anon people and you won’t speak to your family cause you’re in some weird crazy Trumper cult now.

Crazy people can’t make support groups with just other crazy people. I’ll say it again for the people in the back. Crazy people can’t make support groups with just other crazy people. That’s how cults happen.

BTW, that’s why I loved my CODA group which I now avoid cause of that crazy guy. Is it a bunch of crazy people getting on zoom every Monday? YES. But we’re led and guided by a retired psychiatrist who points out our crazy.

To be fair, Doctors do fuck up — like a lot.

Though I don’t think a doctor would help these menopause groups because they don’t trust the doctors. Old (read MOST) studies say no HRT because increased bloodclots, heart disease, and cancer risks in some of us. Some studies say that’s not true. Some doctors say the better sleep and restfulness outweighs the risks to your heart because it’s helping you be more healthy in general. You know medicine, it’s always changing on what it says is healthy and what isn’t. Remember the fucking food pyramid? It was a foundation of carbohydrates. Literally. Breakfast cereal was in the FOUNDATION.

Also, I’m the first person to say don’t trust doctors. They tried to murder me when my gallbladder was going bad. The only reason I didn’t die was my underhanded squirrliness. I had a surgeon because of the gastric bypass surgery. So I made an appointment to see him. Sure it took a month or two, but that was gonna pass anyway. In the mean time I went to the ER three times and a specialist who said having my gallbladder removed was stupid. And another doctor that did an ultrasound and said all I had was asymptomatic gallstones. Meanwhile, I’m curled in a ball on the floor in the bathroom at work in pain (gallstone attacks — now we know). In FACT, that exact scenario was one of the ER visits. Work sent me to the ER.

Then I finally see my surgeon and he nearly kills me by poking under my ribs and is like holy fuck — we gotta do a liver biopsy on you ASAP. I agreed to LET HIM do that if he agreed to take my gallbladder out while I was under. Deal — that was Friday, Monday morning I had surgery. And what did they find while in surgery? Oh look, shes got internal gangrene. This gallbladder is literally dead and rotting. I bet if we pop that out she’ll feel better. THANKS GENIUSES. And do you know how risky having surgery with internal gangrene is? For real, I know someone that died from it (exploratory surgery). Because if the organ had ruptured during the surgery — well, now gangrene is all up in your abdominal cavity and you probably won’t be waking up. So even though I got what I want, fucker still almost killed me.

So I get it, don’t trust the doctors to know whats best. Get lots of opinions. But I also can’t listen these insane people.

Don’t come at me.

Also, don’t be insulted — not everyone in menopause and perimenopause will be insane. I understand. Please understand that I’m talking about people like MYSELF. I’m already on two antidepressants and an antianxiety. So anything that causes severe anxiety IS NOT GONNA BE OK.

My mom is dead, my sisters are bitches and all my friends are younger than me. So I HAVE NO ONE. And no one ever told me you’d go through some crazy 10-year reverse puberty BEFORE menopause. I’ve heard of menopause. I didn’t know it was this bad and I’ve never even heard of perimenopause! Fucking middle finger for living past child bearing age.

So that’s my rant. Bedet is fucking awesome though. Gonna review that IN DEPTH for my fellow hot sleepers.

Life: Purpose for the shit show?

Also, it occurs to me that that gastric bypass surgery has always been a big shame for me. Cause you know, I gained it all back. Then lost it with keto — gained like half of it back. So I’m still fat, basically. So it’s SO EMBARRASSING to say I had gastric bypass surgery. BUT BUT BUT

I just realized. Had I not had that, I wouldn’t have had contact and ability to get an appointment directly with surgeon. And had I not took it upon MYSELF (not a referral) to ask that surgeon to cut me open, I would have died whenever the gallbladder ruptured. He said possible two weeks.

So… maybe God had a reason there?

Interesting.

No, probably just still shit show.

Still, fuck hormones. Also, maybe if I didn’t have the surgery, the gallbladder wouldn’t have had issues. So who knows. Life is a shit show.

I’M SO OLD

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment on I’M SO OLD

Sorry for radio silence. I’ve been real fucking depressed and anxious as hell. I believe that I mentioned my night time panic attacks previously? Well, here’s the jist: I’ve been waking up to panic attacks. Most I’ve been really proud of myself for getting under control. Counted breathing and smashing my face in the pillow to simulate a paper bag. Not that it’s as simple as that cause I start counting and I’m just counting cause I’m panicking and just speed running 1 2 3 4 5 6 1 2 3 4 5 6 likes it will summon a peacefulness fairy until I get it going right.

The other night I had a really terrible one. I couldn’t stay in bed. I was prancing around. No, I was not walking, it was more of a prance cause I was in PAIN. I bent myself over the bedroom couch (it’s MY nook) trying so hard to stretch my chest muscles open (can you get a charlie horse of the chest?). Then I was drenched in sweat and totally going to throw up. So I ran to the bathroom and hit the floor by the toilet.

The bathroom tiles were so refreshing and cool and I sat their by the toilet cooling off forever until the vomit feeling passed enough for me to leave.

Then I’ve been getting night sweats. Every. Single. Night. (The panic attacks are not nightly… As of now). Like husband is over there under the comforter burritoed in. Normally, I sleep with my beloved fuzzy blanket because it’s so light and airy. If I get too cool, I’ll pull the top sheet over it. But it doesn’t absorb sweat. So I switched to just the top sheet as needed. Keep in mind, I have a vornado fan on full blast, not 5 feet away, pointed at my chest/back. I’ve done the fan thing since Jack was a kitten. I started it to drown out the sound of him licking his ass while I tried to sleep. Kept it ever since. Though I have replaced it ONE TIME. I even travel with it sometimes when we don’t fly.

So now, every single night, I wake up drenched in sweat. If y’all have ever seen me workout or work in the yard, you know I sweat like a fountain. Once at CrossFit, one of the guys asked If I finally just dumped my nalogene over my head. I had not. So that’s how much sweat. Soaked through the sheets and you could ring out my pj pants. But there’s a fan blowing right on me and I’m soaked, so now I’m fucking FREEZING like I just got out of the pool on a cool cloudy day with high winds.

So I gotta take my pants off, but I can’t do anything about the sheet. One night I tried sleeping on a blanket so I could strip it off and then have a dry spot. I toss and turn too much so it got wadded up and I just had a wet blanket AND sheets.

So our yearly physical was coming up. I was positive I was hyperthyroid. My thyroid levels have NEVER been correct at my yearly. Anxiety, running hot? Hyperthyroid. gotta be. We fix it.

We go to the physical and I’m up first (husband and I do our blood draws and physicals together. We get twice as much time with the doctor!). It’s not my thyroid. My thyroid is perfect. I’m devastated. My doctor was like, yeah I was hoping too. How old are you? 41.

Perimenopause.

AHHHHHHHHH. WHYYYYYYYYYY?

You know the eye doctor said next time I’d probably have to get bifocals. And I’ve been balding for like 15 years and saw the dermatologist last month and he said this is as good as we can do. There’s not a higher dose to put me on. I just stay in this forever and be glad I’m not losing more hair.

Also, coincidentally, the other day I was reminiscing through old photos. Momma, Jack… I miss them. I was at 2019. Before COVID. Before mom died. Before the brain injury and 3 year trial. Before the huge weight gain of absolute despair at moms death. I looked good. I looked insanely younger. That was less than 5 years ago but I’ve aged terribly since then. I mean,sure, we’ve added boobs and a fucking awesome tattoo, but my god. Look at my face. Look at my eyes. I’m so old. And I read that you age faster after menopause. I’m fucked!

So that put me in a funk. I was feeling just so unattractive and fucked up. And now I’m approaching menopause!?

Jesus.

So I haven’t taken it well. I’m not ok with it. I’m hot. I’m not getting enough sleep and now there’s no magical pill to fix how fucking anxious I am! Like WHAT NOW, GOD? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

THIS IS SOME FUCKING BULLSHIT.

THAT’S BULLSHIT, RONNY!

So. That’s my headspace. I fell so ugly and old and anxious as fuck. Like did you know my job sucks? Did you know my husband’s job is even worse and he’s basically clinically depressed at this point and I can’t do shit about it? Did you know his job just announced there will three rounds of layoffs?

Did you know that people on Reddit are wrong and assholes and will down vote you to hell? And that the city what’s happening page (no rules) HAS RULES. Cause I was just defending someone else who posted a bad review complete with pictures. Then the manager made a new thread to attack her and call her a liar. Then we all started going woah woah woah, a lot of people had similar experiences and posted photos in her review too. And she started antagonizing the original girl who left the review and said she faked the picture and then blocked her so she couldn’t defend herself. So that girl started a thread to ask if she was blocked or the thread was gone. So then we all hopped on the new thread joking about the insanity of it. We were having a great time and being jovial. Talking about favorite places to eat, loving crazy people drama, etc. and there were like 3 people I was conversing with and having a hoot. Then they deleted our fun thread and banned the original reviewer from the group. ON THE NO RULES PAGE. All she did was post a review and then defend herself! Bitch managers personal attack of her is still up.

AND BOEING IS ASSASSINATING WHISTLEBLOWERS!

And then I had an anxiety attack and went to bed for more night sweats.

So that’s how it’s going.

The doctor recommended some supplements I forget the name of. Probably gonna buy a $600 bed jet. But I need to buy a new salt cell and pay for the pool opening and I wanted a fancy aidirandack chair for the deck.

IM NOT DOING OK.

Stress will kill you.

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | Leave a Comment on Stress will kill you.

Last night, I woke up to a panic attack. You know you’re fucked up when you’re stressed out WHILE SLEEPING.

I have found a decent tool to help with panic attacks after a few decades. It’s the simple counting method. I chose 6. So beath in for a count of 6 and out for a count of 6. Repeat until not dead. Last night, I combined it with a variation on breathing into a paper bag.

I just looked it up, and breathing into a paper bag helps restore your CO2 balance which can get messed up when you hyperventilate and breath out too much. Interesting.

A panic attack mid sleep isn’t the best. You can’t lay still when you feel like you’re having a heart attack. For me, I always have to bear my chest because the first thing I feel is my chest muscles clamping down. At least you can lay in bed and cry for an anxiety attack. Husband asked why I did not wake him. You can’t hug pain out.

So I stretched sideways and upward to get my chest as wide as possible and buried my face deep in my memory foam pillow. Then I did the counted breathing. Well, it sounds like I handled it perfectly, but no. I tried the stretching and breathing and it wasn’t working. And I kept just counting but not breathing with the counting. Like just counting to 6 over and over again was a magic spell or something. Took a minute to get my wits about me and just smother myself until it eased up.

its nice that in my 40s, Ive finally found something that legitimately helps me in a panic attack.

Anxiety Attack: Give me hugs and I need a nap.

Panic attack: stretch, controlled counting breaths, maybe buy some paper bags.

Funny though, I got the counting technique from a Nintendo Switch YouTuber who struggles with anxiety. This is why we gotta share our experiences, y’all. 20 years of therapy and I’m using YouTube tips.

Anyway, Sherlock’s house is coming along!

Give it to me.

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment on Give it to me.

I went to the Tattoo Expo with K and her boyfriend. I’ve never been to a tattoo expo. We saw some work by legit amazing artists. Then there was one guy who wanted us to get these tiny flash for $200. Are you kidding me? You want to do 10 minutes of line work for $200? NO.

So today ran from 2:00 – midnight. So I figured it would be better in the evening. So we met up at 6:30. And guess what? We missed the good stuff! WHAT THE FUCK? I’m legit going to complain to the organizers. We couldn’t find a schedule for this show anywhere. Big fancy website, no schedules. I even went the the circus people’s website (sword swallowers and stuff) to see if they had a schedule. Nope. Walk in and the first thing they give me is a lovely laminated schedule hour by hour for the whole weekend. Oh look, we missed the circus by an hour! DAMMIT. I’m legit pissed about this schedule thing.

Anyway, none of us were really shopping for tattoos. There were 200 tattooists there from all over. And they do tattoos right there. But I’ve got plenty of work to do on mine as it is. But I tell ya, I did see a lot of flash I liked.

There was a booth of a lady selling crystals — like carved crystals and jewelry and stuff. So K and I were looking at the necklaces. I asked her what was good for anxiety and she hands me a white one. Like the most boring of the stones. But she says it’s good for anxiety and getting rid of negative energy. She said it basically says fuck off to bad energy. Oooo. Give me. The card said it was good for sleep too. White Howlite.

According to some random internet search: “It can help reduce your levels of stress and anger, and dispel anger that is directed towards you from others. Howlite works by absorbing negative energy and filling the void with calming properties that help you feel at peace.”

Yeah, fuck the colors. Give me that.

At least it matches everything.

It’s been a week.

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment on It’s been a week.

Hi. I need to get some shit off my chest. And it’s a raw shit dump. I haven’t talked to anyone about this. That includes my friends and my husband. But I’ve been awakened by panic attacks for two days in a row now and I need to get it out. Don’t worry, I will totally talk to Mr C about it — but he’s currently asleep and then he’s got D&D later so that might not happen till tomorrow. Eh, even then it’s his birthday so maybe not then. He’ll read this. (Hi, my love!) And I’m going to go to my friends house to talk and pet their dogs. I’m like dressed and everything.

So the fact that I haven’t had this shit dump to an actual human yet is 100% on me, OK? I’ve talked to K on the phone extensively — hell, I saw her all three days of the trial. And Mr C and I even watched the Glass Onion last night (It’s the sequel to Knives Out — and holy shit, they are both incredible movies — must see). The problem is, sometimes I don’t realize what I’m feeling. I guess I’m not in touch enough some times. So I have my very logical side and my very emotional side. And right now my logical side is having a fucking millennium New Year’s party while my emotional side is crying in bed and therefore waking me up in panic attacks to try to get some attention.

It’s been a rough week, yall. So this was the last week at my shit show job, the week of my court case/trial, and also our HVAC needs repair.

So let’s start with the elephant — the court case. This has been 3 years over due. The car accident which caused a concussion which led to post concussion syndrome and me losing my job and being out of work from October to August — that happened back in mid October of 2019. Obviously, settling is ideal. However, State Farm only offered me 7k. To cover 10 months of not working. However, I’m not that stingy, I only asked for the 7 months because I was released by my doctor to work PART TIME in May. It took until August before I actually got put on another contract and took a 20k pay cut. But we’re only arguing for when I technically was allowed to go back to work. But yeah, 7k aint gonna cover it. So I had to get a lawyer.

So we get a lawyer and sue. Some fun facts: the police report is inadmissible in court because it’s hearsay — they didn’t witness the accident. Also you cannot even MENTION insurance in court. Probably because if the jury knew insurance were the assholes and the ones paying up, everyone would logically go “no shit, that’s what insurance is for” and you’d always win. That’s my theory on that rule. So it’s not me suing insurance, it’s me suing the 16 year old kid that hit me in his daddy’s car. And the opposing lawyer is representing the kid, but the kid didn’t hire that lawyer — insurance did. This is all pomp and show of insurance using the kid as an avatar. The kid will never pay a penny ’cause… THAT’S WHAT INSURANCE IS FOR. But it doesn’t change the fact that I am suing that young kid over there sitting with his mommy and daddy for comfort. Do I get anyone for comfort? No. Cause Mr C has a job, I guess? I’m too self conscious to ask him to be there for me? Maybe I didn’t think I needed it because strong independent woman? I don’t know. He had offered and I was like no, there’s no point in you missing work for this BS. So anyway, I was alone. It was my own fault, but my point is — I made an error in judgment and so I had to go through this alone. </SCENE>

So I spent three days getting ripped apart in court. Because I’m the plaintiff, and the kid is the defense. So the other side didn’t even bring any witnesses. They admitted 100% fault in the accident. Their argument was that I’m a big fat liar about the illness that caused me to miss work and lose my job and wreck my face. He even quoted the TV Lawyers’ pitch “In a wreck, get a check!” But like, we’re arguing this to a jury so the main case is she’s a big fat liar. But we gotta lather it on — so we’re also gonna throw in she’s crazy (it’s documented since 2003). And then for the cherry on the cake — how is this bitch worth a six figure salary? Also somehow we’re gonna throw in that she has a lot of medical problems – let’s discuss all of that. Somehow maybe it’s just the thyroid or anemia that’s been well under control for 15 years.

So OK, I know I’m not a liar. So that’s really just an anger issue. But every time I complain about this piece of shit scumbag lawyer whose job is to drag my reputation through the mud in the dirtiest most exploitative ways — every time I mention wanting this fucker to die, everyone — even my husband, just say’s “That’s his job.” “He’s just doing his job.” You know what, I don’t give a fuck. Hit Men are just doing their jobs too. They got nothing personal against the people they’re paid to kill. Maybe he chose an asshole job? Maybe he has no ethics because he’s a piece of shit? I mean he sleeps just fine at night. That makes him a fucking asshole. He said a lot of bad things about me and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t get off because it’s his fucking job. Why is everyone just DISMISSING my anger? I’m fucking allowed to be angry.

So then let’s discuss my mental health. Cause it’s not like a sensitive subject or anything. Why are you crazy? Why do you require two antidepressants and take valium 3 times a day just to leave your house? Let’s talk about it. You take a lot of medication (Not like that’s something of a touchy subject like when my MIL snooped on my first trip up there and commented to my fiance that “she takes a LOT of medications.)” Do you think maybe you just didn’t wanna go to work? Even you doctor says he thinks underlying psychological conditions are probably contributing to your condition — sounds like he doesn’t believe you either. How do you feel about that? Do you think you’re crazy? You wanna cry about it cause you’re a big fat baby?

Also, why should you get paid this much? Like, you kinda suck. And you have a fuck ton of medical issues. Perhaps you just don’t wanna work? ‘Cause you’re lazy. Which I am. I am lazy, yall. Maybe you’re just trying to get a big payout. And it’s true that I’m heavily money driven, yall. That’s why I wanted my missed wages back. It’s also very true that I had to wake up early every day so K could come over on her way to work (GOD BLESS GOOD FRIENDS) and spray paint my hair brown. Cause as I am, I do not deserve that much money. I only deserve that much money if I present myself as better. With brown hair and makeup and better clothes and confidence. Cause normal Mrs C is a crazy wreck who doesn’t deserve her good life. Only prettier people deserve nice things. That’s never been a sore spot for me.

And yall, I’ve suppressed a lot of shit these past three years. Like this wreck FUCKED ME OVER. I’m over here getting headaches and motion sick all the time. I can’t travel. But it could be worse. I’ve mostly recovered! I’m so lucky! Yay me! You’re not allowed to be sad cause other people have it worse. And my career took a reset. Major pay cut. Lost the job I liked and was super proud of. Was gonna be a SME — the pinnacle goal of my software engineer career — on a very important and prestigious contract. Now, after having not been able to do math for a few months and not having worked on complex software for three years, I don’t anymore. I decided to step back from development cause I’m not sure I’m good enough anymore. Not like imposter syndrome is a thing anyway. Let’s talk about it in front of 20 – 30 people.

And to finish off this fun time — let’s interrogate you in front of everyone. Because that’s what it it is. An interrogation. When you testify, you don’t just get to tell a lovely story — you just answer questions. About EVERYTHING. Remember everything your lawyer told you to say. Your dates better be right and your numbers gotta be right and you better remember everything exactly that happened three fucking years ago cause it better match up completely with what you said in your deposition almost two years ago. And don’t talk to much — only answer the question asked. And don’t nervous laugh — stop that!

So yeah. That case ripped my fucking face off. It was a highly traumatizing experience. It opened old wounds. It made me super self conscious about pretty much everything. But it’s over. It’s totally over. And we “won.” My lawyer is handling the shit ton of people I now I owe money to (gotta pay back everything BCBS paid for my medical — gotta pay back everything short term disability gave me. The doctor’s depositions come out of my part of the winnings. And the lawyer gets 40% before any of that). So the jury awarded me my lost wages for the 7 months, plus a very small bit for medical and pain and suffering. After everyone gets their cuts, I get like 3 months missed wages.

So it sounds like it wasn’t worth it. Cause I only got 3 months when I missed 10. Yes, again — I got fucked by this wreck. Life isn’t fair. I got a ton more than the 7k insurance offered before I got a lawyer. And while I will not see a third of it — State Farm had to pay into 6 figures for this case after the verdict, the trial, the failed arbitration, and putting me though bullshit by dragging this on for three years. So making them pay is part of the win. Fuck them.

So that’s over — I should be shitting rainbows! Instead, I’m looking around like a fucking mac truck just hit me. What the fuck just happened? Why is that allowed to happen? I really over estimated my mental fortitude. I shouldn’t have just asked Mr C to come, I should have asked K and K2 to come too! I got killed even though I won.

And listen, I’m petty. So like I know that when I married Mr C, I agreed to be a financial squirrel. We want to retire. And he doesn’t believe in any debt — even good debt. So our number one priority is to own this house ASAP. We can’t even buy new furniture for the house until we own it. So this money will all be put directly to the house. I acknowledge that. And that’s fair. He was 100% the sole breadwinner when I was out of work and it cost us our savings. Do I agree with his view that even mortgage debt is bad debt? No, I don’t. It’s OK to have a mortgage in my opinion. And K’s about to get a new car and I don’t like driving my tiny car cause I want a bigger car that wins in the car accident rather than gives you a brain injury. So were I single, I’d be buying a new car. But I’m not. So I asked if I could keep just a tiny bit to pay for a bit of my sleeve tattoo and Mr Cs first gut reaction was to question why I needed it when I was supposed to be saving for my tattoo. That hurt. I mean he’s letting me have it, that was just like his gut instinct cause Mr C’s gut instinct with money is that he is a squirrel and it must all be saved. NO TOUCH.

Also, my laptop, which is my only computer, is freaking out something major this week so DON’T DIE, PLEASE.

Anyway — my last week with the shit show. This should make me happy. I should have just been able to coast through it flipping middle fingers to everyone, but shit show is a shit show. I went directly from court verdict on Wednesday to work. Had anything that needed to be done get done? Nope. I have spent the past two weeks requesting an inventory of the classified items in my possession. I have requested multiple times that a witness inventory them and sign for them. I got nothing. So I had to stay late on Wednesday and I sent a really bitchy email to everyone. I stated that I tried to get these items inventoried and signed over. And I took and made my own inventory of all of my assets. As my contract was terminating, I could not be held responsible for these assets and anything missing is not my fault because security has refused to give me their inventory.

That’s terrifying. Because shit show IS A SHIT SHOW. They lost 11 pieces of government property JUST THIS WEEK. So you think they’re not gonna lose my shit? The classified shit that was last signed for by ME? Making ME RESPONSIBLE FOR IT. They could just accuse me of stealing it if they want. So I printed out my bitchy email and attached the 9 emails to security and supervisors requesting that this shit be taken care. And I told them I’d be keeping it in my own records in case you ever wanna blame any of this on me.

So that was extremely stressful. Thankfully, two hours before I left for good, they inventoried my shit and at least verified that they saw it. Thank you.

What else? Well, there’s something wrong with the HVAC. We had it fixed up and repaired last summer but towards the very end of summer the downstairs stopped cooling. I didn’t care to pay someone to fix it as winter was coming and we had just been through this. Then two weeks ago after the crazy winter storm, my kitchen starts smelling like spray paint chemicals. It wasn’t the refrigerator or tankless hot water heater. So I correctly (it turns out) surmised it was the HVAC unit leaking chemicals.

So, did you catch the part where Mr C has lordship over the money? I have lordship over the practical shit. No offense to my actual rocket scientist, genius husband, but he’s worthless with that shit. I wanted to put it off cause I got enough on my plate but Mr C is afraid of dying from toxic fumes so I had to get someone out to look at it. Now, our AC people are not in our city. So to pay them to just come look at the unit is $175 for travel. And they’re honest guys so they’re the first ones to tell me to get someone local to do it. So I figured, just for diagnostics, lets get a local company out to diagnose if it’s leaking chemicals. They’d be $109. They did correctly figure out that our coil had a total blow out, all the chemicals are gone and told Mr C it’d be $3,100 to replace the coil but they’d just replace the unit. As I had told him to do, he told them to fuck off. I mean, he doesn’t curse but whatever.

BTW, the internet says a replaced coil with labor should be between $800 and $2000 dollars. The highest price estimate I could find was $2500. Also note, our coil is aluminum, not copper so it should be cheaper. Why are the trades people allowed to just rip you the fuck off? They’re allowed to just pull a number out of their ass and expect you to pay it. WTF?

So then I call our guy. I tell him the problem we think we have. Luckily his minion is already in town on another call so he’ll pop over. Awesome. So I met with him. I love this guy because he always teaches me so much. He explains everything and how it works and whats what. Anyway, the other people were right. He said personally, he’d just replace the coil. However, we want to know the numbers on the coil vs the unit and calculate whats cheapest in the long run since our units are 7 years old. So his boss is gonna figure that out for us. Oh, and the coil was like totaled so all the chemicals spilled out at once. And yeah, we’d have smelled that. But like there’s no more even left to spill out.

That was Thursday evening. That night, it got kinda fucking cold. It was 60 degrees downstairs. The heater had been fine, the AC was the problem. I had tried flipping the breakers off and back on but nothing was happening. So when my fingers started needing gloves while I watched youtube, I decided to text the minion and ask if like maybe he did something to it? Thankfully, minion calls me immediately and profusely apologizes. He thinks he disconnected the unit and forgot to hook it back up. But he’s willing to walk me through getting it back on. Sweet.

So I grab some shoes and venture out into the freezing cold darkness to wade through giant japonica bushes to get to the HVACs God forbid we have lights over there so I’ve got this guy on speaker phone and am using the flashlight function of my smart phone. He tells me what to do, it’s pretty easy and he tells me what to check for. Sweet, it’s running. So I return to the much warmer 60 degrees of my house with him on speaker phone and ask him about those estimates. He hasn’t talked to his boss yet so he doesn’t know if he priced the coil or bought one or what. Cool, we’ll figure it out next week.

So Mr C heard and comes down to get the gist of whats going on. I explained it and hes all twenty fucking questions about HVACs and what they guy said and estimates and did they buy the coil even though we haven’t even told them if that’s what we wanna do? We don’t know, no ones talked to the boss. Well are they gonna buy the coil without asking us? I DON’T KNOW. I don’t even care. We haven’t committed to buying it so even if they did order it, it does not concern us!

Jesus H *****, can I get a thank you? I just fucking fixed the heater. If it had been up to him, he’d have frozen all night and paid them to come back out and hook it back up themselves! I’M HANDLING IT. He won’t ask contractors a thing buy he’ll play twenty fucking questions with me about it. I was kinda angry.

However, I’m not the silent type so a little later I pointed out he hadn’t thanked me for fixing the heater. Because if I know what I need, I ask for it or at least hint at it. So yes, he totally thanked me for fixing the heater. And pointed out how great I did this week handling all this bullshit and he was very sweet. He’s a good husband so I keep him.

What I didn’t know, was like how fucking upset I was about all of this bullshit. I apparently need more than some pats on the back to recover from this — whatever the fuck this was. So yeah, I’m waking up to panic attacks. And because the office (his lair) is right above the living room (my lair), I hear everything. And last night he was telling his friends about he trial and we this and we that and we’re doing this. Which I get that we are a unit. I also get that when you’re talking to your friends you are the point of reference these people have. But my bitter ass just kinda had a guttural reaction of “WE aint doing shit. I’M DOING IT.” Not that I said anything — cause when I’m angry it’s best if I just go to bed. But then I woke up with another fucking panic attack.

Jesus, one day I’m gonna have a heart attack and just ignore it thinking it’s a panic attack.

So yeah. That’s where I am. So it’s Sunday of my four day weekend before I start my new job. The new job that terrifying because what if it sucks? Or I can’t do it? You know, normal new job feels. So uh yeah. I should be relieved cause the trials over and I’m done with the shit show _

PAUSE

There was another thing. Friday at like 4:50PM I got an email for monies owed from the Shit Show. They are saying that I have to pay back my sign on bonus. I do not. And I replied that they better reply ASAP that they’ve figured out their problem or they need to send me paperwork stating why the original terms of my contract have changed and I need to give them to a lawyer. But it’s a 4 day weekend so I won’t hear back until Tuesday. So surely this was an error and they will fix it. But as it stands they have now said that not only do I not get my final paycheck, but I OWE THEM MONEY on top of that.

Yay, that’s not stressful at all. Not because Mr C freaks the fuck out about every dollar and now we’re talking about me taking a muli-thousand dollar hit.

So, Mrs C, why aren’t you like just so happy to be done with the trial and done with the shit shit show? It’s a four day weekend — and no job stress cause you’re between jobs! Why are you having panic attacks? WTF?

I THINK I FIGURED IT OUT.

I’m still sitting a bloody mess on the side road after being hit by a mac truck going “what the fuck was THAT?” This week was the “THAT.”

I miss my Jack Jack

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment on I miss my Jack Jack

I miss my Jack Jack. This past few days have been a new wave of sadness. I suppose it started with one day this week when I got home. You know how, when you get a new pet, you realize all the stuff you have to change? No more toilets left up, no open doors, no leaving food out — stuff like that. Well, I’m trained for Jack. So I came home and was careful not to swing open the door because he’s always right there waiting for me to open it. But… he’s not anymore. Like for that little minute I forgot he died and expected him to be behind the door.

Then, I had to read all the “The Loving Reaper” comics. Link here on WEBTOON. They’re PSA comics that are beautifully drawn and depressing AS FUCK. And a lot of them involve pets and terrible human beings, and obviously, death. So that didn’t help. I know.

Then, I went saving off old photos. This wasn’t related to Jack. We did our annual gingerbread tradition and I wanted to look at past gingerbread parties. I’ll get into it in another post — but it led me to going through all of Facebook and even back to Flickr for photos. So I also took the time to download all of these old photos (yes, you can request a zip file of every photo you’ve ever uploaded to Facebook). I saved them to my google photos for good future keeping.

LOOK AT MY SWEET BABY! Look how little he was! Those cheeks!

And here, he’s being all curious and adorable.

And I miss his little foot prints.

I just miss him so much. He loved when I’d come home and scoop him up like a baby and rub his belly and talk to him. He’d turn on that fake hamming-it up purr that sounded like a motor while I rubbed his “polka dots” (belly) and stuck my finger between his toe beans so he could squeeze it. He was such a good boy. He loved me so much. I really miss him a lot.

The past few nights (maybe 4ish?) I’ve been getting terrible anxiety at bed time. I’ll get anxiety tummy and then a tight chest.

I also started following this local cat place on Facebook and so that’s had adopting another cat on my mind. I think it’s just upsetting me though. I want JACK. I want Jack back. I want my biggun’

I’ll hide that cat page for now. I’m just upset all over again. Now I’m getting anxiety attacks every night. Ugh.