Ramblings of the sleepless…

There are so many things you learn/realize or simply acknowledge after so many hours of being awake. I’ve been awake just shy of 24 hours. This isn’t something I have had to deal with in a bit. I do take sleeping pills; insomnia has stalked me since I was a teenager. Only now as a adult, and as a drug free adult I should say, do I trust myself with such a responsibility to my recovery of addiction that I take something as such. Both my anxiety and sleeping medications are controlled substances. And I do have the ability to get high off of. Truth be told I abused Ambien and benzodiazepines in my addiction. And now I take them as I should as an adult. I take 10mg of Ambien a night, and I take 4mg of Ativan a day. I say this all to properly explain my mind set as I describe my evening of amusement, and questioning. I am not a functioning human with out my anxiety medication. I have been out for 3 days. I did not have $97 to obtain them since I lack insurance at this time. I finally broke down and asked my mother to help me. It made me feel so small. Though she was glad she could help me. My parents are wonderful. And by the time I realized the time I felt it far to late to take a sleeping pill. I must guarantee I can obtain 8 hours of sleep. Or I will nod out all day. Ok sorry I’m starting to get out of order and ramble. 24 hours of no sleep or anxiety constantly rising I’m very out of sorts. But still I digress. Let me get this back on track.

Lacking sleep anxiety pulling me under like an undertow this is what I have seen. My cats. They are furry little assholes to each other at 2, 4,and 7 am. Cat fights are not an enjoyable thing to break up no matter how much fucking sleep you’ve had. We are introducing a new cat to the brood and it’s not going well.  TV can be addicting. I actually blasted through 2 seasons of Broadchurch on Netflix. I smoke WAY too much. I’m anxious I smoke. My voice is so shot right now. The setting I am in is a dirt floor basement with a hand built desk. A single florescent light. My laptop is down here as this is the only place in my house I can smoke.

basmentfuntimesJesus I look a mess.

So As the silly things start to pan away as sleep continues to evade me, I start to think about my life. I am a month shy of 30, I live with my parents. (more complicated then I just cant take care of myself on my own, although that is a big part of it) I’m tattooed as I had a what I thought was a secure job and could indulge in such pleasures as decorating my body, septum pierced, ears gauged to a 1/2inch. I am fouled mouth, My daddy very muchly helped me to obtain out swear a sailor achievement by 15. to the discontentment of my mother. But I am a daddy’s girl. I am inappropriate, I make very dark humored jokes. I can seriously unnerve people. I am not professional. I know this. Yesterday I got a call back about a job. Its an administrative job…professional. Fuck me. How do I keep my mouth shut, how do I stop myself from honestly being an asshole when I open my mouth. I have been told on more then one occasion that I am a cold, abrasive and black hearted person. I’m jaded, I know it. I have experienced things in my addiction that have shaped me the way I am today. Next month will be a solid 8 years clean. I do indulge in an occasional glass of wine from time to time. I never get drunk or tipsy, I watch what time I am drinking compared to taking my medications. I never ever take a sleeping pill if I have had ANYTHING to drink that day. But its 8 solid years from stabbing myself with a needle multiple times a day to simply survive. I have left that life. I thought I was living now. But lately it feels more like surviving. I am fucked up still and now I am about to take on an entirely different admin role then my last job that was so laid back and i could go to work in a t-shirt with I dunno with a superhero shirt and a pair of old jeans and be fine.

Now is professional dress. I own nothing like that. I know this has seriously become a ramble but I have said before my thought process is a freight train as fast as it comes it can be pushed out by something new right away. I want to thank anyone who has made it this far. Thank you for reading, and listening. Sometimes I just need to know someone is listening to me. I am scared about this job. I am scared I will fuck it up like my last job…Because it was my own incompetence that lead to my being fired. I knew it was going to come when I did not get a raise that year, and everyone else got really good raises as the pot did not have to be split so many ways for our department. I’m also going from $12.20/hr at 40 hours a week. to $9/hr at 20 hours a week. And I know I am worth so much more then that. But I really have no other options to me right now. So I’m now going to prep up a shower mop my horrid kitchen floor and go to sleep. I have my back-round and drug test tomorrow. I need to be on top of my game. I know I can do this. Is what my mantra has been all day.

Thank you for taking the time to read these posts. It means the world to me when someone comments or just likes it. Thank you.

-Kitty >^.^<


A bit more serious

So I’m sitting here and there is this black wave lapping at my heels. A good friend of mine both read Prozac Nation together in high school. And that was a line that has followed us some 16 years. Elizabeth Wurtzel defined her mental illness as a black wave always lapping at her ankles. And so have we.

She is a back wave, her presence is female to me. She licks seductively at my heels, and I ignore her. Then she moves to my ankles and I find comfort in her. As the wave rises she is less seductive and more motherly. Wrapping her arms around me and then it changes. So so quickly. Her grasp is tight, and cold so so cold. Its numbing cold. I cant break her grasp my body has become so numb. She has barbs that pierce my skin. I am bound. Then the lies began to spew from her sea salted mouth. “you are nothing” “A waste of space” “no one really likes you, they pity you” “They are embarrassed by and for you” “Why don’t you just die” “you life never has and never will have any meaning” “You are a disgrace” “If you wont die, just pick up the needle.” “at least when your high you don’t feel” “And numb is a great way to be”


I have to say, I’m no at that point but writing down all the lies that sea monster tells me make it so difficult to keep typing. I talk about it before it becomes a concrete thought. When the tongue of addiction licks my face I make a phone call to someone who is clean and working a program of recovery. And when its the sea monster getting ready to drown me, I call my shrink. I do not allow myself to be alone in these times. For these are the time I am the weakest. These creatures find their way in easiest when I feel lonely, or weak. When I’m not working, or have hit a creative block of some kind. When I question myself. The demons get in.


So I read a book not too long ago called Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson. And it pulled me out of a seriously dark fucking place I decided might be alright for me to play in. It wasn’t. I’m going to post an excerpt from her book to end this post. Because this is really how I am feeling right now. And I am going to be ok. Also check out her blog. Because she is funny and truthful and I love her though I have never met her.


read it read read it!!!!

‘Sometimes being crazy is a demon. And sometimes the demon is me. And I visit quiet sidewalks and loud parties and dark movies, and a small demon looks out at the world with me. Sometimes it sleeps. Sometimes it plays. Sometimes it laughs with me. Sometimes it tries to kill me. But it’s always with me. I suppose we’re all possessed in some way. Some of us with dependence on pills or wine. Others through sex or gambling. Some of us through self-destruction or anger or fear. And some of us just carry around our tiny demon as he wreaks havoc in our mind, tearing open old dusty trunks of bad memories and leaving the remnants spread everywhere. Wearing the skins of people we’ve hurt. Wearing the skins of people we’ve loved. And sometimes, when it’s worst, wearing our skins. These times are the hardest. When you can see yourself confined to your bed because you have no strength or will to leave. When you find yourself yelling at someone you love because they want to help but can’t. When you wake up in a gutter after trying to drink or smoke or dance away the ache—or the lack thereof. Those times when you are more demon than you are you. I don’t always believe in God. But I believe in demons. My psychiatrist always says, “But if you believe there are demons, then it follows that there could be a God. It’s like … believing in dwarves but not in Cyclopes.” I consider pointing out that I’ve met several dwarves in my life and almost no Cyclopes, but I get what she’s saying. There can’t be dark without light. There can’t be a devil without the God who created him. There can’t be good without bad. And there can’t be me without my demon. I think I’m okay with that. Or maybe it’s my demon that is. It’s hard to tell. My psychiatrist told me that when things get rough I should consider my battle with mental illness as if I were “exorcising a demon” and I was like, “Well, no wonder I’m failing so miserably. I’m shit at exercising.” Then she called me out for deflecting with humor, and explained: “You are exorcising a demon. It’s not something you can do alone. Some people do it with a priest and holy water. Some do it with faith. Some do it with chemicals and therapy. No matter what, it’s hard.” “And usually people end up with vomit on them,” I replied. I’m seeing more of a connection. I wonder if I’m the priest in this scenario. I hope not because he almost always dies just when he thinks everything is fine. This analogy is starting to creep me out.’

-Jenny Lawson




All the things

So as I try and find something to do with my time, since I can clean house pretty quickly. (I mean it’s not clean, I could do it quickly, I’m just lazy. Honesty.) I find myself baking, and cooking.

I’m not terrible at either of those things. I just don’t always like to do them. I am a creature of habit. And even after 8 years clean I still want what I want when I want it. Which is now. Gimme…Like I don’t want to do all the work involved and wait the 65min plus cooling time to eat banana bread. I want it now on a nice plate with some butter. But I have yet to obtain the magic to do that, so I made banana bread. I’m covered in flour because I am a very messy person when I cook. I need to shower.

Still waiting on obtaining the money for unemployment. I first filed on February 10th. Its the 2nd of March, come on New York state I have bills to pay and my bank account is not happy. I have also run out of health insurance at this time. So my medications are about to get stupid expensive. My depression medication is $50/month. And my anxiety medication is $100 for a 3 month supply. Its a controlled substance so getting it monthly is a pain in the ass. So I would rather pay out $100 now, then a little each month and fight to have them. Sometimes just having them can be calming.

Oh by the way, this is how my mind jumps. All the time. It is hard for me to stay on topic unless I am in direct conversation with someone, and even then it can be a challenge. My thought process is a freight train that does not like to wait for anything. Its a blessing and a curse…mostly a curse.

I am now tired. I have done nothing but a load of laundry and vacuumed. Oh and banana bread. The banana bread is what did it. Who knew banana bread could be so exhausting. Tomorrow I plan to bake some regular bread. My sister gave me a great recipe to make it without a bread machine. Hopefully this time, I do not burn myself or brake a glass dish. Ceramic dishes SHATTER when they are 400 degrees and you drop them. The skin on your hands is also not happy after touching it either. I can not cook without obtaining some kind of injury. I will likely burn myself when I get the bread out of the oven.

How I have lived this long and not lost a limb is a miracle. I think I will make some tea and finish the laundry. Maybe….

Why am I writting a blog?

I have avoided the “blogging” as much as I possibly could. When someone would say “blog”, I thought of hipsters talking about the best craft beers, while drinking PBR, or soccer moms talking about wither or not to vaccinate their kids, or the best way to remove stains after sports. And all of those are fine (no, they irritate me, but I digress).

I lost my job. Which I had a long standing 6 year love hate relationship with. We would fight every night and patch it up every morning. Monday through Friday, with an extra date here and there on a Saturday morning. I had become very comfortable in this job. No I became complacent. Get up, go to work, hate everything, come home crawl into my basement and Facebook stalk or play video games, or binge watch Dr Who for hours. I suppose a healthy dose of both. If either have a healthy dose. Jesus I just admitted I stalk my friends. Sorry guys, I have no social life anymore. It’s really a reflection of my love for you…or perhaps hate. I dunno, it was mostly cats. I think that’s worse, looking at cat photos for 6 hours before I too sleeping pills to do it all over again the next day. Oh, Sundays I play Dungeons and Dragons.  …. ok this is looking sad.

I am a nerdy 30 year old girl, I live with my parents, single (duh) and a recovering addict. I am a winner! Oh yea, no job either!

So why am I writing a blog, that where this started right? Right, ok. So a dear friend may or may not have been sick of my bitching about unemployment taking their damn sweet time, being miserable for all the right and wrong reasons. And she simply said, you know you should write a blog. Admittedly I just sorta agreed and then dropped the thought right there. I am not a hipster… But I find myself fueled by anxiety that my sleeping pills are having no effect and its 2:30am. So I said “FUCK IT, I’m gonna be a blogger”.

So this blog will consists of my life from day to day. Trying to occupy my time, not lose myself in crippling depression, anxiety or insomnia, and share my cray with the world. Who knows what kind of crazy, funny, or sad things will come lifting from these pages. I’m an odd nerdy girl looking for something. Maybe in the end I will know what that something is.

So, do you care to join me in my not so epic adventures of job hunting, Dr Who, and 80s industrial music, and movie reviews. Or perhaps what i decided to cook after reading something on Facebook? Com take a strange journey with me…it will be something to do if nothing else.


Kitty >^.^<   Photo Credit:Chiara Bautista  https://www.facebook.com/search/top/?q=chiara%20bautistafix it