Chaos with Cait

Pickles, tiny little hearts in brine, thank you. For the salt, the sour, the garlic and the crunch. Your small green selves are testimony that even a ghost can keep something alive. Perhaps it is love that keeps my heart beating. Perhaps it is pickles. Either way, I am grateful.

I cried myself to sleep, four times this week. But tomorrow will be better, right?

I have been working on healing, my very angry and judgmental heart.

For years, my words have felt like darkness. I have been drowning daily, in my own thoughts. Every poem, every word I have shared, has carried since type of sorrow. I have wrestled with my own mind just to be able to gather a clear thought long enough to put it on a page. I have written about grief and hurt, pain and loss. I have shared my deepest fears, and the worries that keep my eyelids peeled open at night. I have struggled with feeling swallowed whole by the voids that

Every glance of hers a fire starter. She is the heat. All spark, soft skin, and flame. She’ll drive you crazy, and leave smoke in your lungs. Still, you’ll crave the warmth of getting too close.

Saying yes to me meant setting fire to every version of myself that the world built for me.

I took my last anxiety medicine today. I have an appointment scheduled with a new psychiatrist for friday. But, when I was filling out the paperwork on the app for the virtual meeting, the last page didn’t work, or I wasn’t putting in the right information? So, I don’t know if they accepted it, or if I still have more to finish… -that was my anxiety texting. She wasn’t done. I should have let her finish. I should have encouraged her, to spill all that she was thinking. But, I