At My Wits’ End
A non-linear survival guide
Life is about taking out the trash and calling it trash because you have every reason to.
It wasn't meant to be linear, they say. But the times you tried to make it straight led to problems, and you didn’t have the tools to put any of it to use. You don't put your right shoes on the right feet; you put the left shoes on the left feet. The grey hardened slab will trip you up anyway.
Your clothes are washed, dried, and pressed, but then it rains. My leggings were warm. Then I stepped, and they were wet. I was relieved. I could stop overthinking for a little while. Don't get me wrong; just spend the rest of the day looking down.
Getting clean water is like riding a horse under its belly. I stand in the kitchen; life is simple, yet the filter floats. When you push it down, it dislodges. It is not just your hands getting wet; you flush out the past mistakes and it all floats onto the surface. All of a sudden, you have never done anything right.
Sometimes your head is there and your mind farts. You get things done on a precipice—just like Will Smith in The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air or The Pursuit of Happyness. You pour the warm water and leave the coffee beans on the counter. You thought it would make you alert. It didn't.
It wasn't meant to be linear, they say.
In the manual of life they say, be a tree hugger and get out of bed. Tree huggers are happier when they are outside. Just not me. Just not you.
When abusive words growl and give you vampire fangs, just make circular motions over your temple. The migraine will soon arrive. If the sting is too much, just remember you can stick French fries up your nose. Do you remember the filter? You can always pour more water over their heads.
That's right. 2 + 2 = 5. Let us keep it that way, because for once, we need something right, and that which doesn’t change.
If you are sick of your roommates, just remember: your teeth are fine. Theirs are not.
The bills, my god, the bills. The electric bill sits on the counter like a coaster. You put it away when you're asleep.
GET MORE SLEEP.
(Sorry, I didn't mean to shout.)
It wasn't meant to be linear. I've seen some scary things in my lifetime.
"How old are you?"
"29."
Scary things, like I was saying. She told me I needed to make money to stay in her home. Yet my dad wasn't there and it wasn't their fault. But then my ambition started to dwindle like a nightfall. The ideas were aliens going out of space. The money was glue because it would belong to her. The walls mocked me with peeling paint so I did nothing.
When someone changes your reality with their version of the truth, you go numb, hollow, and cold. That brain sloth is a lofty bill to pay; it lets out a low, wet thrum-gurgle in the back of your skull. You think you are dumb, or slow, or broken. You don't know what is real, or if you were the abusive one.
You see weapons in pencils, needles and thread and you can’t believe that you are the host of these thoughts. You think: Am I a danger to them? A danger to myself?
Sometimes the abused becomes the abuser, and the abuse becomes the slogan that you reach for, when time is running out and you aren’t getting any younger and security is tangling not like a carrot but like a choice. More times than not, it wasn't you. It was them. It became you too.
Your skin burns. Your mind bakes. While they get out of the fire, they frustrate you even more. Then their reality becomes yours. And your reality? Did you ever have one?
You go back to the drawing board thinking you chose the wrong career, the wrong decision. But the paths are many, and even if you picked one they all lead to a lack of security. Living with roommates, never having access to the kitchen, and having to take care of your hygiene needs, are never at your convenience.
They didn't hurt you. It was your fault. You've got no evidence.
Stuffed animals are the kings of the jungle. We buy them from stores because they don't come with a bite; we use them to comfort ourselves because we are afraid of the real beasts. We buy what is still at the tills and crave what is bite-sized, but the real mountains are why we climb.
Run as far as you can. You can't get away from life and life can't get away from you. When life closes its eyes around you, be that peek-a-boo. It is the only way to remember the times when laughter meant you were already arriving at a better day. That better day is today.
About the Creator
Caitlin Charlton
Noir Writer & Close Reader. Spotting the elements of Eloquence.
Survivor. Reclaiming my own territory.
Let us read each other and leave the page free. 🖋️🔥👠
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Comments (14)
What can I say, Caitlin, another great exposé of life as you see it. Sad, realistic and gritty- a typical example of premier writing which is why you are making a fortune out of Top Stories 😁😁
Your piece is incredible, lovely Caitlin! The way you wrote it made me think about the movie Arrival - how we can experience life all at once, for better or for worse. “Stuffed animals are the kings of the jungle. We buy them from stores because they don't come with a bite; we use them to comfort ourselves because we are afraid of the real beasts.“ - marvellous observation!! Don we just love the idea of a thing far more than the reality of it? From first hand experience, I think those with anxiety feel that space more than most. It is where our minds live most of the time, or at least mine does. ❤️❤️ Fantastic crafting - you deserve all the accolades!
Gosh this was just so intense and sad. Are you okay my friend? If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me. Sending you lots of love and hugs 🥺❤️
I, too, have experienced living with someone who changed my reality. Unfortunately, I have multiple experiences with different people, and for the longest time, I truly believed I was the source of the issues. I had plenty of moments when I thought I was losing my mind. Congratulations, Caitlin, on your top story❣ This is outstanding work right here!
Oh wow Caitlin I am generally speechless at how raw and emotional this is, I am also so proud of you for putting this up sharing with us, absolutely deserves to be a top story for well done 💜
Wow :( This perfectly encapsulates the inner chaos and confusion that follows trying to heal in a world that is not built for it. The fallout of abuse is not something we’re instinctively built to handle, and most of our systems are built with our any consideration or intention to make these things more livable. Excellent writing, made me feel trapped. Your word choice throughout was poetic. A surreal collection of images with clear emotional punches. Great writing Caitlin.
Chaos. Confusion. Cruelty. Horrid. Well-deserved Top Story. Hugs to you.
Reactive abuse is real and it's only recently in my experience being considered as something worth investigating. People will push you to explode until you react and then they put it into their catalog as evidence of YOU being the abusive one. It's really sick. They can yell, scream, throw things, slam doors, leave etc... but if you do one wrong thing- you are the bad one who needs to control themself. It's never, "Hey, I made a mistake, I'm sorry." It's always, "We both said things we didn't mean." They need that because accountability is an attack on the unhealed people of the world. Congrats on your incredibly well deserved top story, Caitlin,
People who haven't experienced it can't understand what it's like to be gas-lit and narcissistically abused. Later, you will sit there and think to yourself, "How could I believe those obvious lies?" But it was the only way to survive. A person can be beaten literally or metaphorically into doing or believing almost anything. Especially if the threats are realistic and frightening enough. It makes me so sad that so many people have gone through this, I am glad you have writing to help you move past this, even if it will never go away. 🫂This was fantastic writing, great job showing the insanity of it all.
This is brilliant, Caitlin. I experienced living with someone who changed my reality, someone who, indeed, seemed to live in al alternate reality posing always as a victim whilst consistently blaming me about absolutely everything. You truly doubt about your own sanity.
Oh, wow. I recognize that pencil, and I feel this in my bones. You should be so proud of what you've done here. This one is a masterpiece and better be a top story before the sun goes down.
Living in the alternate reality of others is truly a nightmare. There is no such thing as charity it seems. Only the land of you owe me and what on earth is wrong with you. Brilliant, perceptive and highly original writing, Caitlin!
Caitlin, another beautiful piece. I particularly loved this paragraph...resonant...moving! I'm really enjoying reading your stuff x "When someone changes your reality with their version of the truth, you go numb, hollow, and cold. That brain sloth is a lofty bill to pay; it lets out a low, wet thrum-gurgle in the back of your skull. You think you are dumb, or slow, or broken. You don't know what is real, or if you were the abusive one."
Well-wrought! Living with someone who torments you daily--especially when they do it discreetly and then turn around and play the victim in the presence of others--is one of the worst things I've ever experienced.