Hi, I'm Katt the cactus

Just occurred to me that there are going to be new people on this page that haven’t followed my story over the last 15 years. So let’s do a little introduction here (you can also go back and read posts if you want…I’ll link some here to help you navigate the “big stuff”).

My name is Katt.

I’m a mom to 6...
and the daughter of a psychopathic drug addict (literally).

Wildly long story condensed into a few sentences:

• I lived with him on and off for 15 years.
• He loved drugs…and loved getting women pregnant.
• He was a stalker, he was abusive, and he was also the nicest guy you had ever met.
• I am his only child that spent any actual time with him (despite my mom spending decades fighting to save me from the crazy).
• He died in prison, after setting his girlfriend’s house on fire (his girlfriend…who was barely older than me).

I’ve seen some shit I wish I hadn’t. I have been through stories that people assume I am making up. But I recently got ahold of most of the records from back then, which prove everything I have been saying for years. 

They also expose a lot of people for exactly who they are…enablers of abuse.
Abusers themselves.

I got sick of fighting like hell for my own mental health, while the people that hurt me got to walk around guilt free behaving like nothing happened…or acting like I was being “dramatic.”

I’m done with that. 

So I finally started the book I have been spitballing for as long as I can remember.
The real story of Paul. 

The details of every human that couldn’t be bothered to protect a little girl from a
severely
mentally ill
psycho.

I’ve done a lot of healing. 

I am a wildly different person than I was even when this page was started.
I don’t fake happy anymore.

I’m not afraid to say what I think and I found a way to turn my anger/hurt into something productive and healing.

I consider myself to be a cactus.

Surviving on minimal water 
as much sun as possible

...and I'm cool looking.
until you get too close.
Provoke me...

and I will stab you.

I'm kidding...
kind of.

ACTUALLY...I’m a social worker now when I’m not being a mom…because our court systems are total shit, and I am sick of children having to hold the burdens of dumbass adults. I am a huge advocate of the “war on drugs” because I have watched so many lives get leveled by addiction.

SO...

if anything you’ve read in this short time bothers you…
probably a good time to check out and not read anymore. 

Definitely don’t read the book when it comes out. But if not…check some of this other stuff out. The upcoming months will be details/stories/things that will be covered in the book.

The Recovering Skeptic

 He Burnt My House Down

Drugs and Strip Clubs

Front Page

Gremlins, Knives, and Government Spies

RIP

Overdose

1 year

Concrete Angel

Do You Remember the 20^th Night of September

Life In Prison

There’s a lot to read. You can pick and choose. 

There will be a lot more when this book launches. So catch yourself up now. <3

Legacy

 Round 75 of me saying "I'll write more now" or "I'm back!"

Except this time I'm back with news...and a whole lot of entertainment. 

I have removed a lot of posts, refocusing on why this blog was started. 

Paul's "legacy" (for lack of a better term) is in the works. I have spent the last few months requesting police records, reading through thousands of pages of court documents...and starting to write the stories of my paternal nightmare. 

Life update- because I feel like it matters for anyone that has followed this from the beginning of my rantings 15 years ago (what?!). 

Next month is 10 years married. 6 kids. (Yes we got surprised by twins since our last post). We've lived in Ohio, Virginia, Texas, and soon to be Hawaii. We've been through some stuff. 

But other than the million kids...this book has been my focus for a few months now. I have found stories that I forgot about, I have read through documents that made me want to throw things. I have lost the tiny bit of faith I used to have in the court system. 

So now I'm unloading it for all of you. 

I named this blog the recovering skeptic for a reason. I'm always working on recovery...I'm always trying to deal with the hell that was my earlier life. I will never not be. 

I write for me. And I write for other people going through these things...whether it be kids/teens currently in it, or adults that are trying to process their own trauma. I also want to hold the world, and all of the people that chose to throw me to the wolf over and over again...accountable. 

So everything in those public records...is about to be painfully public. 

"May the odds be ever in your favor."

If I lost you over the years...tune back in. Please. This is gonna be good. 

Stop pretending

 It's funny...it's only been 6ish weeks since I posted about turning this year into a thankful year.

And to be clear, I don't in any way take that back.

Let's pause and just adore that tiny face before we keep going. 

I need a little "happy" tonight. And this is it.

But I will say that I feel this strange urge to write on the nights that I am struggling. I don't think to write when I'm thankful and happy and in pure bliss. But I NEED to write when I am hurting or need to unload some of the thoughts that are exploding in my head.

Which is what brings me to write tonight. I am having a night that has both of those things. Tonight I was hiking with my kids and my husband...and I was so thankful as we walked. I took all these pictures of my beautiful family walking along a beautiful path with the moon coming up...and I was just so happy with my life.

Multiple times I fell into this bliss and just thought to myself "this is how it is supposed to be."

Then we got home...and they all went to bed.

And my thoughts started again. 

The overwhelming anxiety, the tears for no reason...the definition of this beautiful mental illness that has been in my life for nearly as long as I can remember. 

I can laugh one minute...I can joke around and truly be happy...just to have this crazy dread shock me out of it 5 minutes later. It makes no sense. The attacks have been coming more frequently lately...even when driving around for happy things. With my beautiful kids, my amazing husband...and suddenly I can't quite breathe right. 

None of this is easy. 

Not having a dad really fucking sucks sometimes. 

And that is something that I can't really put into words efficiently. 

My mother is truly perfect. My family is everything to me. But not having an actual father to be there when I could use it...takes more out of me than I can admit sometimes. I like to pretend I function fine without him. But while I can function...it truly wrecks me. 

I deserved more. My mom deserved more. My kids deserve more. 

We have AMAZING months coming. A partial family vacation, a honeymoon, a move for all of us...

But some nights it is just plain hard.

And really sad. 

I know it's gonna get better. 

And tomorrow will be easier.

But it's okay to say...it's hard right now.

I can be nice or I can be honest when I write. 

And when I was struggling even more than I am now...I read a lot of blogs and a lot of posts. Of people pretending to be okay. Pretending to be honest. It did me zero favors to read how "great" they were doing.

Sometimes you're not okay. 

And being honest about that is the only way to make it better someday. 

I'm good. I'm happy. 

But I am struggling. 

And it's okay to not be okay.

Moving on 2021

 If you pay any attention to this page...you know I have desperately struggled to write the last few years. 

I spent a very long time being sad. Struggling with emotions, and not knowing how to deal with the feelings that were wrecking my mental health. Nearly 20 years of my life were spent trying to process the things that were happening around me. 

Today...I don't have to try and process nearly as much. I have my bad days. These last few weeks actually have been chock full of my father in my memories and in my dreams. It has been exhausting, my anxiety has been in overdrive...and I have struggled.

But as I looked at social media memories today compared to my current life...I was so thankful. I realized that when I take a step back and look at where my life has gone...it has changed more than I ever thought possible.

So I am going to try and take this blog in a new direction so that I can start writing more. 

I will never sugar coat things. I will never pretend that hard things aren't hard.

The first 15 years of my life were painful...physically and mentally.
Marriage at 19, divorced by 21...in an ugly situation.

Excessive trauma from a drug addict parent...and then his death.

The last 2 years...nearly impossible. Deployment on crack, a house sale. Moving. Parenting alone.

The last 2 months...reintegration, a cancer scare, and a miscarriage.

Yet here we stand. And when I look at my life on a day to day basis...I am so thankful. When I see my husband and kids together...I tear up. I am relieved. My life isn't anything that I thought it would be...it is better. It is real. The daily REAL...is exactly what I needed. 

The new direction is simply "thankful."

It's not just surviving trauma. 
It's thriving from trauma.

It's living the life that you didn't want...and creating the life that you dreamed of.

Yes.

Dreamed of. 

Life will never be perfect. But if you do it right...it is sooo damn good.

This year has rocked worlds.

But this world is so much better.

Stay tuned for finding positivity in "hard." Because in fact...in can be done.

War on drugs

 I hear the term "war on drugs" a lot. Very very frequently actually. Especially given the degree I am pursuing. People have a lot of opinions on this war this country is fighting. Well, that the world is fighting. 

I want to be sure to preface this entire post with the fact that I completely understand the thought process behind "ending" the war on drugs. I truly do. There are a lot of things that aren't working, and things are being criminalized that shouldn't be. There are lives being ruined because of criminal charges that may not be justified. 

I get it.

But. There is another side to that. 

My side.

Drugs ruined my family. 

A few stupid white and brown substances tore my family apart piece by piece. 

They killed my father.
They destroyed every chance at healthy relationships.
They took away a grandfather.
They caused mental illnesses. 
They shattered any sense of normalcy.

They TRULY ruined lives. So many lives. 

I wish the person that provided my father with his drugs could be charged. I wish they could at least see the extent of the damage caused by their choices.

I don't blame them. My father had a choice and he could have gone elsewhere. But he didn't.

On that same note...I also wish my father had been charged earlier. It makes me physically ill to think of the amount of people he supplied drugs to. To think of the ways he behaved around me and other people's children. The dangerous choices he made that could have killed me or anyone else around him. 

If he had been charged, or formally held in a facility...he might have stood a chance.

Maybe not. 

But he might have. 

It might have been the one thing that got his attention. No "suspended" jail sentences. No mercy. Just straight into lockdown and then to rehab. Forced psychological treatment. 

SOMETHING.

If back then this "war on drugs" had been anything like it is now...I might still have a father. 

Maybe not.

But I might.

It's something I choose not to think about frequently because we have to deal with life as it is given to us. We have to "accept the things we can not change." We can not dwell on the things that "could be."

But for just a second when you think about how bad this war on drugs is in your opinion...

Think about those "might" circumstances. 

Because those MIGHTS would have changed so many lives.                                                                     

Lives like mine.

Just stop.

It's been a rough week.

One where I felt about 10 times my actual age.

It's hard to be the "mean" one. The one that says things that people don't want to hear.

But it comes with the territory.

You come from this past where you are so painfully aware of everything you do and the decisions you make. You have over-analyzed every part of you (and so have a lot of professionals). And suddenly you start to see your qualities in other people.

I went to school for psychology. I spent a lot of time in trauma and the aftershock.

And it's nice to be self aware. It's nice to be a good source of advice for a lot of people. But it's also incredibly exhausting. Because no one wants to hear the hard stuff.

So be nice. Listen to those that love you. Chances are they are really just trying to make sure you're ok.

Return address: Inmate number 1439493 Pinellas County Jail

My best friend of over 10 years came over the other night for girl chit chat. The conversation turned into a conversation about my dad...and she told me that I had never told her the story. Other than what she had read or seen on social media...she really had no idea what happened to him/with him. 

To be honest...my jaw kind of hit the floor. I couldn't believe that I hadn't talked about it at some point over the years. How crazy...the thing that essentially defines who I am today...and I had never talked about it.

So we got to talking. I explained the stalking, the abuse, the fire...

I pulled out old letters that I haven't looked at in years. The letters from jail that my father sent for over a year before he died.

Something crazy? I forgot how bad they were.

I had truly talked my brain into thinking that the letters were...a little delusional? That maybe I had overreacted to what they said.

But let me tell you something. I was more horrified than I was years ago. I was disgusted by not only the things my 19 year old self was told by her FATHER...but the fact that I had somehow brainwashed myself into thinking that what he said "wasn't that bad."

It was horrible.

Suddenly the feelings rushed back. I started to wonder if maybe I was all the things that he said. Maybe I was the one with all of the problems...maybe I needed professional help like he said so many times in his letters.

But then I read them again. 

 And again. 

And again.

I watched the handwriting change from sentence to sentence. I watched my father's thoughts go from "let me be there for you and help you" to "you are disgusting and worthless." My FATHER.

I watched him threaten suicide in the same sentence of saying he wished I had picked up the phone earlier in the day because he wanted my voice to be the "last thing he ever heard." Yet I was the manipulative one...

Suddenly...I am grateful that I kept all of those letters. I am grateful that I have a reminder that I didn't make up the things that I went through. I'm not crazy. I'm not dramatic.

I was abused. 

Point blank.

Period.

I was emotionally ransacked. 

I was taught at a very young age that I wasn't enough...

and that I couldn't trust anyone...even my own family. 

I was taught to second guess the people I was supposed to be able to trust. 

These are things that may never go away. I question everything. I worry at the drop of a hat. I am a control freak when it comes to my family and knowing that they are okay. I am constantly convinced that people are mad at me and don't want me.

The slightest chance of conflict and I am hyper aware of my relationships.

But at the same time...I also continue to stand for those that can't stand for themselves. Because NO woman, wife, girlfriend, DAUGHTER...should ever read things like this from someone who is supposed to love her.

Someone who CLAIMS to love her.

This...

Is not love.

I've wondered why I am the way that I am sometimes. It's hard to deal with a constant anxiety and stress that I don't understand. PTSD is a real bitch. 

But this is why. 

My father was right about one thing.

"Holding hate is like swallowing fire."

So I refuse to hate. Even if it takes me every day...and even if I have to remind myself on a constant basis that I am not that person he made me out to be. I won't hate him. I will be disappointed and I will never forget the things that happened. But I won't hate him. Because it's only hurting me.

And I refuse to let him be right.