To Catch a Predator

Yesterday and today largely consisted of work and physical therapy. But when I actually had Caitlin time, I made the choice to spend it with sex offenders. By “spend time with sex offenders” I actually mean… I watched like 5 hours of To Catch a Predator. Because that’s as close as I want to get to one again. Obviously. Not that I can control that. UNFORTUNATELY.

Sometimes I wonder what it says about me that I can sit and just SNORT LAUGH indefinitely at what are very likely the most pathetic (at BEST) men on the planet. Obviously “there are women sex offenders too, all people do bad things”, yeah yeah, that clause. But I’m watching their humiliation and…. uhhhh… all the natural consequences and just laughing and laughing in a way that later makes me feel disgusting. They ended the show because a pedophile district attorney shot himself!

I feel like I need to take my entire mind and body through a couple of car washes after 5 hours of:

“I brought u a pizza hunny.”

(This is the only line I would ever dare repeat anywhere.)

I see myself at 35 at almost the same way I did when I was 17 and 110 pounds - disgusting and untouchable. I see these men - and I mean, just forget about their paunchiness, baldness, or anything else. Let’s strip away ALL physical aspects. Let’s talk about ESSENCE. These men, these oh so ordinary men, worse than ordinary or boring, worse than nothing, think they could talk to a 14 year old girl for 2 days and seduce her with “ur so cute?”

I’m so much better than a sex offender, why don’t I have the audacity to believe in myself this way at work or in my social interactions (half kidding because they are totally delusional)? Jesus. I don’t know what I’m talking about anymore.

I have a fear of being seen as weird/annoying/insane. (God, I hope this is a mark of sanity somehow, or at least benevolence). Social interactions are like exciting exercises for me. Because I do care about people! But I have to keep doing all of these things. I can be myself entirely around my friends and family and they know I have a good heart and mean well. They are lovely, loving people. And we understand what’s at the heart of each other.

Yet in surface level relationships I’m sometimes worried that I’ll smile at the wrong time, or laugh too long, or stare off into the distance and a spectator will be like: “Wait a minute. I don’t know why Caitlin is STILL laughing at this joke. Everyone else has stopped. And why did she over explain herself during that meeting? Is something wrong? Is it possible that she’s been in a mental hospital? Could she have been MORE THAN ONCE?”

(I guarantee no one is thinking about me this often and this is not the thought sequence of any normal person, but anxiety is a bitch).

When people I know casually find out I have a history of depression they often seemed shocked. I am always shocked by their shock! I perceive it as obvious - because it is so pervasive.

And then if I’m fooling all of these people into believing I’m “just like a typical woman” - then who the hell is fooling me?

The mind reels.