The Battle 

Not one, not two, but three friends have called me tonight so far. 

I have maybe 15 hours to myself for the first time all week and I won’t have an entire day to myself for probably a good three weeks. 

Not to mention the epic battle of my true past that I’ve been coping with. The pain, the sadness, the CONSTANT REPLAY OF IMAGES AND FEELINGS AND OTHER TRAUMA RELATED STUFF is so much to bear on top of the stresses of work and finances and watching your parents age not-so-gracefully. 

It’s a mountain of stress. And I have a mountain of emotions and shit to process on top of that?! I totally did not sign up for this. I wanted the scenic route not the black diamond climb. 

But here I am, facing the truths in my past and coping with it every day. Learning from it every single day. Keep breathing everyday. 

There’s got to be goodness somewhere in this valley. Something I can get my grip on to help me begin my climb. 

I’m writing this down so it’s not taking up so much space in my brain.

What if I never find happiness? In anything?

In writing, or being with friends or family, or wearing my favorite clothes or reading books – what if all of my happiness is gone? What if I have to deal with this swarming, nauseating feeling in my gut? Will my eyes always feel like they’re seconds away from sleeping? Will my shoulders always lay limp on my neck because I can’t find purpose or meaning enough to sit up straight?

Even if the windows are down in my car while blasting my favorite music, that hollow, empty swarm of sadness still sends me to a place of neutrality. Like nothing I do or say or feel matters.

Who or what am I living for? Right now? It feels like I’m just wasting time before I’m dead.

I just want to go home, but when I go home it isn’t home.

My heart burns and my stomach feels so tight and empty and my skin feels like it’s trying to produce its own version of icy-hot. And it’s all for what? For nothing. I really just don’t want to be here anymore.

Tue May 9 1:14PM

Everything feels dull.

The sunshine in May is supposed to feel warm and bright and soft all at the same time, but all it feels like to me? It is the same feeling you get when you go to your favorite restaurant and they’re out of your favorite item, or when you go to take a shower and you try to adjust the temperature but you just give up because you’re in a hurry so it’s tepid and unsatisfying and when you get out, the air clings to you.

I can’t even feel the sun, to be honest. I see it shine, but I can’t feel it anymore.

Why is everyone else able to soak up the glow of the sun? Why is it reflecting off of me like a mirror? I still feel like I’m stuck in January with wet slush tucked into my socks and grey clouds following me with every vividly visible, cold breath I take.

Pain doesn’t even feel good anymore.

I’ve bitten my lip raw to the point of not feeling anything anymore when I bite. I could not possibly cut myself. I can just see myself getting fired for something like that. “You show up here with cut marks on your arms, Katie? Really? Don’t be so dramatic. Cover your arms up and go take photos of people doing things. And if those photos come back shitty, I’ll make sure I gently slide it into conversation every once in a while in front of people so they, too, know how shitty your photos were. Also, you are bad at what you do.”

I’m so tired. I just want to sleep for like five days. I just want to be alone for five days.

I just want to be alone.

Being around people is damn exhausting. I’m so easily distracted. My mind can’t seem to focus on one task. Even now I’m switching between writing this, writing what I need to be writing for, and playing with the correction tape, and my phone, and thinking about 20 different ways to hurt or off myself. I’m being real with y’all. Thinking of ways to die is a pretty common thing in my head.  It’s an “anywhere but here” mentality, and even if I change locations, the thought follows. It’s like it haunts me. I can’t be happy anywhere.

I feel my panic bubble under my skin.

Like when Harry and Ron and Hermione drink the Polyjuice potion, and their skin starts bubbling like angry water on a hot stove? That’s how the panic feels. It’s the most eerie, off-putting, distracting feeling in the world. I feel it wrapped around my clavicle bones and clinging deep on the inside of my stomach. It makes me lurch from time to time. What’s crazy is I feel like I go ghost white and pale and whatever, but I swear if I was dying I’d still keep color in my face.

I just want it all to stop. Everything. Just for like… a week… so I can mentally catch up to the physical world. It’s like I’m on a different plane of existence. I wish it came with invisibility. Let’s be honest, I just wish I was a witch in general.


But in all seriousness, I don’t know how much longer I can fight this depression. Every time I think I have shaken it, it comes back two fold. Like a monster made of hot tar. It just sticks and burns all the more. And I think it’s killing me.


I feel trapped. I feel like I can’t tell anyone. I don’t want to tell anyone. It keeps digging deeper and deeper inside my spirit; tearing my self-esteem, my self-worth, my self-image apart. Tearing it into pieces. And the secret eats those pieces whole. And leaves me hollow. And distant. And numb. And stagnant. And ugly. And alone.



More than anything I feel alone in the worst ways.


Because I know I am the only one in my world who gives a fuck enough about me to keep me going. If that makes any sense.


Tools to look back on

When you are triggered by what happened, my therapist told me to imagine someone intervening and saving me.

I chose Barney the Dinosaur as my savior.

He was the only creature I felt comfortable coming in at the 11th hour in my mind.


Dr. B says that our bodies remember trauma when our brains sometimes forget. So, when a smell or a feeling or a name or something comes up that triggers my trauma, it is wise to remember to take biiiig deeeep breaths.


Don’t dwell. It happened. It actually fucking happened, and I choose not to cover it up anymore, or burry it like I have. It’s happened quite a few times in my life. And every one of those events fucking happened. Do not diminish that they happened, but do not dwell on it either. Move forward.


She also told me that there’s like short-term trauma and long-term trauma. Depressive episodes are expected to be fairly frequent for a while. Make room for that time to cry or be sad or lay low or whatever. Just keep going.

Don’t let this ruin you. May this only make you stronger.

Fri Mar 31 12:36PM

Ollie is sharing the window with me today. He’s also enjoying the birds. Just like his sister. They came from the same family of kitties on my beloved friend Cait’s farm. And, for the record she’s also on that list of amazing women I mentioned in my previous post.

She’s an amazing writer. Super intelligent. Hilarious. Brave as fuck. Stunningly beautiful. The minute I met that girl, I knew she was going big places. We were able to enjoy each other’s company many times. God, that sounds like we did lesbian stuff. Not that lesbian stuff is bad! Shit. No. I’m just saying if you ever have the opportunity to befriend Caitlin Fillmore, do it. She has done so much good for feeling like I belong in a group of women who get me. I can just hear her now laughing at how much I adore her. She would then gently touch my forearm and say something elegantly witty like, “bitches get shit done.”

I didn’t know what I had until it was gone. She was an hour or so south of me and now she’s across the country. She’s living a lavish lifestyle of comfortable mattresses and high end dog parks out in California now. But my gurl is from Wisconsin, so the minute she’s home, I am wining, dining and sweet-carolining that woman. I am a cunt of a friend for not being able to see her before she left. I had the worst cold of 2016 and I missed it. I’ll be regretting that for a while. Thanks, anxiety.

Maybe I should name my anxiety Donald because Donald ruins everything.



Ok, so random story. I saw a quiz on Facebook that turned my mood fairly sour. So, naturally, I fixed it:

(I’ve removed the original content to protect the innocent.)

Child test. No coaching… just write exactly what they say!!
What is your name? …she won’t answer you. Her name is Opal. And she’s my cat.
How old are you? Meow
How old is mommy ? Meow
What is your favorite color? Meow
What is your favorite food? Meow?
Who is your best friend? Meow
What is your favorite animal? *makes chirpy noises at birds outside (no joke this actually happened bwahaha!!)*
What are you scared of? *watches birds*
What is your favorite show? Mow *chirp chirp chirpy*
What makes you sad? aaaand she ran off…
What makes you happy? My cats make me happy.
Where is your favorite place to go?…mrow? Ollie has entered. But seriously, rub it in that you have/can have kids by taking this quiz and posting it on Facebook. Your child wins most adorable person of the year, k?
What do you want to be when you grow up? I wanted to be a mom. I don’t get to be. I’m bitter. I feel robbed every day of that. And you’re rubbing it in my face. But also at the same time, please rub it in my face that you have made little people because I kind of want to live vicariously through you. Because I’m jealous. And bitter.
What does love really mean?
…This is a fucked up kid’s quiz. I don’t even know the answer to that.
So, what started out as a cute “look my cats are my kids lol” post, it turned bitter. That’s okay. Opal and Ollie weren’t really that into taking the quiz.



I am in a very dark place.

Devoid of meaning, of purpose, of feeling.

I have literally merely existed for the past three days.

Wake up, eat, sleep, repeat. Nothing more, nothing less.

Today’s wild feat was setting foot outside. For maybe a total of 5 minutes.

Yesterday, I showered.


I don’t know how to shake this.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.

I feel hollow. I feel purposeless. I feel trapped.

I feel alone.

I’m very confused.