I would say that you coming to Whitstable and stumbling upon the Blessing of the Animals is a Sign - your people are right there, in papier maché heads, getting pebbles in their shoes 🤍🤍🤍
"I know it will be worth it, but when panic stands on the shoulders of panic and I feel myself sinking, it’s hard to keep going." You've described what you're feeling so eloquently, Katy. Amazing writing.
And that comment you made, asking others to continue being themselves, "You are beautiful and valuable to me, even on your darkest day." Well, that's how I feel about you, too. I love how you express yourself. Please keep writing and keep sharing – I hope there might be some catharsis in it and that the overwhelm of what you're currently going through does ease off.
You are no alien, Katy. You are zebra and oil and moon and tide, creator and maker and truth-teller. And you are the small flame at the bottom of the darkness. Never forget these things. You will come through. x
I too found your words both beautiful and terrifying. Your thoughts on death resonate especially as that's essentially where I am. I cannot imagine not being here, and I want to continue to be here despite all the horrors (internal and external), and it depresses me that I won't be. I'm at an age where I know I don't have my life in front of me, and both I and those closest to me have (relatively) few years left, which is frightening, depressing and panic inducing -- and so hard to shut out.
I'm minded to say I'm where you are, but am I? If I am, mine is nowhere near as deep and terrifying as yours. I function in the outside world, but inside (and at home) I'm about as useful and animated as a rabbit with a headache in the headlights.
I too have the hope that things might get better. I've long had the belief that there's a simple switch (like a light switch) in my head, and that if only I could find it I could switch it to the other position and all would be resolved; but I've never found it, even with hypnosis.
So we just have to do our best to keep going, cling on to that hope, and see what magic will happen. xoxoxo
PS. I find it interesting that in these times of greater enlightenment over mental health, I'm so far apparently the only male to have picked up on this and commented. Which, sadly, probably says most about the state of most men's heads.
The only words I can find to say to you, having read this, are your own: I love you and I need you to keep being you. You give me hope that things can be better. You remind me of reasons to stay here. You are beautiful and valuable to me, even on your darkest day.
It must have been very challenging to put all that out there and write so eloquently about it. I’m glad you did, though I’m sorry that you are suffering so much. I have been there. It feels never-ending. I’ve also read KM’s book and it helped me to self-identify as neurodiverse in a very healing and empowering way. It does sound possible that you have similar issues (incidentally I’ve heard several stories of autistic shutdowns in the middle of busy shopping trips, so that sounds like a red flag to me). In my latest bout of despair, I found David Whyte’s collection Essentials very helpful, particularly his beautiful prose poem on the experience of despair (much more uplifting than it sounds, but also very honest). Stay in touch, there are many of us here to hold you. x
This is so beautifully written Katy. You have encapsulated something, which I feel is very human. I find this post incredibly relatable and very moving.
I have extreme bouts of ill mental health and have throughout my life. I’m starting to think that maybe mine is also linked to neurodiversity too.
Your words have meant a lot to me today and I very much enjoy reading your posts. I hope that the chatter and overwhelm subsides and the light pours in. X
Wow Katy, this is such beautiful writing. I didn't know that Plath poem before you shared it but what a powerful read - the 'blackness and silence', I can feel the weight of it in her words and in yours. Thank you for sharing and I hope that stepping out of the shadows might have lifted some of the weight for you - we see you and we're grateful for you and we can try to soak up or carry some of the darkness too if it helps. And I'm so glad the zebra analogy came at at time when you needed to see it - yay to zebras (and to jellyfish!)
at the risk of sounding cliche, just want to offer a simple thank you for this. for you being you—the vulnerability, honesty, and for staying around even when it is so very hard. and having a “stash of joy moments”…wisest words I read today.
Hugs to you for your grit and determination and for the exhausting relentlessness of it all. You’re an effing Good Egg, as my friend is wont to say, in all your selves. x
Oh yes, deep diving in the Mariana Trench. I see you. I've been there. Hell yes it's exhausting when you're in the thick of the work...and there is an Other Side to it all. You haven't scared me off yet, laydee!
I would only ask, what little one within is scared and looking for a way up to the surface? Perhaps healing lies in the answer to that question.
I read your beautiful and terrifying words, and it gave me hope: both for someone very close to me who is struggling to find his zebra-way, and for my own dips into darkness. I know there is no way to wave a wand and magically put your mind at ease. But your words have eased mine. You are making your way forward with honesty and courage. You have the compassion to share your vulnerability with us. Know that we are here, and carrying you in our hearts.
This is eiree. You just wrote what is inside my head. You peeled open the blankness behind my eyes like unwinding a bloody bandage and the angst was allowed to flow, wet and dark.
Your beautiful words. Our beautiful minds. I've tattooed my zebra-ness onto me as a visible reminder. Doesn't stop the black veil from coming down over my eyes sometimes but, it is my guiding light home to myself again. Keep making and resting and eating x
I would say that you coming to Whitstable and stumbling upon the Blessing of the Animals is a Sign - your people are right there, in papier maché heads, getting pebbles in their shoes 🤍🤍🤍
They are. x
"I know it will be worth it, but when panic stands on the shoulders of panic and I feel myself sinking, it’s hard to keep going." You've described what you're feeling so eloquently, Katy. Amazing writing.
And that comment you made, asking others to continue being themselves, "You are beautiful and valuable to me, even on your darkest day." Well, that's how I feel about you, too. I love how you express yourself. Please keep writing and keep sharing – I hope there might be some catharsis in it and that the overwhelm of what you're currently going through does ease off.
Hurrah for zebras!
Hoorah for zebras indeed. x
You are no alien, Katy. You are zebra and oil and moon and tide, creator and maker and truth-teller. And you are the small flame at the bottom of the darkness. Never forget these things. You will come through. x
Thank you so much. xx
I too found your words both beautiful and terrifying. Your thoughts on death resonate especially as that's essentially where I am. I cannot imagine not being here, and I want to continue to be here despite all the horrors (internal and external), and it depresses me that I won't be. I'm at an age where I know I don't have my life in front of me, and both I and those closest to me have (relatively) few years left, which is frightening, depressing and panic inducing -- and so hard to shut out.
I'm minded to say I'm where you are, but am I? If I am, mine is nowhere near as deep and terrifying as yours. I function in the outside world, but inside (and at home) I'm about as useful and animated as a rabbit with a headache in the headlights.
I too have the hope that things might get better. I've long had the belief that there's a simple switch (like a light switch) in my head, and that if only I could find it I could switch it to the other position and all would be resolved; but I've never found it, even with hypnosis.
So we just have to do our best to keep going, cling on to that hope, and see what magic will happen. xoxoxo
PS. I find it interesting that in these times of greater enlightenment over mental health, I'm so far apparently the only male to have picked up on this and commented. Which, sadly, probably says most about the state of most men's heads.
We bugger on, don't we? It's beautiful and terrifying all at once. xx
The only words I can find to say to you, having read this, are your own: I love you and I need you to keep being you. You give me hope that things can be better. You remind me of reasons to stay here. You are beautiful and valuable to me, even on your darkest day.
Thank you. xx
It must have been very challenging to put all that out there and write so eloquently about it. I’m glad you did, though I’m sorry that you are suffering so much. I have been there. It feels never-ending. I’ve also read KM’s book and it helped me to self-identify as neurodiverse in a very healing and empowering way. It does sound possible that you have similar issues (incidentally I’ve heard several stories of autistic shutdowns in the middle of busy shopping trips, so that sounds like a red flag to me). In my latest bout of despair, I found David Whyte’s collection Essentials very helpful, particularly his beautiful prose poem on the experience of despair (much more uplifting than it sounds, but also very honest). Stay in touch, there are many of us here to hold you. x
Thank you, and thank you for the recommendation. xx
This is so beautifully written Katy. You have encapsulated something, which I feel is very human. I find this post incredibly relatable and very moving.
I have extreme bouts of ill mental health and have throughout my life. I’m starting to think that maybe mine is also linked to neurodiversity too.
Your words have meant a lot to me today and I very much enjoy reading your posts. I hope that the chatter and overwhelm subsides and the light pours in. X
Keep well, and thank you so much for your words of encouragement. xx
Wow Katy, this is such beautiful writing. I didn't know that Plath poem before you shared it but what a powerful read - the 'blackness and silence', I can feel the weight of it in her words and in yours. Thank you for sharing and I hope that stepping out of the shadows might have lifted some of the weight for you - we see you and we're grateful for you and we can try to soak up or carry some of the darkness too if it helps. And I'm so glad the zebra analogy came at at time when you needed to see it - yay to zebras (and to jellyfish!)
Thank you for witnessing. xx
Just the most beautiful writer and person x
Love you. x
at the risk of sounding cliche, just want to offer a simple thank you for this. for you being you—the vulnerability, honesty, and for staying around even when it is so very hard. and having a “stash of joy moments”…wisest words I read today.
sending a hug from across the pond. 🧡
Thank you. xx
Hugs to you for your grit and determination and for the exhausting relentlessness of it all. You’re an effing Good Egg, as my friend is wont to say, in all your selves. x
Not a spongy egg (my daughter's worst insult!) thank you. xx
Oh yes, deep diving in the Mariana Trench. I see you. I've been there. Hell yes it's exhausting when you're in the thick of the work...and there is an Other Side to it all. You haven't scared me off yet, laydee!
I would only ask, what little one within is scared and looking for a way up to the surface? Perhaps healing lies in the answer to that question.
It does. I have been attempting to take care of her. xx
Thanks for being the amazing human that you are Katy.
thank you for reading. x
I read your beautiful and terrifying words, and it gave me hope: both for someone very close to me who is struggling to find his zebra-way, and for my own dips into darkness. I know there is no way to wave a wand and magically put your mind at ease. But your words have eased mine. You are making your way forward with honesty and courage. You have the compassion to share your vulnerability with us. Know that we are here, and carrying you in our hearts.
Thank you. I appreciate that so very much. x
This is eiree. You just wrote what is inside my head. You peeled open the blankness behind my eyes like unwinding a bloody bandage and the angst was allowed to flow, wet and dark.
I hope you are feeling better, even if only a little. xx
Your beautiful words. Our beautiful minds. I've tattooed my zebra-ness onto me as a visible reminder. Doesn't stop the black veil from coming down over my eyes sometimes but, it is my guiding light home to myself again. Keep making and resting and eating x
I will. I love the idea of the tattoo. Thank you. x