Telling storiesĀ 

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Kat. She has another name, often used in her little hamlet (read as: college town + low-income rural community – white flight suburb + lingering BU students) of Wacotown. But she often wished she had a nickname, since she was a little elementary school-aged girl. So her poet persona became Kat. A misspelling of a shortened form of her middle name. Pseudonymously hers.

In 2013, she started a blog, assuming she was mostly talking to herself. This was before she divorced her bio parents. Before she created her home. Before she left her grad program. Before she joined a PhD program. Before she fled All-but-dissertation completed. Before she spent 10 days in May at a psychiatric hospital. Before she met Dr H and A. 

After: she entered and exited several depressive episodes. Some acute. More severe. After she met a therapist whom she trusts with her life. After she saw and sees a psychiatrist who believes her and helps her. After she stopped writing. After joy returned. Then left then returned. 

Now: hoping to hope and wondering where she is going. Reminding herself, sometimes hope is not knowing or believing at all. Hope is wondering. Service terrier in her lap, on-call for her and wearing his camo vest. Sleeping on her lap.

Image description: Black and grey terrier laying on a lap. He is wearing a service dog vest with colorful buttons pinned on it.

This is me telling my story. 

Before. After. Now.

This is why. This is why. This is why. I write.