Abundant Blessings

Life has taken me so many places, but I plan to always be along for the ride.

As I continue to make my way out of the ocean that was a living hell in my mind, I am beginning to see the reality of the blessings I have received. Rising from drowning emotions and constant fatigue and a consuming hopelessness, God shows me the undeniable truth:

I Am Loved.

I missed two days of Prozac and, as I rose this morning, I felt all the nervousness and bleakness of my previous life returning. I prayed a short prayer and quickly consumed the sugar and caffeine that my addicted and tired body was craving. I prayed that it would hold me over till I could return home and have a more substantial meal and take my medication my dependent body desired.

I sat on the couch at my best friend’s mother’s house and considered my plans for the day and turned on my phone. As I read the first email in my inbox, I smiled.

I Smiled. It is one of those things I treasure. At work, there is the fake smile for greetings and goodbyes. There is the full of energy and optimistic me for job interviews and 8am-5pm days surrounding new people. These can only last so long without the proper amount of serotonin.

This email is why I smiled:
“Your  feature has been published and is viewable here: http://undergroundminds.com/katherine-zellmer-writer/
Let us know if there’s anything you’d like changed.

We can’t thank you enough for your interest in being featured on Underground Minds. It is truly an honor to have your work included among our pages. Please keep in touch, we would love to continue promoting your work!

The Underground Minds Team”

I am now a featured writer! On a brand new website that is on a search for originality.

And it is an honor for them to have my work on their pages! Now, I always think, with my pessimistic mind, that they must just be saying that because they know of my depression so don’t want to cause me any emotional trauma.

I might kill myself, you know?

Another thought popped in my head after that negativity.

I went to a job interview on Tuesday. There is where I embraced the side of me that wears me down to no end. I was happy. I was optimistic. I spoke of my strengths, emphasizing my wonderful interpersonal skills.

And I just felt more energized as the day progressed. Each positive thing I said was true. This was part of me. I am a hard worker. I do love meeting new people. I am perfect for this job.

I was happy. I fully enjoyed the next day I spent in a second interview where I shadowed an employee and learned what a whole day of work was like with the company. I wasn’t forcing smiles anymore. I was simply enjoying myself and smiling with no effort.

At some point, my days became beautiful. I am standing on my feet again. And people love my writing enough to post it on their prized website. And people enjoy my presence enough to bring me in for a second interview.

And hire me. I was informed of this yesterday at 10:36am over a phone call with the HR representative who doubles as the receptionist. We had become friends before my first interview as I spoke with her in the lobby. I smiled with her. I laughed with her. I listened to country music with her. It wasn’t twangy enough to bother me.

I know, today I am so very fatigued. My mind is in a fog. My emotions in disarray. But I also know that I will be fine and full of energy and life again when the chemicals in my brain re-stabalize. I know I am loved. I know I have positive traits and that life…

Life is good.

It has taken me so many places, but I plan to always be along for the ride.

Thank you to all my followers. I know I don’t have that many when compared to typical list writers or the comedic comics that sprawl the internet, but I am inclined to believe that I have something with substance here.

You have no idea how wonderful it is to see a new follower. How fun it is to imagine people enjoying my posts or hopefully being moved in some way or forced to think about things more. I just want to connect with people. We all experience worries and go through rough times and break hearts and get our hearts broken and cry and smile and laugh and cherish and hate and run to and from. We are all just humans trying to make it through this life and find a purpose. I hope and pray that every visitor here sees this truth and appreciates those around them and whatever situations they may be struggling through just a little more.

Thank you. 🙂

Best wishes,

Katherine Z

The Weight of Your Image

I notice my cracking skin. The screen of my galaxy s4 illuminates the dry and two-day unshaven crust of my legs. My calves jiggle with every movement and I cannot count how many of my hands could reach around my thighs. I’ve lost 25 pounds since winter, but like any addict I crave how it will feel to go one more step. Oh, just to lose one more pound.

And beneath the weight of crippling desire I begin to eat less. I have never had a typical teenage girl self-image problem, but in my twenties I encounter it, like an awful and massive homework assignment I have procrastinated on till the last night. Now, here I am, wondering why I haven’t previously encountered nor dealt with this common female problem.

So, why haven’t I? I begin to think I am immature. Naive. Reverting back to middle school girl behavior –IN MY TWENTIES.

Then I realize:
1. I have never even experienced this before.
2. When is it naive or not typical to be concerned about how I appear to others?
3. What human being has NOT experienced a questioning of self: whether involving one’s direction in life, one’s identity, or one’s personal life goals?

I thought about these things and felt better about my life and my general uneasiness and uncertainty.

Don’t ever dismiss your feelings. If you analyze them (even the painful ones), you will find out something exceptionally useful about yourself. Don’t ever stop looking for that single light in the dark. I promise you it is there. I promise you that you can find it.

The Moments of Love

You know them.

When you are sitting across from him on the porch and heaven itself would have to descend in front of you in order to keep you from nearing him. So inching closer to him is what you do. And in your drunken slur you tell him how much you love him, how much he means to you, how amazing he is, and how, if both of you were at that stage in life, you would marry him. You would commit your life to him.

And he mumbles a smile back in his sleep as he subconsciously hears the word “love” and feels your lips.

You wonder if this will only be a dream by the time you wake up and you are too sober for honesty and he is too awake to listen to your ramblings.

Wondering is all you can do.

Working as a Salesperson

Shortly after I arrived at work today a lady with her daughter entered my domain and began browsing the Simmons Beautyrest mattresses. In typical customer demeanor, she asked me various questions concerning the differences between the memory foam beds and hybrid beds and normal spring-based mattresses. As I would respond, her eyes wandered to her daughter of eight or nine years old and still untainted by the worries of life. I would quickly end my response and trace the path of her eyes towards the dress endowed girl with her mother’s shoulder length dirty blonde hair. She has yet to reach the age where she doesn’t adore her mother: I can see them at the hair dresser, mother cutting off her locks for a more summer worthy look and daughter holding her hand, bouncing excitedly and saying, “Mommy! I want my hair to be just like yours!”

While I was contemplating this, my eyes found her. She was dancing. Her mother told me that she is always dancing and a third of mother smiled, a third of her shrugged, and the rest kept her eyes from rolling. The daughter told me she loves to dance as she jumped on a mattress and I turned on the massage for her. She is studying Irish dancing. She grinned with pride as her feet moved to a beat that I could not hear. I complimented her on her venture and told her about my inability to dance.

She didn’t stay on any bed for long. She was up dancing from bed to bed as soon as she convinced her mother to try the massage on the first bed she laid on. She stood between two mattresses and placed her hands on each one so she could lift up her legs and swing back and forth. She spends most of her time on the monkey bars at playgrounds, mother watching with a slightly worried look.

After mother gathered all the information necessary for her preliminary mattress research, they began to leave. The daughter twirled and wished me a good day with a big smile and I returned the sentiment. These are the best moments here. Not when I sell the most expensive mattress on the floor. Not when I sell four sets to a family who just moved and decided to upgrade all their beds at the same time. Not when I’m rushing through a sale to get to the next sale and keep people from waiting. Though I was not getting paid for enjoying the presence of a child, I would never have traded those customers for all the mattress sales I could ask for.

And that is why I am a terrible salesperson.

Finding Creativity

I go through these phases. I don’t call them writer’s block as one typically would. No, this is just a personal issue. I just don’t feel like writing. I wake up and will do anything but write. That is a dilemma when I want to improve my writing.

I just feel like if I force it, it will be obvious that it is forced. And it will crumble under pressure. Beneath a light, all the cracks will be obvious. The discontinuities of my variable soul displayed in ink.

So, I’ll end up writing something that means nothing to me. I’ll write about events that aren’t real and feelings I have no reason to feel and maybe have never felt. I mix them in with my true feelings and the line starts to blur. I find myself wandering between reality and fantasy in my head and fantasy is always more interesting. I think I’ll make that my reality.

“Reality is a lovely place, but I wouldn’t want to live there.”

I’m starting to hold onto that quote like it means something to me. I am beginning to understand that everything about me has already been written, so I change my writing bit by bit to encompass a world separate from the one I know.

Another Rainstorm

The raindrops came in through the window and provided a sense of contentment for me that could not easily be surpassed by anything. But it faded. Within minutes the rain washed even the contentment it brought away and left me empty and ruined. My shoes darkened and weighted by the addition of water, I head home, only to realize that I forgot to bring my key. I sit on my porch and try to collect my thoughts while waiting for a roommate’s return.

This actually never happened. But I like the image of me sitting on the porch: my legs curled up with my arms holding them tight against my chest. I lean into my knees, tilt my head to the left, and rest my right cheek and temple between my knees. I close my eyes. The only sense I focus on is sound. I listen to the pitter-patter of the rain and how it collects on the porch’s roof and tumbles over in larger raindrops. It gives me an image of a doorway. In order to enter the gentle rain on a early summer day, you have to first go through the larger, metallic-tinted drops from the roof. And before you step on the dry planks of the wooden porch, you must receive one last line of rain.

I wish it would collect and collect and collect until, near the end of the rainfall, the porch would become a cave beneath and behind a waterfall-if only for a moment. Maybe I should put a tarp on the roof to collect all the water. I’ll attach it to a string that I can pull to release the water and give myself my own personal waterfall for one moment after each rainstorm.

Yeah. That sounds awesome.