Time left you in the streets

Sent this to my sister after reading some of her old stuff. Kinda like it.

You aren’t what I remembered: the cascading beauty that I always longed for. My memory decided it was better to not know you completely. My memory was right.

I read those words again–the beautiful ones… the ones that were always on the tip of my tongue… never written… except by you. But you stopped and I started where you left off. But. It will never be you. It won’t be as good and as beautiful. It won’t be those short snippets of fireflies and truck bed dates. It’ll just be… me. A little rhetorical. Mostly holding up parallels hoping that someone else might find them interesting. But most will just laugh at the repetition. The apparent desperation for a certain point to be recognized. It’ll never be the words you wrote. It’ll never be the pretty snippets all creatively timed. It’ll just be me. And I imagine you reading “me” and cringing at some of it. I imagine you laughing at other parts. I imagine you crying at most. Because that’s you. And it wouldn’t even have anything to do with how your words form those perfect bits that I just dream of… it would just be the same reaction you always have to me and those same things I write… just the same as how your beautiful snippets inspire a despair in my soul because those snippets were only of despair.

We wrote everything different; you were praised by English teachers, and I was praised by Calculus teachers. I never wanted to step on your toes. And I never do. And I never will.

Sometimes here I think how I’m alright and you’re alright both in our own rights. Right now is irrelevant because this doesn’t even make sense. But, mostly, I look at some of both of ours writing and I think how different it is. How… how different… so you can’t really scale it. But personally. I think you’re way better.

Especially right now. I don’t have much on the side of creativity. I just have lists and facts and a book split into perfect seasons. There’s a main event each season, and, sometime, I’ll invite you to sit and watch, but, mostly, I’m thinking how the random snippets you have are what I wish I could send out.

And there’s that feeling. When your words are read, there’s that cascading. We fall, fall, fall into each new word and sentence and fragment until the sudden stop. But it’s always a perfect stop.

And I know if you read my snippets you’d say the same and you’d say how you hated all your endings or non-endings… but most of all you’d say how you hated that blank page you left on your nightstand when the pen was too heavy and the words wouldn’t come.

I’ll tell you how the words aren’t coming and it is awful and you’ll read the pieces that are full of cliches and laugh how I laughed when I buried them away. And then we’ll grow quiet cause we both know that when we started burying those awful cliche filled snippets we started burying creativity along with it. We started holding out for the right moment, the right feeling, the right words when we know we aren’t supposed to. We know we’re supposed to write everyday and write what you know and write… bird by bird. But we stopped looking out the window at the birds and became too absorbed in the inexpressible, all-consuming (and often irrelevant) emotion behind everything.

So. I imagine us in silence and I imagine all this and our un-had conversations when I put down the drafting pencil for a pen, CADD for Word, and I imagine how I pick up that pen again and I write about the cliche and I write every cliche and I write about the birds and their obvious colors and behaviors that everyone knows and I write the dialogue we’ve all had and I write and write and write, never feeling inspired or creative and I look back towards you… I look back towards you and you have a daughter who’s writing, a son who’s building, and a baby who’s listening… and I see that your heart came alive in a way our words never will and in a way our words never even could.


Today, I logged on and looked at my wordpress stats and found that I have had more than ONE THOUSAND views on my blog! Awesome!
This is so exciting! There is hardly ever a day that goes by when I do not get visitors here, and I really appreciate it! Writing has become such a wonderful form of therapy and seeing consistent views helps me believe that I don’t absolutely suck at it. In fact, sometimes I think it goes quite well! Even when I move, have mono, and start a new job and relationship so my posts diminish for a while, I still have all these people coming here. Makes me feel special. 🙂
Thank you! I love you all! Thanks for bringing my blog to over a thousand views!
-Katherine Z

Determination and Pets

I am sitting in Panera picking dirt out from beneath my fingernails with the same pocket knife that I have used to slit my wrists in the past. Sadness and a slight look of helplessness would waft across my father’s face if he knew the uses I have put his Christmas gift to.

Determination is the only thing I currently have on my side, or so I feel. When words begin flowing across the screen, I determine that this is how I will spend my days and my knife will never see the red of blood again. But there is no promise. Determination does not guarantee another fall into depression of the magnitude that I have experienced in the past.

I have missed posting blogs, but in the midst of moving and decisions and revelations and new jobs, I have had a lot on my mind that I feel is not worth sharing here. To say the least, life has been simple.

There is less drama, and the insufferable roar of jealousy haunts me no more. I once again am left without attachments, but I have found a purpose in my words. My English class is teaching me more awareness and better editing skills, and in considering the state of the world and my experiences, I have decided to focus my writing, and thus my career, on opening the world to discussions of mental illness. The stigmas surrounding psychiatric disorders used to leave me hiding, but what is wrong with hiding diabetes? Or cancer? Or heart disease? Depression, schizophrenia, or bipolar disorder all have a physical cause. Yes, outside things may influence them, akin to how everything gives you cancer in the state of California. Yes, they can be harder to diagnose and target, but medical research is constantly advancing in this.

So, I finally have a focus, and my determination paired with this focus will enable me to recover from any relapse.

Upon adopting Antonio, my adorable Australian Sugar Glider, I decided that I need to research the use of Sugar Gliders as emotional support animals. When I adopted him, I instantly noticed an improvement in my mood. The hardest part of my depression is waking up at 3am every morning feeling completely empty and alone, but now I wake to the sound of my nocturnal companion running around his cage. Playing with him until I can finally fall back asleep has alleviated the majority of my emotional disturbances throughout the night.

Honestly, this is a life-altering adoption for me. Children have never interested me, but a pet I can put in my pocket and carry around with me all day while he sleeps and then play with him when I wake up at odd nightly hours is perfect.

So, if you struggle with insomnia or depression, consider adopting a Sugar Glider. At some point when I am not sitting in Panera I will take some pictures of Antonio and talk about his amazingness more, but there is only time for a short introduction right now.