Kat Atwell is a freelance writer, blogger & stage presence telling stories that deliver laughs, validation & community.

Mental Health | Wellness & Self Image | Experiential & Reviews

But I don't waaaannnnnnnna write.

I can't tell you how much I didn't want to get online and type this evening. I had just gotten myself all excited at the prospect of taking a bath and starting to read a new book (this one, in case you're interested), and then realized I hadn't written.

Ladies and gentlemen - a quick note: Several of you have reached out to me about what I've been writing, and it's made me feel really good, so thank you. It makes me want to write more, despite the seemingly neverending mood swing I've been on.

I'm going through an extremely rotten time, emotionally speaking.

For those who have known me for awhile, I've been feeling similar to the way I felt way back when in early 2006. It was in April, come to think of it. I noticed the ups and downs hitting with more frequency, but I wasn't prepared for the bottoming out that occurred last Friday. As a result of the repeated bouts of tears and feelings of helplessness, I've been to the doctor twice in the past three days. I am going to find a new psychiatrist, hopefully tomorrow, and I've "come out" to more people than I care to admit to about my diagnosis.

I get mad at myself when I feel ashamed of living with bipolar illness. If I wasn't me, I'd go above and beyond trying to convince someone of their self-worth, and uniqueness, and remind them over and over that the world is an imperfect place, and regardless of whatever words are attached to their behaviors, everyone's a little weird. We're all valid.

Here's a quote for you:

This man beside us also has a hard fight with an unfavouring world, with strong temptations, with doubts and fears, with wounds of the past which have skinned over, but which smart when they are touched. It is a fact, however surprising. And when this occurs to us we are moved to deal kindly with him, to bid him be of good cheer, to let him understand that we are also fighting a battle; we are bound not to irritate him, nor press hardly upon him nor help his lower self. - John Watson

The experience is humbling. A nurse had to ask me if I was suicidal on Sunday, and my immediate thought was, "Holy shit, how bad must it look if they actually think I'd ever go to such lengths?" I felt ashamed that I'd given that impression. That's a hard question to ask of anyone, but it's even harder to answer, I'd think, in either regard.

I'm not, by the way. If you know someone who is, help them and take them seriously. You can find more resources here.

Sunday night, before I passed out, I had so many thoughts flying through my head. I'd gone to church that morning, and the message resonated so deeply. I took notes. Of course, given the sheer exhaustion (and impending bath) that's staring me in the face, that discourse isn't happening tonight.

PS - Here's the picture my husband took of me Sunday night, when I passed out while actually trying to write a journal entry - no kidding:



However, getting back to that whole thing about being humbled, I wanted to make a request. If you do know me personally, or hell, even if you don't, I could really use a kind word. Right now I need to be reminded of just how many people are out there who do give a damn. I know I'm not worth giving up on, despite what my inner voice would like me to believe, but I'm asking for help, and that's the crappiest part of this whole process. I don't need saving, and I don't need pity, but I do need reassurance and kindness.

Take care of you and yours. Lots of love. Now, the bath and book beckon. Alliteration.


Hope.

Sludge.