update

i got a promotion this week — Clinical Director — at tpcp.org… excited to make a greater impact for our community … listening and speaking from the heart … helping my team of outpatient case workers support our people out in South Natomas and North Highlands … life is more and more challenging on the streets … what with mental illness and socioeconomic challenges … cultural/racial injustices. i ask myself every day: what more can i do to help? at least i have a small platform and some skills to offer. 8 years clean off the hard stuff. what with the poetry, the books, my friends, my work, life keeps getting more and more exciting. planning to self-publish my first book of poetry, so far about 92 poems deep. i appreciate all of you here, on this our WordPress community. – k

march of the mobile homes

when water boils down

relationships and typewriters take

dust my health i try to care. the country the past

the future depression a sensual affair

worlds in the saucepan wander the

march of mobile homes. a paved road

beneath which all

life settles and

i won’t

you cannot care too much

i got keyed up

tearful unable to speak

reflecting what you told me

had happened 

they called me overinvolved they

said i lost perspective

they wanted to pull the case

out from under me. i

fought back 2 show it only

makes me work harder

to help

#katyamills

life after psych meds

gave you back 

what you lost you

wake up wanting to 

face the world

though frightened

you live a little

life after psych meds 

feel yourself falling you 

twitter like a baby bird

arms high

full with down 

now fly

#katyamills 

hero.ic

super motivation for
emulation

you say i saved you
cannot we both be one another’s
inspiration?
my trail is shorter than yours
i see you far ahead and what
has happened

weeks i was catatonic mired
in depression. could not write
my verses

we were meant to be
to resist to

fight this morbid tendency cannot
we read the story

aloud?

something about
being worn down and off

and out
so bad you become
real

27.20

i had to learn how to live all over again, after the trauma. i didn’t completely lose my ability to write or speak or communicate, but it did something to my nervous system, and i could not think clearly. my thought process was fragmented and tangential. my moods stood me up and walked me into altercations. my thoughts put on a show, racing recklessly into the night. i lived this way for several years. 7 years later i am doing well. i am calm and charged and can talk to anyone and look you in the eye. i am not easily triggered into fight or flight or freeze. i give thanks. i dedicate my life to communicating some hope to those who feel hopeless in the world.

ptsd in me

years back
some awful stuff
i witnessed
i lived

i carried a diagnosis
ptsd

a gang of sensations
still oppress me
from time to time

this inability to relax or feel calm
for days on end. particularly around dreaded
anniversaries

i check the deadbolts again and again
and still cannot feel safe

in my own home
in the fellowship of friends

in my own head

despite the love
of family

i hope they go away
but if they do not
i can be thankful
i survived

depression.ex

I won’t allow my depression a millimeter, a fraction of a second, an incomplete thought, a syllable, a single note, a lapse of judgment, a crumb of cake, a seed, a drop of water, a feather to float itself out on… all my depression can have is a one way ticket to a polar ice cap, where it may¬†freely¬†melt itself out of existence.

seeing blue

what can i tell you when i feel discouraged and you feel discouraged, too? all i can tell you is look, we all get down and see blue. all i see in you is you are real with that feeling, you are holding, exuding the pain. this is making you more of who you are. someone i can love. you are real to me. i can see your struggle in your eyes and hear it in your words. the depth of your blues mirrors my own, and you touch me where before i was alone.