Kate's Book Of Stuff

k.w. Copyright © All Rights Reserved duh.

[katesbookofstuff]

She’s a virgin Plastic foil on a box of tea Which gets torn by a man loosing purity.

She’s a virgin Cardboard box standing at his door Then it serves its function and it is no more.

– “Virgin” | k.w. Kate’s Book Of Stuff

[katesbookofstuff]

Struggling to put words on paper I forget to breathe.

10 Word Story #3 | k.w. Kate’s Book Of Stuff

[katesbookofstuff]

Depression is sitting in your room, locked up, finally alone.

Loneliness more bearable now that you're not surrounded by your friends who no longer recognize you.

Depression is trying to paint the coulds so they are not grey and white any more.

Depression is frantically trying to paint the clouds back gray when you start to see them black on the horizon.

Depression is wanting to fight against... Against what?

Depression is fighting against something you no longer remember.

Depression is not fighting anymore.

Depression is not asking for help because you were raised to be strong. You were raised to be a woman. A woman, it sounds proud. A woman is not weak. A woman can take care of herself. A woman. does not. need. help.

A woman will die afraid of asking for help.

Depression is not knowing how to answer when asked 'What is wrong?'

Depression is feeling weight on your shoulders, the weight of a monster, the monster tumbling down. The monster is the world. Society. School. Family... You.

Depression is not knowing where it all started. Depression is not knowing when.

Depression is skipping meals. You ate enough.

Last week.

Depression is looking in the mirror... and pulling... and pinching, scratching, cursing, crying.

Depression is black skinny jeans in the summer. T-shirts and hoodies three sizes too big, hanging off a slouched frame, covering thighs.

Depression is wishing you could die without consequences.

Depression is searching the Internet for motivation titled:

'Reasons To Stay Alive'.

Depression is not sadness.

Depression is fear. Emptiness.

Depression is not romantic.

Depression is hollow. Indifferent.

Depression is not late-night phone calls to your best friend after He broke up with you.

Depression is not crying over a failed exam.

Depression is dying every morning before going outside— numb, only to be resurected at night in the faint glow of the moon, who seems like the perfect company to your anxious torment.

Depression is an illness. Depression needs treatment.

Depression rarely gets treatment.

— Explaining My Depression To Everyone Who Still Doesn't Understand (May 2015)  | k.w. Kate’s Book of Stuff

[katesbookofstuff]

                                               what do I write about                               what do I write about what do I write about                         what do I write about what do I write about what do                  what do I write about what do I write about what do I write           what do I write about                                     what do I write about     what do I write about                                                  what do I write about  what do I write about                                                           what do I write about what do I write about                                                           what do I write about what do I write about                                                           what do I write about                                                                                        what do I write about                                                                                  what do I write about                                                                           what do I write about                                                                     what do I write about                                                              what do I write about                                                         what do I write about                                                  what do I write about                                                what do I write about                                               what do I write about                                               what to I write about                                               what do I write about                                               what do I write about                                               what do I write about                                               what do I write about                                            

                                                   what do I write                                                    what do I write                                                    what do I write                                                     what do I write

- Procrastination | k.w. Kate’s Book of Stuff

[katesbookofstuff]

Writing used to feel so natural to me.

Now it is nothing but nerve-racking. Constant questions in my mind whether it’s any good, any special. How can I improve it? I cannot, can I? There’s nothing I can do to make it great. To reach the level others have reached. 

I spend my days reminiscing on the past, how it felt so liberating to write whatever the heck I wanted to. Why can’t I do that anymore? Of course I can, but for some reason it feels like this priviledge has been somehow taken away from me.

I’ve been trying to work on that. On making myself feel like I have the right to write. To create. And to create things that may not be what I want them to be. But I have to start somewhere.

And this is exactly what I’m doing right now. I’m starting. Once again. And probably not for the last time. Not yet. But that’s OK.

- Something That Had to be Written a Long Time Ago | k.w. Kate’s Book of Stuff

[katesbookofstuff]

The first time we met was unexpected. Our lives filled with mental issues and family problems. 21st century Europe with days too short and nights bursting with longing. Wage gaps, gender roles, rape culture, white priviledge and a battle for equality. That was the first time we met. The first time we fell in love. And neither of us were searching for it.

The Times We Met | k.w. Kate’s Book Of Stuff

[katesbookofstuff]

Sometimes I cry because life is hard and music tends to be too adequate.

Tales Of People Who Feel Too Much #1 | k.w. Kate’s Book Of Stuff

[katesbookofstuff]

[katesbookofstuff]

They all seem to be growing up in the same way. Drinking, partying, friends and laughter. And I'm just left here, walking in a whole different direction. On my own.

Thoughts I Dream At Night #9 | k.w. Kate’s Book Of Stuff

[katesbookofstuff]

You are not the only one touched by a tragedy.

10 Word Story #2 | k.w. Kate’s Book Of Stuff

[katesbookofstuff]

As she fluttered her eyelashes the fairy dust fell under her eyes magically turning into golden freckles scattered all over her cheekbones.

– Fairy Tale Queen | k.w. Kate’s Book Of Stuff

[katesbookofstuff]

His price for breaking our friendship was a bottle of wine. Mine– a neverending childhood.

A Tale Of Two People | k.w. Kate’s Book Of Stuff

[katesbookofstuff]

There’s this certain kind of wine that tastes like getting drunk. It’s my favourite type but when I drink it all I can taste are late night walks on New Year’s Eve, all-night-long parties at my best friend’s house while her parents are away, and my 18th birthday. House packed with people. Music. Darkness. Sweat, laughter and love. I got used to the idea that getting drunk feels like warmth and light and happiness and stars. It’s so hard to get drunk on sadness now. It’s hard to make wine taste like regret when all you can feel on your tongue are the only memories you don’t want to erase.

I Always Knew I’d End Up Like Bridget Jones | k.w. Kate’s Book Of Stuff

[katesbookofstuff]

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for not becoming a singer.  I’m sorry for being too scared to try.

I’m sorry for not becoming a writer. I’m sorry for being too inconsistent to make it.

I’m sorry for not becoming a princess because I thought it would make me look too weak, too fragile. I’m sorry for being too afraid of getting hurt. 

I’m sorry for not becoming a girlfriend.  I’m sorry for always taking too long.

I’m sorry for not becoming a wife. I’m sorry for always saying nothing else but ‘no’.

And most of all I’m sorry for not becoming a mother.  I’m sorry for being too damn selfish. 

- “How Do We Forgive Ourselves For All The Things We Did Not Become?” | k.w. Kate’s Book Of Stuff

[katesbookofstuff]

Lately I’ve been wondering, how does being in love feel like. Because I’ve always thought that when I feel it, I’ll know. But I’m not so sure anymore. Because it never feels close enough to being in love. Maybe I don’t know what being in love is supposed to feel like. Maybe I’ve already been in love and I’ve simply missed it. Or maybe I haven’t. But it still makes me afraid that if I ever fall in love, I won’t notice it. I’m afraid that I will miss my chance.  - Thoughts I Dream At Night #8 | k.w. Kate’s Book Of Stuff

[katesbookofstuff]

There will be nights when you start to question everything you've ever known. There will be days when you try so hard but everything still always goes wrong.  There will be times when your wellbeing collides with theirs.

This will lead you to the realisation that maybe not everyone is supposed to be friends. That friendships work just like relationships do. That in some cases two people simply damage each other more than they benefit from said friendship.  And some nights, some days, some times you won't be able to understand it. And surely you won't be able to accept it either. 

- Thoughts I Dream At Night #7 | k.w. Kate’s Book Of Stuff

[katesbookofstuff]

Don't ever laugh when someone tells you about their problems. You may never hear from them again when they decide you are not worthy of listening. Or when they decide they are not worthy of being heard.

Thoughts I Dream At Night #6 | k.w. Kate's Book Of Stuff