The Return of Her: Julia Katherine

Hello Readers, 

Welcome back, and welcome in- to another era of myself that I am bearing to anyone who stumbles across my website. And if that is you, welcome and thank you. 

I would like to say that my website, my writing, my ‘space’ on the internet is one of a comforting nature. My writing has topics that are traumatic, however, with a tone of soft fluctuations and always filled with love. I know one thing is for certain, if I didn’t have the love from my support system, and myself, I would not be where I am today. 

Where do I begin- 

Where should I begin…

It should firstly be noted that it took an extremely long time for me to build up to this very moment. I haven’t sat down at my desk, of sober mind, in over four years. Yes. Four years. 

I’ll go ahead and start my re-introduction with a few confessions. 

For anyone that was following me on any social media platforms (Spring to the end of summer 2019) you followed me through cocaine induced psychosis/ mental breakdown. After four years of a vigorously active, on-again-off-again relationship with cocaine, compartmentalized childhood sexual abuse, and a traumatic abortion experience (that was only ONE year prior to this) it finally all caught up to me.

For anyone who saw me in person during this time, and was negatively affected, I apologize. For anyone that saw me during this time, and is still worried that I am in that same mindset- I am long past it.     

It is no secret to anyone who has read my writing or knows me personally that my story is full of trauma and tragedy. Last summer, I think, was all of that trauma coming to surface at once, as well as a horrible mix of cocaine and alcohol. 

Here are some things I have experienced since the last time I have sat down to write, just as I am now: 

  1. Waking up in a hospital with little or no recollection of how I got there 
  2. Mental paranoia that a bay area rapper was trying to rise me to fame 
  3. Being dragged and handcuffed by the police 
  4. Almost losing everyone I have ever loved, and I mean this in the scary: “We love you but have to let you go if you don’t accept help,” way
  5. Letting every single demon I have ever battled control my body, mind and soul

Are you still with me, readers? I know, that was a lot to take in. 

Let me update you on some positives in my life…

  1. I work five days a week (aside from the writing)
  2. I finally have a stable and healthy relationship with the most amazing guy
  3. I am sober from cocaine and hard alcohol
  4. I still write
  5. I fully and mentally recovered from my episode with no horrid side effects- or at least I haven’t seen any.
  6. I am back at a university, not community college  

I have thought long and hard all year on how I wanted to return to my passion, that is writing. For you see, during my psychotic episode, I used my writing and my website, in my mind- as some sort of…weapon? Mothership? I felt as though my writing at that time held the significance, symbolism and metamorphic meaning as did the eye portrait of TJ Eckeleberg from F. Scottfitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby.”

I had conjured it up in my head that my manic writing were words of a just woman. That I was given some sort of power, making it okay for me to pass judgement on people who have hurt me.  That is one of things I remember doing the most, during my episode.  (a lot of my psychosis I don’t remember unless I really try) And while I  am embarrassed that I used my passion as a form of destruction, that does not mean I still won’t be opening up about the people who have done me wrong in this life. And tell my side of the story. This is how I make peace and give myself closure with most of the trauma in my life. Also because, the people who were a part of these situations don’t want anything to do with me and only keep me in their memory- knowing the truths that I store in my mind must haunt a few.  Making examples out of those who brought me injustice, is my way of getting justice. 

If you are reading this now, those destructive pieces that I wrote while I was manic are gone. Instead, as stated earlier, my approach to telling these stories comes from a place of hope and sanctuary for myself and my readers.  I know that there are many people in this world that have experienced similar pain, as I have myself- so I am putting myself out in the world for others to lean in and lean on- to relate too. As well as bringing comfort to each and every one who reads my writing. 

Please, let me remind you,  

You are not alone.”

And if you didn’t get the chance to read those manic pieces, don’t worry. 

There is no market for a girl who tears down other people in a manic state. 

So…where do we go from here?

I’m back. 

It’s currently 9:13 A.M, Friday morning and I have been up for four hours gritting my teeth in anxious joy, thinking about coming back to the writing word. And here I am, once again, being fulfilled and rejuvenated with my passion for writing. One word at a time. 

 There was a point in my break from writing where I had almost accepted that my gift- the spark that makes my fingers tap the keys of my board, imitating the sound of a perfectly percussion drum- may never come back to me. That my using of hard drugs had dimmed my light inside of me. The light that shines through me; reflecting to the world: she’s a writer. Or, that my lack of writing was some sort of universal karma for all the damage I had done to the people around me after the entire episode was over. 

Did I mention, it lasted ALL summer? 

I am a writer. It is in the blood that flows through my veins. It wakes me up every morning, each ray of sunshine that peaks through my shuddered windows, waiting for me to open them, and soak up what I shall write about that day. I see words and stories from experiences as little as getting a coffee, or opening up about anything from my past. My voice cannot carry a melody but it can stay steady whilst I read my words from a page that will one day go from my hands, to yours, and then to a shelf- destined to be collecting dust in the back of someone’s bookshelf. And opened when one is in need of a boost of comfort. 

I am so excited for what the future holds. Remember,  leather bound and ivory towers, that girl turned into a lady; ready to grace her readers with all her powers. 

Love,

Julia Katherine 

A Message Of Hope For Women Who Empathize

It was a message from a close friend of mine that helped my conscious thought connect with one of the vaults of unspoken memories inside my head when I realized: Mother’s Day is tomorrow.

I had the unfortunate run in with life and that thing called choice January a year ago. I chose to have an abortion nine days into the new year of 2018 after finding out only 72 hours into it. The famous Christmas song lyric and melody scrape the inner workings of my bone tissue in a way that I have not yet begun to face yet.

“We wish you a Merry Christmas….and a happy new year.”
I did for myself back then as well…

The fact of the matter is, it has been one year later and this is my second mothers day. I remember last years day quite well.

I got myself all nice, pretty and dressed. My improving weighted frame in threads of black. From the heels that lifted myself from the harsh concretes of the Earth to the tight fitting top that would often be to small – I had an issue of letting go clothing from certain periods of my life. While there is admittedly still a black sweatshirt hanging in the far back of my closet, it seems to cycle back into the first left into my mind.

My feelings on this day. In this moment:

I am calm.

Whilst I am not a mother to a physical soul, I spoke to the one that I carried for seven weeks in my tiny little belly, in the moments I was left alone while the once expecting boy-father- I never understood why he fought so hard and claimed he was: “There for me there for me there for me.”

Put down the goddamn video game controller, take a deep breathe and adult the fuck up- in this very paragraph is where I am opening myself up to the world my most vulnerable thoughts on my experience because: humanity learns from others experiences because we are all selfish enough by nature to whisper in the back of our mental selves: “I am so happy that has never or did not happen to me.”

It takes anyone with enough of a basic understanding of human emotion as well as the obviously known biological and physical changes a woman goes through for many MAN to see: She is now not herself more than ever and this is a moment to prove to myself (speaking a if I were the boy) that I can step up to the plate for what is half mine. I know she is probably terrified because of what she knows happened before her…”

I have a strong inclination that after or possibly never, has the second party in my situation has ever had the heart, courage for himself as well as even the confidence in him as a human- to realize what he did was completely inhumane.

People should never: Leave without saying the truth- that way there is less mess to clean after the storm of lies settles in the dust, decay and debris of what once was the most fantastic friendships I have ever had the pleasure of calling mine.

I have long let go the idea of resurrection between him and I. I don’t think he will ever understand that because I once carried a physical result of our physical action: he could not, in that time, physically handle it.

I do not forgive you.

I will not forget either of you two and how you changed my life forever.

All my love,

Julia Katherine