Posts by kayholt:
This is hard for me to write. I’m sick, but I don’t look sick. Most of my symptoms are cognitive. Failures of concentration, recall, and communication. On good days, I can force out a few emails. Navigate simple conversations. read a bit. On bad days, my hands shake too much to type or control a mouse. My attention span isn’t long enough to bridge a commercial break. I lose time. I can barely sleep, but when I do, it’s restlessly. Yet, I can’t always wake up without help.
Then there’s all the weird sensory shit. I try to keep myself covered up most of the time because I can’t stand the movement of air across my skin. Every touch – even the absence of touch – is a torment of signal noise. Numbness, tingles, chills, the tickling of imaginary hairs. I can’t trust that what I feel is real.
Because I have PTSD. Apparently.
This diagnosis is new, but it probably isn’t news to anyone who knows me well. Given my history… Well. I’ll just say that life has been too interesting for my own good.
When the workload at my dayjob began to snowball, I asked for help dealing with it. I was told there would be no help for me. I worked so much that I developed carpal tunnel syndrome. I asked for help and accommodation, and was told that, instead of lightening my load, I was expected to take on more. Work during my commutes. Take work home. Type more, not less.
It seemed like I had to choose between protecting my health and keeping my job. I felt trapped. Something had to give, and unfortunately, my mind said, “I QUIT!”
Medical leave started Monday. I have three months to recover from this breakdown. I don’t know if that’s long enough, but I have good meds, a good therapist, and good friends to help me.
Meanwhile, it took me four hours to write this short post. If you comment or email and don’t hear back from me soon, please don’t feel slighted. My mind moves in slow motion, right now. I can’t even keep up with the outpouring of support.
Gathering Meanders is a story of two grown women having the time of their lives, with all the intense turns and slapstick detours that entails.
Lately, I’ve been writing for myself. Bending to the need. These prosy little trespassers from my brain may remind some readers of the Sandy!Plex, and my pirate life. Appropriately, because this writing is perpetrated during moments brazenly embezzled from passionless hours. Never mind backstory: May these dribs impel us, friends. To write! *** Plastic bags hissing fury from their […]
I dislike Thanksgiving for a number of reasons – some principled and some personal – but for the people I love in spite of tradition, I usually abstain from speaking my mind during the holiday. Most holidays, in fact, but especially Thanksgiving. Novelly, I’m breaking my ‘tradition of buttoning it’, this year. My opinion is […]
This book climbed right inside my heart and held it tight until the end. This book kept me awake nights back when it was just an early draft, even before I knew we’d get to publish it. Readers, rest up. INK releases tomorrow.
I tore my shirt sleeve this morning, but I was already at work so I couldn’t just change. Because my cubicle is a veritable ice box, I’d already been planning to bundle up with the black jacket that I keep on the back of my cubicle chair, but still. I started my workday annoyed. But […]
Once upon a time, I used to blog regularly. That’s not right… I blog all the time. That’s what if feels like, anyway, but this is truer: As the end of calendar month approaches, I marathon blog. Six or seven posts in six or seven days. Reading, editing, and writing fiction happens during weekday commutes, […]
I spent the first half of my life covering my head (sometimes literally) and waiting for cruelty to wind back down to ambient disdain. Now that nobody’s routinely putting gun barrels in my face because I refuse to use racial epithets, or because I won’t confine myself to ‘women’s work,’ I am finally free to […]
Work, work, work. I love working. Free time is good, too, because I have a lot of projects to labor on at home, but I find industrious leisure even more satisfying when it’s married to steady, paid employment. And if a job is less than dreamy? Well. At least it’s fodder for my fiction. Or, […]