Barely Fiction: Kate.1

Kiss me, Kate? Good luck You cannot tame this shrew This woman of sometimes Violent temper and speech She remains wild and free At heart a non-conformist Pugnacious and proud

Her true and legal name is Kitt Kathleen O’Malley. She loves her name and is grateful her parents came up with it — a great stage name if there ever was one. Her first name is typically a nickname for Katherine or Kathleen, so her name is redundant.

She had thought that Katherine meant catharsis, or purification through emotional release, a meaning she’s always identified with. Now that she researches her name, the etymology is unclear, perhaps originating with the goddess Hecate.

Hecate (Hekate) is a goddess of Greek mythology who was capable of both good and evil. [Metaphor for bipolar diagnosis?] She was especially associated with witchcraft, magic, the Moon, doorways, and creatures of the night such as hell-hounds and ghosts. [Who knew?] She is often depicted carrying a torch to remind of her connection with the night and in sculpture with three faces, representing her role as the guardian of crossroads. [Interesting…]

– Hecate by  & [Bracketed writing by Kitt]

Anyway, yes, she openly expresses strong emotions, perhaps less so now that she’s medicated for bipolar disorder. She remains theatrical, loving attention and being on stage. She’s also a Leo, so add that to the mixture.

For this piece of flash fiction, she’ll go by Kate. Why? Because she named this piece Kate before she started writing and because it ties into the “Kiss me, Kate?” poem which ensues. Is she a shrew, a woman of violent temper and speech? At times she has been, but she hasn’t overthrown a table in over a year or two (she just did that once). She has been known to throw adult temper tantrums. Something she’s not proud of. Luckily her meds and psychotherapy help her keep an even keel.

Kiss me, Kate?
Good luck
You cannot tame this shrew
This woman of sometimes
Violent temper and speech
She remains wild and free
At heart a non-conformist
Pugnacious and proud

Writing in third person, as true or as outlandish as she pleases, taking liberties with the facts, perhaps this will grow into an autobiographical novel. More likely than not, these words will remain here as a flash and then die the death of so many other blog posts, lost over a relatively short time period to the archives.

Talking to Yourself in the Third Person Can Help You Control Stressful EmotionsMSU Today. July 26, 2017.
Third-person self-talk facilitates emotion regulation without engaging cognitive control: Converging evidence from ERP and fMRIScientific Reports 7. Article number: 4519(2017). doi:10.1038/s41598-017-04047-3.

 

Hypomania, Praise, and Self-Talk

Hypomania Praise and Self-Talk
Photo thanks to Gustavo Espíndola

The praise came. Kitt loved to please. The more praise she received, the better she felt. The more she achieved, the higher she soared, until she couldn’t. Her body couldn’t keep up. She broke down, couldn’t get out of bed, and beat herself up for falling, for failing.


Talking to Yourself in the Third Person Can Help You Control Stressful Emotions

The simple act of silently talking to yourself in the third person during stressful times may help you control emotions without any additional mental effort than what you would use for first-person self-talk – the way people normally talk to themselves.


Role of Reward Sensitivity and Processing in Major Depressive and Bipolar Spectrum Disorders

blunted reward sensitivity and processing are involved in unipolar depression and heightened reward sensitivity and processing are characteristic of hypomania/mania

Dancing to White Noise #flashfiction

Within the white noise of the fan, she heard music and she danced. Her mind arranged the notes. Her body responded. Music and dance made sense. White noise, not so much.

The white noise bombarded her senses — too many notes. She picked out those that felt beautiful, that made sense to her. Her mind found and arranged the notes to quiet the noise.

The music was so soft, the volume so low, it faintly played in the background of the senseless cacophony of white noise. When she turned off the fan, the music was gone. Her room quiet. She no longer danced.