This is why we can't have nice things

kudzujulep:

I feel like I’m settling for cheap substitutes.

There’s a man in the next room that looks like my first love, but he isn’t. It’s as if I am on a perpetual widow’s walk; pacing throughout the years, just hoping for my love to return.

He’s not. I most likely will break down one day , and travel…

ALL OF THIS, BUT FOR REASONS.

Sadly, a trip to Oregon is out of the question. 

I still have his number saved, just in case.

Facebook

This song, for being Top 40, made me cry. I fucking love it. 

Fear of Dying

I used to be afraid all the time. 

Afraid of not being perfect. Of doing something wrong. Afraid that people will find me out. But most of all, I was afraid of dying. 

I don’t know what is going on with me, but I am reaching guru levels of zen when it comes to shit that used to terrify and torture me.

Shame? NOPE.

Regret? Not really an issue.

Giving a good shit? Done (this makes my job wonderful. My giveadamn is broken). 

Caring what others think of me? HAHAHAHA

Of dying? Of death? Of shucking off the mortal coil?

Non-existent (no pun intended). 

I don’t know. It’s really strange. I was sitting on the couch the other day, doing the throat thing that I do where I swallow with nothing in my mouth to test for the throat cancer that will end my lifeomgIcanfeelitgrowinginmenow, and I had one really wonderful thought. I imagined what death would be like. It wasn’t corpses and rotting (I’m reading a book about a mortician, so this shit is in the forefront of my mind). It was literally nothing.

I wouldn’t be aware that I was dead, because I wouldn’t exist anymore. Instead, it would just be silence. Darkness. Or, even, light. But it would be nothing. All my swirling thoughts, all my neuroses, all that is the cacophony that clangs on every minute of every day inside my mind would be reduced to silence. Peace, even.

I know this sounds morbid as fuck, but in that moment, I felt a warmth towards death. It wasn’t fatality and futility; it was liberation. 

Now, I am not suicidal. I am not idealizing death or anything. Death is sad for those left behind. I witnessed that first-hand when one of my best friends died. 

But, it won’t be sad for me BECAUSE I WON’T BE AROUND TO CARE. 

So I am going to enjoy my time here. To be kinder to myself, and take more chances. Because, really, what do I have to lose? 

I find comfort in knowing that this won’t last forever, and at the end of it, there will only be oblivion. 

Only Eight Years In

Last week, I was stuck in traffic at 7am in the morning, and I became contemplative among the glaring red and yellow lights that come with trying to move around the city of Atlanta. 

My twenties have been terrible. 

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Breaking the Silence

I vowed that I would never come back to this blog. I said, “nevermore,” and took to my notebooks, instead of spreading all my insides around the internet. That didn’t work. When it comes down to it, I am as much as a part of this blog as it is a part of me. It has chronicled the best and worst times of my most recent life, and spending an hour or two looking back made me realize how important it is for me to continue in this path.

So, life?

I live in Atlanta now, and I fucking hate it. It really is a wonderful city, but I don’t give a good shit. It’s too far from where I live. I have a long commute. OkCupid has nothing to offer me. So, fuck it. I lost one of my best friends (making 2 of 3 for me on the ‘losing best friends’ front), Korey can only tolerate me for so long, and there is nothing else keeping me here past my AmeriCorps term.

So, Savannah.

Strange, yes. Why? Let me explain.

It’s the perfect “in-between” that I seek. I’m too indulgent for New Orleans. Too close to home for Charleston. Enter: Savannah. Plus, it’s pretty and REALLY cheap to live in. 

That being said, I miss New Orleans with all that I have. Soon. I’ll be there in a month.

And Fuck You, Janis if you are reading. I refuse to read your blog, but I will never forgive you for writing me off like you did. You are an asshole. 

This also goes for Paige. You are a narcissistic, delusional mess with a fucked-up boyfriend that is the same. You two fucking deserve each other.  

Well, that’s all!

Ciao,

Krystal 

That’s All Folks

"In My Mind" Music Video

My 28th year is turning out to be a good one, and FUCK YES, I am exactly the person that I want to be.

I am actually doing really well. I feel like the best version of me—weathered, experienced, and growing up and above the old ruins of expectations that I had for myself. 

Atlanta is treating me really well, and I look forward to my life here. I barely drink, I knit constantly, I have a very close group of friends, and THE FUCKING SOUP. Ramen and pho for days. 

I’m happy.

Good for me. 

cutiewill:

lumos5000:

EVERYONE CAN GO HOME NOW. THIS ONE WINS. 

we’re already home

(Source: gingerwhovianrobotskeleton, via fishingboatproceeds)

In the Summer of My 28th Year

27.
The year of hell. The year that could have seen the end of me. The year that took and took and took from me, so entirely. A year of sadness, desperation, confusion, anger, and a year that marked where I became aware of the greatest betrayal of all—the betrayal of the self.

Anyways, it’s over. Good fucking riddance. I’m happy. I have shit under control.

And only those that stuck by me can celebrate in this.

Everyone else can fuck off.