I miss blogging.

I miss my space. I miss my old apartment with my old relationship that wasn’t complicated or full with future possibilities.

I guess blog is one of frustration.

I don’t exactly remember the last time I blogged or even what the topic was about, but its been a long time since I’ve bitched about my life so why not today…the weather is PERFECT.

About 2 months ago Dion and I moved back together. The decision was a tough one and it definitely was not taken in vain.

The move itself wasn’t as stressful as my past. Perhaps because we each took a role and stuck to the script. Dion was in charge of the truck and assembling the finest group of  potheads in the land to get our stuff moved. SUCCESS!

What I failed to recognize was the additional responsibility that I would be taking on by moving back in together. Tasks such as laundry, cleaning the apartment and locating a meal where much more simpler when I only had myself to impress. And now…I have balance these tasks along with managing class, oh and my stressful job…yeah…about that.

So my frustration…

I’m frustrated that I couldn’t keep it together in our argument earlier. That I actually let your foolish, childish behaviors get under my skin. More importantly, I’m disappointed that old Krys reacted at not being heard.

I’m frustrated that I couldn’t express my emotions or redirected my argument. That I just couldn’t give in to the points that were being made.

Looking back at the argument, I’m embarrassed. I can’t seem to understand what goes wrong with me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have pushed so much. Maybe I am not equipped to understand the inner workings of a man.

I just know that I am sorry. For once instead of worrying about where my future will land me, I’m left wondering where my present will take me.

Another lesson. Some things just are not worth the fight.

krys.

When is the right time to write a “crack is wack” type of blog?

AWHHH…I’ll make it today!

A shit ton of people don’t know my family history. Having the suburban “accent” and overall valley-girl confused face (the ganja can get to you some days) on confuses people into thinking I don’t know my culture.

My mom is 1 of 8 children. Make it 1 of 9 since my oldest aunt was born a twin but lost him after the birth.

So that makes 1 of 8 and did I mention they are ALL FEMALES. haha Yeah, I have 7 crazy aunts. Their father, a drunk and enjoyed beating my grandmother. Eventually he left and from then on they were raised in the projects with my grams (RIP).

From the stories described by my mother, they didn’t have much but what my grams could manage to scramble together was great. Everyone was responsible for each other and completing school was not an option. In fact my grandmother kicked a few of my aunts out of the house as teens because they couldn’t vibe the rules of the house.

ANYWAYS…this all comes to mind because I am in the midst of paper writing and creating a genogram (a therapists best kept secret) of my families history. The genogram allows a visual view of abuse (physical and drug/alcohol), birth order, relationship dynamics, deaths, divorces and mental illnesses.

My genogram——> a mess. My family is an example of what crack did to black families in the 80’s-90’s.

The family got together for Labor Day at my moms and for the first time in my life I saw members of my family sober and not by choice. My family is aging and the disease of addiction shines brightly on my aunts faces. I have an aunt for every drug. One who can barely dress herself do to a stoke and another who’s ideal of a fun time is playing bingo because she survived her brain aneurysm.

My cousins? Well there are different generations. Some who are finally sober and working and the others…who are my age and all in prison.

While I have been immersed in white society my entire life and find no issues blending…its hard not to forget my black family and the suffering we have gone through. My cousins not really having a solid choice on the school system they were forced into or the dope dealers on the corner that they admired because either their father was absent in jail or just some “john” that could supply their mother with drugs in return for sexual favors.

As a said. It is hard to forget the black.

I love my family and I am so proud of them. I am proud that they have fought and in many ways have won. I am proud that they aren’t perfect, but even prouder that they are proud of me.

1 of the 5 in my family to graduate from college, in two years I will be the 2nd in my family to receive a masters.

s/o to my family. i loved you drugged and i love you even more sober.

I suffer from a case of mental self-abuse of my body.

This goes without saying (if you read my blogs you might have already inferred this), but my entire life I’ve always felt like the ugly duckling.

This isn’t because I was directly called ugly or told I looked like a duck (get it?), but rather a cloud of feelings that have followed me throughout my life beginning at puberty.

I am my own worse enemy. If it isn’t the bags underneath my eyes, my criticism of my thighs or my lack of a boo-tay (and I’m talking about that ridiculous ass!)…its something else.

The more weight that is melted from my body, the more I wonder “is it ever going to be enough?”

Will I ever be satisfied with who I am?

At first glance, I seem to have it all together. I am no-bullshit kind of person. I make the statement loud and clear that I don’t give a fuck about what other people think and say…or do I? 

On the inside, I am constantly evaluating myself based on what others think.

I can attribute it to a battle of wits. My 1 side says “do you because your awesome” while the other wonders “it could be nice to fit in and play nice.”

So while all of these emotions are floating through my head, there’s the weight loss.

Over 40 pounds of fat have been sweated off my body. 100% of this loss is because of me. It’s because I decided one day I no longer wanted to be fat. I no longer wanted to be the outsider because I couldn’t fit into the jeans I wanted or couldn’t by the New Years Eve dress I wanted because it wouldn’t fit. 

So here I am. Skinner and only slightly happier with myself then before.

I’m insecure about the way people treat the “skinner” krys. I’ve never been cat-called out of a moving car and now heads turn. I get compliments often and sometimes I feel the discomfort of others around me when I decline eating unhealthier foods.

Losing weight was supposed to be my cure-all.

I thought dropping the pounds would relieve any and all insecurities that had plagued me since I was a kid and it hasn’t. Commenting on my weight or telling me I’m skinnier feels like vinyl scratching on a record player. I am completely uncomfortable in my new body.

I want to fix this but I’m unsure as to how yet. I know that taking control of my weight was step 1.

Step 2…admitting I have a problem (aka blogging my heart out).

Stay tuned for more.

Society should be nicer to people.

This thought comes into mind after spending a day at work. I should mention that I work with autistic kids. Ironically, the work is the easiest/challenging work I’ve ever taken on.

From being physically assaulted (sometimes daily) to getting TONS of hugs and smiles…I kind of love my job.I signed a clause that I wouldn’t disclose details of the job, but after having a conversation with a kid about bullying…a light bulb clicked and the this blog was pushed out of my finger like the birth of a newborn child.

Back to the topic at hand.

I remember being bullied as a kid. I was the awkward child when awkward was not in (haha can you image that shit?!).

I remember learning at an early age…make them laugh with you before they laugh at you. It became a my mantra to life. And then a sarcastic star was born! Its kind of hard to make fun of the weird girl, when she can rip you apart with a facial expression and a one-liner about how lame you really are without blinking an eye.

Some people will argue that life begins for a person at the first breath. Others, perhaps me, would argue that life begins when you are submerged into a society not surrounded by family.

Your interactions with others around you mold and shape not only your present experiences, but you future responses. (sorry the therapist in me is ranting)

The theme “kids will be mean” should be thrown out.

Mean kids grow up to be angry adults and angry adults…oh boy they make dangerous decisions.

This isn’t a political platform to get you to vote for me, but just a message that society ought to be nicer to the social misfits of this world.

Watching any child high functioning or not, cry because they don’t understand why people make fun of them everyday or refuse to play with them…is heartbreaking.

While as an adult, I’ve learned to cope through the mean comments (I still deal with this), there are those who are unable to handle the pressure.

Society is so quick to judge and point fingers. Isn’t the purpose of life to be happy? Who cares if she is sleeping with a she or a him with a him. They’re doing them…why aren’t you?

For most of my life, I have always felt it was my job to make an impact on society. I have chosen my profession with the hopes to obtain that very goal.

With a message of love, patience and forgiveness I am determined to rock the boat in many peoples lives.

Sometimes being nice is easier then being mean.

S/O to all the social misfits. I understand your story.

I recently made a major decision in quitting both of my jobs. As a self-proclaimed workaholic, understand this is major.

Several rational reasons:

1. I’ve been working 2 jobs (sometimes 3) since 2007. Between the years of 2003-2007, I was in college with 3 jobs. Between the years of 1999-2003 I have consistently held a job. Its safe to say I’m fucking over working.

2. I needed a greater focus on school. I have a 1 semester practicum and 1 year internship to figure out in the next 5 months. 

3. I was tired of working jobs in which my employers were talking to me as if:

    A. I wasn’t intelligent 

    B. I didn’t have a degree

    C. I wasn’t older then them

4. I was always broke. I felt like the 2 jobs could equal 1.

5. I wanted a life outside of working…I’m almost 28.

So where am I now?? Regretting my decision.

Sometime between going to sleep and waking up…$629.08 was deposited into my account.

My rent is exactly $565.00, but since it is past the 5th, an additional $75 is tacked on as a late fee.

Do you see the problem?!

After the realization that I only had $65 to make it for the next 2 weeks, I flipped out. I went on a 5 mile walked and realized…I will forever have a second job. .

I think its bullshit that I was sold this dream. Go to shaker, get an excellent education and reputation of understanding hard work. Then go to college and you’ll be fine after that. I’m not and know I am not alone.

I have all of these “plans” for my future and I can’t imagine how having a shit ton of loan debt for both undergrad and grad will ever be paid off if I want a wedding, kids and family vacations. 

How the hell am I ever going to get ahead or fuck even on the same level as everyone if I keep getting pushed back steps?!

Each month is  chopped full with new stresses. Will they repo my car this time? How am I going to pay rent this month or even better how am I going to eat this week?

These are not concerns are signed up to be dealing with when I went back to grad school. I thought this would be bettering my future, but right now it feels counterproductive.

While I am still steaming pissed about having to search out a second job, I’ll give credit to my mom for being the figure of serenity this morning as I was freaking the fuck out over the phone. 

Right now, it sucks. And prob will continue to, but soon I’ll be a licensed counselor. Soon I won’t struggle and all the plans I have for the future will become possible.

And while this still does provide minimum comfort, my frustration will continue to mount.

What’s another 2 years of working 60+ hours a week, taking on a full graduate schedule, working a practicum & internship for free and oh yeah…trying to have a life (I don’t mean the out-all-night-drinking kind of life. think washing clothes, doing dishes, seeing your significant other etc.).

Fuck. I hate being an adult.

I’m in this strange place.

Twenty-Seven.

It is something about this dynamic combo of words that really fucks up your life…for good.

2.

7.

Means babies and weddings and future plans. It is life consuming, yet so appealing. 

Last week was my friends wedding. Oh my God! It was amazing and she was beautiful and they were in love.

Weddings tend to put my head in a crazy place and I really tried to fight off my conscious this time, but I failed. I woke up the next day wanting Dion and I to be ready for our future, but in reality we still have a journey together. 

I guess I wrote this blog because I wanted to express how lucky I am today. I love my boyfriend. I’ve never had a person in my life that was willing to fight for me. Fight for me to stop being insecure, immature and scared. We’ve put each other through hell and back, but he loved me the whole way through. There aren’t enough words to describe were I am in my relationship…blissfully happy.

So in that respect. I’ll sit back and I’ll wait.

Even at 3 years, this is only the beginning.

I love when I have a breakthrough. It only sucks when it takes a breakdown to get there.

How do I feel? Okay. I have these moments of sadness esp. when I see cute kids, but overall I’m better then expected. In fact I’ve realized how fucking crazy I’ve been the last few months. I feel like my body was here, but my mind and spirit were trapped in some other universe.  *whispers* thank you for coming back.

It sounds strange, but I’m happy not to be pregnant. My boyfriend and I have been through it all. It is time for us to enjoy us.

It is my belief that everything happens for a reason and that with a little cosmic theory (God); a path can be chosen for you. And so it was. It was decided that right now wasn’t the time, but that when the time comes I hope it is absolute sweetness.

So back to my breakthrough—-> I have these major papers/projects to do each semester, in each course. I am currently taking a techniques class, which intros how to conduct a counseling session. Well…I have this project that requires me to pick an interest in counseling and present on the techniques used during the sessions. Originally I had decided to work with kids dealing with abuse (a subject near and dear to my heart), but I had a epiphany.

My boyfriend and I have this obsession with doing random things on Sundays. So, last Sunday we blew trees and discovered the most amazing look points in Cleveland…shockingly we have a shit-ton. While driving around, I saw these kids, but they didn’t look like kids. They were morbidly obese and could easily be mistaken for young adults. 

STOP.

I should explain that weight has always been an issue in my life. I was the kid that grew up with the father that constantly called her fat or asked if the shirt I was wearing came in a bigger size because that one just didn’t fit. I was harassed for not being “cool” enough and told I needed to take better care of myself. Yeah…I was 10. 

And so the complex begin. I should mention that I’ve lost about 30lbs in the past year. I should also mention that I workout 4 times a week and pay close attention to my weight. I should also mention that until now I never knew I was attractive. That men never approached me and that although I’ve lost this weight, I still mentally feel fat.

After seeing those kids, my heart caved. I remember puberty to have been the worse years of my childhood. Getting acne, losing friends to the “popular” table, gaining weight in new places and BOOBS….OMG growing boobs. *sigh* It sucked and I never could quite find my place until I was an adult (which would be now).

With that said…I want to help kids take back their life before it overtakes them.

Weight is such a scary subject. It isn’t just pounds on the scale. Its memories and feelings and un-faced fears. I didn’t have anyone there for me to aid me through that time, I want to be there. Cliche——> “If I could just change one kid…”

So my issue and what to do…

I remember during one of my hormonal rants, mentioning that I am obsessed with that show “I used to be fat.” I think my obsession is due to a unique connection I hold with the participants. I know what it’s like to be fat, lose weight and then the world wants to be your friend. Its confusing. I also know what its like to not want to return to your fat habits. After all I am the person that gets the munchies and then smashes a subway sandwich, apples and a bottled water. haha who does that?!

ex-fat people.

****special s/o to those who love them for them. i envy you.****