day one.

today, i did something i haven’t done in four months. i woke up much earlier than i needed to, but it was nice  to be able to take my time getting my act together. triple-venti-extra-hot-caramel macchiato on deck, i got busy. i felt energized learning new things, even with a trainer that ran me through the paces like i’d been doing it my whole life. i’m exhausted right now; my shoulder is tight and my back and neck feel like stone. i’m ready for tomorrow, though. a new challenge means a new chance to show up and show out, and i’m always up for that.

something new.

as much as i am a creature of habit, the beauty of something new and refreshing isn’t lost on me. tomorrow morning, i’m gonna do something new. i could be anxious about it, but since starting the relocation, i think it’s pretty hard for me to muster up enough nerves in regard to new-ness to be worth a damn. a little anxiety is good; it keeps you on your toes. i’m ready for a new challenge. hell, i’m ready for a few new challenges. if i came here and did the same thing i did before, i would have wasted time, money, and energy, and i’m all for being ‘green’.

shade.

i’m currently unemployed and have been this way since november 6th of last year. my job paid me stupid money, but i was stuck doing work that wasn’t fulfilling and being made to put up with people that didn’t respect or appreciate me.

the worst part about losing my job so suddenly is the fact that it’s taking so long to find a new one. i have transferable skills, but because i had so much responsibility and made so much money, employers here are concerned that i’ll jump ship as soon as something more lucrative comes along, but that’s not how i roll.

what’s bugging me more than anything is the fact that i keep being asked to do things that seem to show a blatant disregard for my current status. vacations aren’t in my plans right now. the money i get from unemployment doesn’t afford me such a luxury. even a cheap trip means a week’s benefit money, and since i’m only guaranteed 26 weeks, i’m trying to be as cautious with it as possible. also, taking days off as a temp or new employee seems like a good way to have myself passed over or let go again. if i had my choice of working again or running the streets of a city that’s not my own, honestly, i’d rather be behind a desk. i can’t STAND not having something to do every day, and that feeling of being useless pushes through to my social life, making me rather unpleasant to be around. i can’t go out to eat, to the movies, or any other activity and pay full price for that shit. actually, i probably could, but even when i was making money, i wouldn’t. now, i have quite the valid reason. if you can go to the movies on a sunday night, you can go on a monday and save yourself half price. take the money and get a big box from taco bell for the show, but don’t be shady and ignore me for the rest of the day because i said i can’t afford it.

if you REALLY want me to go and dollars are an issue, take up a collection. otherwise, learn from this and don’t ever ask me to do anything that’s beyond my budget. you don’t know my life and trying to impose your own ideas onto my finances is a huge mistake. i won’t think you’re a hero for trying to include everyone, because asking people who’ll inevitably be forced to say no makes you look like a selfish asshole.

damages.

entry contains mentions of trauma and grief that may be triggering. proceed with caution.

while i was an undergrad in north carolina, two things happened to me that would forever change how i dealt with the world.

first, in november 2002, my boyfriend died. suddenly, unexpectedly, and right after spending an entire night telling me how much he loved me and making plans for our future. i was 17 and hopelessly in love, but i still wanted to be realistic. i told him i thought he was nuts for his discussion of road-tripping and relocating to california, but in the back of my mind, i had my fingers crossed that it would go down just the way he described.

the details of that weekend deserve a post of their own (which i’m working on and in a way inspired this post), but what always struck me as odd is that i was unable to process his death beyond the hysterical crying i did that night. instead of taking time to grieve and mourn my loss, i immediately got back to my life and tried to go on as if nothing had changed. even if I tried to behave like nothing was different, my connection to JASON would forever change the way my school peers reacted TO ME.

i started talking to JIMMY that december, and from the jump, it wasn’t a good thing. his friends filled his head with lies about me and i wasn’t mentally ready for another relationship. we argued and fought. he went back and forth on his acknowledgment of the relationship as ‘official’. i had a nervous breakdown and he left me hanging. i slept with other people. none of it was right and we both deserved better. i was stuck trying to be strong and put on a happy face while trying to get a man to stick by my side that really didn’t want to be there.

it took one (plus a pseudo) more relationship plus 5 years for me to GET that never dealing with JASON’s death was a wall keeping me from moving forward into something healthy. and i’ll be honest, i still haven’t completely faced my grief, because i’m terrified of doing it alone, but i am at a point where i can acknowledge it as the pink elephant in the room, which i was completely unable to do before.

in november 2003, i was raped by an associate. i considered writing ’sexually assaulted’ to make it sound less harsh, but that would be akin to calling being hit by a truck ‘a gentle nudge’. there are people who ‘don’t consider it rape’ for any number of reasons: not reporting, not screaming for help, not being beat up… and for those people, feel free to skip this post and those like it. for the legal-eagles and technical-definition types, it fits. same goes for those who can sense the tone conveyed by the use of the word.

it was about a year after JASON’s death, and JIMMY and i had finally called it quits. the sex wasn’t worth all the arguing and fighting that came along with it. plus, he told me that JASON has never been faithful (a lie, besides, how the hell would he have even known?), and tried to convince me that i was only as good as my sex. my mind wasn’t bad, but my mental state was delicate. i tried to compensate for it by being ridiculously giving: of my time and my things. i regularly prepared meals (with a banned hotplate, a set of warped cookware, and 2 fridges) and let people hit up my food stash whenever theirs was low. i felt VERY safe on campus, probably because i knew there were fewer than six degrees of separation from any person i didn’t know, and that after ‘the JASON incident’, most people, especially guys that wanted to bed me, were far more leery of being associated.

even after a day of classes + work and a night of partying, my giving spirit was still in effect. a guy i was familiar with (LF) asked me if he could get some *insert snack* before he went to his dorm. i lived in a co-ed residence hall, so having a guy around was no big deal. the plan was to greet him, let him pick his poison, and send him on his way. when he wanted to stay and talk, i was annoyed (and tired), but i didn’t put him out. i’ll leave out the specific graphic details, but they ended with me standing up against the wall and crying in the shower until the sun came up. it was a gut reaction to something that makes you feel dirty: you want to wash it off. i sat in my room, beating myself up about ‘washing away evidence’ and decided to keep the whole thing to myself.

i had no faith that anyone i told would believe me. i thought they’d admonish me for breaking the rules or taking that shower. JASON’s previous life as a lothario made people believe that i ran my own life the same way. they’d ask too many questions, beat me down, and make the entire incident ultimately my responsibility, despite the fact that LF would tell conflicting stories, ranging from ‘i don’t even know her name’ to ‘we had sex’ to ’she told me no, but i didn’t think she meant it’. i bore the entire weight of everything, because i couldn’t find a good support system. i already had enough spotlight, having been ‘the girl whose boyfriend died in the dorm’; i didn’t want to add ‘girl that got raped in her room’ to the list.

i spent the rest of my college career in a daze. i avoided the dorm JASON died in and tried to avoid LF. i hooked up randomly, willingly, and quickly, in an attempt to ‘regain control over my sex’. i was like those starving kids they show in movies that get a chance to eat at a feast and lose their fucking minds. i was occasionally irresponsible and reckless. i don’t know how i rationalized that. i threw myself into school and work and volunteering. anything that COULD be done, i was doing. every meeting, party, social, political, or other event, i was there, trying to escape the demons in my dead.

i’ve sought help a few times, but nothing so far has lasted long enough to have any significant effect. aside from wanting to be different, not much has changed. i grew tired of trying to fill my life with meaningless relationships just to have ’something’, but i think a few hurdles remain to be cleared before i can finally be free.

something season.

it must be ’something season*’ again. in the past week, 8 guys have found a way to contact me and ask me the classic, ‘what’s up with you?’ i haven’t spoken with half of them in years, and only a quarter of them know about the relocation. ciaa was this past weekend, which explain two of the guys, but that still leaves 75% completely and utterly random. other people might find this terribly exciting and think of it as an opportunity to cash in on some deals never finalized, but i know better.

in my ho-shit days, i would have grabbed a couple boxes of trojans, declared a triple-word-score, and made plans for the next month. now, i’m more than slightly pissed off. for starters, i’m not even into sex without friendship (at the very least) anymore. the idea of getting fucked up, fucked sideways, and going the fuck home doesn’t appeal to me. i don’t have to be in love or think you’re the best thing since sliced bread, but we need to be able to hold a conversation that doesn’t mention the size of my breasts or how wet my pussy can get. i’ve gotta be able to stomach you out in public, fully clothed, and you’ve got to occasionally look me in the eyes. smh. secondly, these guys are all asking me to come to them. nevermind the fact that i don’t have my own place anymore (remember, only 2 of them know this), they’re asking me when i’m going to be in their neck of the woods (ciaa, atl) or just willing to make a drip (dmv locals) to come and see them. i’m only borderline traditional when it comes to gender roles in dating, but if these mofos are planning to pound my snatch into submission the way they claim, do they really think i’m tryna make some long car ride back to home-base when i’m done? and thirdly, and this could be most important, at least half of these guys are in relationships. married, dating, engaged… i’m not a snoop (anymore), but if your profile picture is of you and your other half, why are you even going there with me? i might not be opposed to sex outside of dating (see above), but that doesn’t mean i’m going to willingly get it in with some other chick’s man. ain’t no dick good enough to have some beef with another bitch over, especially when that dick ain’t ‘yours’ to begin with.

i don’t know how many more random, unexpected messages i can take before i snap and just cut back the folks that have access to me to the very elite few.

*something season: the time of year when people come out of the woodwork to ‘check-in’ with you and ’see how you’re doing’. this is usually a ploy to: get all into your business, ask you for money, or request sex(ual favors). this season can be avoided, but there are always a clever and crafty few who manage to get to you, no matter what.

sit back and take notes.

if you’ve ever wondered how you could tell whether or not i feel comfortable with/around you, think about how chatty i am. the chattier i am, the more comfortable i am, and the real me gets a chance to come out and play.

i’m not phony or false before i’m comfortable, just more guarded. my tongue can be razor-sharp, and if i don’t feel that level of ‘coolness’, i’ll hold it, instead of unleashing it and leaving someone thinking, ‘you can’t take that bitch nowhere!’

i like talking to people; even the most banal conversations can give you a glimpse into how someone thinks of feels. i joke and banter a lot, but more often than not, i’m taking things in: how long you’ve been doing something, what you studied in school, how you feel about certain issues… i used to be a passionate debater, but i’ve honed the skill of quiet acknowledgment over time. i’ve had people say some of the dumbest, most ridiculous shit to me, and they have no idea what i think, because i’ve smiled, nodded, or simply replied, ‘hmm, okay.’ you can catch more flies with sugar than vinegar, but tap water will get them too, eventually.

i don’t think it’s disingenuous to let someone reveal things about themselves first. in fact, i think that it allows them to listen more intently to you when you do speak, especially when you can demonstrate that what they’ve said has really sunken in.

words.

i have a ton of blog posts stuck on draft mode because i’m trying to find the perfect words to complete my thoughts. not the most eloquent or the biggest, but just the ‘perfect’ words to convey what i’m feeling.

it tickles me when people give up using profanity for Lent, as if not saying ‘motherfucker’ or ’shit’ is some big sacrifice. i haven’t wholeheartedly observed Lent in years, but if i did, i still don’t think i’d give up cursing. there are times when a solid expletive conveys an emotion much more exactly than a g-rated word could ever hope for.

i treat this blog like my journal, so expect rants, raves, and shots fired from time to time. if you feel some kinda way about anything i say, please direct your comments to krissycares AT gmail DOT com (yes, it’s a real address. i’m not that much of an asshole!). i’ll put you on blast if you’re completely ignorant, but if it’s discourse you want, i might be able to oblige. i don’t think my way is the right way or even the only way, but beating me over the head with yours won’t encourage me to see things your way at all.

i’ll try to be more comfortable with less-than-perfection here, so people don’t think i’ve abandoned this place, but if there’s a lull, now you know the reason.

ramblings of an insomniac.

i’m in the middle of a bout of insomnia, which isn’t too terribly uncommon in my life. i remember when i couldn’t sleep more than 90 minutes at a time. i never got a full night’s rest, so i couldn’t work, go out, or do anything that required more mental energy than watching television. my mother and i got into it constantly, because she said i was lazy and i couldn’t convey to her that my mind and my body just wouldn’t LET me do more than i already was. i overdosed on meds and immediately asked my best friend to drive me to the ER. voluntary admissions to psych wards, is easier said than done, because, honestly, who would volunteer to have their freedom taken away?

i spent 5 days on the ward at 7 west, and not once did anyone call, text, email, messenger pigeon, or send smoke signals to find out where i was. people automatically assumed i was being a bitch and figured it was best to just leave it alone. i wasn’t shocked that my mother never looked for me, despite the fact that i lived with her. she thought i always ran to my father when things went down, and i’m sure she was formulating a plan to either punish me or put me out when i returned. as difficult as it is for me to sleep in strange (not my own) beds, i somehow drifted into a rather peaceful one that first night. this, of course, is after they took away everything and gave me what basically amounted to pajamas and slipper socks to wear. even before i saw any professionals, i felt like being there legitimized what i was feeling and somehow let me off the hook. i could finally take a deep breath and not care that my sister wasn’t being picked up and driven around or that bill collectors were calling the house. while i was there, i could, and was encouraged to, focus solely on me.

the final diagnosis read like a spring semester class schedule: major depressive disorder, PTSD, anxiety, dissociative disorder, with a little eating disorder sprinkled on top. i cried a lot, but i never yelled. i talked about everything that was weighing on me, and what all seemed like a jumbled mess of unrelated things turned out to have a common thread: my mother. my biggest stressor, most likely to criticize, least likely to assist. i was prescribed prozac, something to help me sleep, plus individual and family therapy. therapy lasted one session (my mother disapproved of it: for me and for us). the meds lasted a while longer, but when tricare cut me off, i had to quit them cold turkey.

my mother would often ask me if the meds made me feel ‘happy again’, like they were some magic potion that took away everything bad. i didn’t want to argue, so i lied. telling her that being on the ward drew out more demons, and without the meds, i’d never do anything wasn’t productive. she was goading me anyway. she didn’t believe that there was anything wrong, and if there was, it was my own fault and i just needed to get over it.

i’ve thought about getting into the details of the events, as best i can remember them, that led up to my stay at 7 west, but they deserve their own entries. what i will say, though, is that i continue to battle depression to this day. i haven’t had a therapist in a good year and some change, and i haven’t taken meds in two. i’d like to say i made these choices out of the incredible realization that i’d been healed, made whole, and was finally able to deal with everything thrown my way, but the truth is that my therapist suddenly quit, my second one was an asshole, and in the desperate struggle between antidepressants and allergy shots, allergies won. i guess i should have leaned more in favor of prozac, but without the therapy, it wasn’t a complete package. besides, allergies can be controlled with surgery and meds that don’t put you on edge or eradicate your sex drive. i’m not a total nympho, but even when you’re not getting laid, having some sex drive to speak of is one of the more awesome thing about life post-puberty.

before the relocation, i gave too much time and put too much stock in what people might think of me if they knew i had this in my past. unlike junky old sneakers you use for mowing the lawn, this is a part of me that won’t just be forgotten because it’s not acknowledged. i’ll always have these disorders, so the best i can do is manage them. nothing will undo what was done that pushed me to the brink, but nothing sent me truly over the edge, and for that, i’m happy. i won’t ever be made whole from the incidents in my past, but i can try to create a whole future for myself that’s not based entirely on trying to get closure for things i never initiated.

the lure of the unattainable.

why is it that when you’re single and hoping to find someone, your phone stays silent for days, yet the minute you get in a relationship, suddenly, you’re the hottest commodity on the block?

why are the bad guys, with no intentions of settling down with you, or anyone, more alluring than the good guy friend that’s always there whenever you need him?

why do you push and push to get a leopard to change his spots and become a different person because you want him to, when there’s someone with a perfectly blank slate, ready to be your match just waiting?

what is it about these things that we should not and usually CAN NOT have that makes us want them even more? we live in a world where instant gratification is the norm, yet in relationships, we’re content to spin our wheels and waste time on things that aren’t meant to be.

i try to catch myself whenever i fall victim to thoughts of luring in someone off-limits, but i can’t help but wonder why the thoughts even fucking cross my mind.

miss save-a-bro.

i’ve talked about the things that attract me to guys, but i have absolutely NO clue what attracts them to me. i’m a lot of things mothers tell their daughters not to be, if they want to catch a guy: i don’t wear makeup, i never miss meals, i talk a lot, i laugh even more, i cover up, i’m blunt, honest, and sometimes a bitch.

most of the guys i’ve found myself entangled with are those they approached me first that i wound up learning to appreciate. most of them possessed qualities i find attractive, but also held something else that didn’t put them near the top of my list.

one of these guys was DON. quiet dude from central NC, formerly the boyfriend of an acquaintance of mine. we started talking the summer between my junior and senior years. it went from once a week or so to every night, for hours at a time. in the course of those few months, i learned more about him than i had in all the time we’d been together on campus. one night, DON called me 15 times in a row. i was out of town, and had fallen asleep with my phone’s ringer set to silent. when i picked it up, he was on the other line, breathing heavily, calling my name over and over. he’d shot some guy at the gas station and wasn’t sure if the dude was alive or dead. he’d suffered an injury earlier in the summer, which required pain meds and rehab to recover from, but that didn’t stop him from drinking and partying like he always had. combine that with the possibility of murder, and you have one hell of a rush.

most chicks might have stopped right then; hung up the phone and pretended DON never existed. not me. i stayed on the phone with him til he made it home and fell asleep (on the phone with me). i continued to talk to him and proceed with business as usual. when we got back to school, we became a couple.

we didn’t have any problems until it became clear that DON’s lifestyle just wasn’t one i was ready to live with. he was back and forth in court back where he lived almost weekly,  missing classes and tests, before he eventually just withdrew from school. we’d been talking futures and families, but i remember crying to my friend one night that i didn’t want to have security at my wedding so a rival crew wouldn’t start shit.

it broke my heart to call it quits with DON, because i felt, in a way, that i was letting him down. i’d toughed it out through stupid shit before, why couldn’t i hold on a little longer? we continued to talk after he left school, but with my schedule and his life, it just wasn’t the same. a year or so after we broke up, he called me to announce that he’d gotten married and had a son. for a second, i thought, ‘that could be me’, but i caught myself and revised it to ‘i’m glad he made it.’

i’m a different woman now, one that understands that loyalty to self is always more important to loyalty to another, and that it’s only when those loyalties are congruent that things can work. but i wonder what it is about me that drew a man like DON to me. what energy was i putting out that stood like an ‘OPEN’ sign for broken men looking for someone to help them get on their feet? i don’t think i’m that way now, having learned from my past, but unlike closure in a relationship, understanding why i did things in the past can only help me push through and not repeat them in the future.