Or!

....start off posting every three weeks, that's not unreasonable.  Set realistic goals.  Do daily affirmations.

Oh, who the hell am I kidding?  Neurosis is my go-juice and if I were predictable or consistent, my life probably would have turned out much differently.  Just think...in some alternate universe, there is a version of "me" that arrives on time and come prepared with all daily necessities and shit. 

Ugh.  Kill that "me".  It will be fine, I'm sure she has phenomenal life insurance.

....or Get Off the Pot

I make up excuses without even knowing I'm doing any such thing.  My laptop is a piece of shit.  I have to work in the morning.  I'm too stressed.  God, the technology has changed so much, wait, what the fuck, is that html?. Is that even a thing now?? My memory of everything is fuzzy in places and I can't do the ordeal any justice.  I think I have to poop.  God, that can't be normal, I should google whether or not that's normal.  I've been doing this for months and the thought of what I should be doing, that I need to be writing and not just thinking about writing, is like a chipped tooth in the back of my mouth.  I keep running my tongue over it, obsessively, wearing it down and I can't leave the fucking thing alone because it needs to be dealt with.  I will never find any kind of peace until I do this.  Everything is just a distraction and after my attention wanders back to where I know I'm supposed to focus it, I realize that a month has gone by.  I resolve to commit to this and then I find something else that doesn't cause me anxiety and shame and rinse and repeat, three months have gone by. 

My thoughts have been so dark and scary the past few weeks and I wake up every day asking myself the same, dipshit question:  Why am I so incredibly depressed and unhappy?  I know why.  Everyone who cares about me knows why and we volley back and forth with me spewing all sorts of bullshit about how I think my estrogen is failing or maybe I need to try this herb, and, oh, shit!  I need magnesium, fucking EVERYONE is low on magnesium according to WebMD and how we haven't all leapt to our deaths from an overpass or office window is mind boggling so that has to be it.  That, and vitamin D.  And the ones who care wearily listen to my latest theory on why everything tastes so gray and then they remind me:  You're unhappy because you're not writing.  I solemnly agree and go back to reading about the benefits of rubbing yak phlegm on your ear lobes. 

The truth is, I'm terrified of this.  I'm so afraid to show anyone the ugliness that resides in me.  It's dormant, now, because I don't feed it veritable fuck tons of opiates any longer, but when it was in control, it was horrifying.  Years ago, when I started this blog, I never once considered the consequences of what I was sharing.  I didn't think about name searches for employment or potential lawsuits (still think you're a douche schooner, Brad Paisley!) or rabid haters affecting my life, my REAL life and my income.  I didn't consider that this is basically a diary that anyone can read and for all eternity and no one is every really anonymous any longer.  I've hurt so many people who didn't deserve to be hurt and I just don't want to carry that shit any longer.  And then when Devon and V gave their blessing, I still hesitated.  I was blown away when Chris encouraged this, as well, because if anyone has a right to despise me for eternity it's him.  All lights are green and I guess the person I'm afraid of hurting now is me.  I've done everything a person can do to demolish themselves, both spiritually and physically, and my God, I'm trying something new, trying to be kind to myself and do I really want to rip all of these band aids off and open myself up to the viciousness of anonymity, again?  Can I withstand feeling like I've failed, again?

I don't want to.  I want to find out that I have a huge trust fund and I can buy a monkey and an obscure island and frolic naked for the rest of my days.  Ya know, with the monkey.  I want to feel proud of who I am and look back and not wince at the absolute waste of potential.  Unfortunately, I can't do the latter without walking straight through this. I've tried going around it, tried killing it, covering it up, Bedazzling the motherfucker to make it prettier, handing it off to someone else and and I'm absolutely certain of one thing and one thing only:  the easy way and I are strangers and always will be and this is no different.  If I died tomorrow, my greatest regret will be that I never finished this because I want my family to know why and how.  I want them to know without a doubt that it was never a choice between them and my demons, that there was nothing they could have done differently and the failures were mine and mine alone. 

I'll write and I'm holding myself accountable to do so at least once a week.  I have no idea what might come out, if any of it will follow a pattern or if I'll be disjointed and rambling but I think that if I just stop procrastinating and write something, anything, it will take shape.  I can hope for that and considering how little hope I've had lately, it's a start. 

Filling in the Blank Spots

     Get up off your knees, girl

     stand face to face with your God

     and find out what you are - 

"My Name Is Human" - Highly Suspect

It's 2 a.m., I'm running on fumes and I'm up in 4 hours to do it all again.  Good enough reason to say, "fuck it, I'll start writing it all tomorrow night", and keep bullshitting for another week, month, year.  I played the song quoted on loop today and even though I've listened to it at least a hundred times, the meaning changed for me this morning. In my mind it's self-explanatory as it relates to telling this tale, but deduce what you will.

Caveat, to my family... I don't know that anyone other than Devon - and possibly V - will be reading this in the near future.  BUT...shit happens, details emerge and one day my sister might pop in looking for Finley and instead, here's this veritable shit storm of brutal honesty about what really happened in the life of her junkie sister, no omissions, no candy coating, and then the phone calls start coming from Mom wanting to know why in the name of the baby JESUS I would tell the entire free fucking world that I tried heroin, HEROIN, did I really try heroin? and things get awkward and very embarrassing for the people I love.  I have been at war with myself about committing all of the ugliness to the internet where it will reside until there's nothing left but cockroaches and Twizzlers (seriously.  Both of those things will survive nuclear wars and global warming and asteroid impacts) because, while putting myself on display for all the lookie-loos is one thing, they might not want any part of it.  So, here's the deal.  I wouldn't have even considered the idea of baring my soul again had it not been for the urging of family.  I was stunned that the most vocal supporter was Devon.  He's conservative, private and never hesitates to tell me to get my shit together, grow up, own my mistakes, <insert pithy and fucking annoying-as-hell-because-he's-only-24-and-right-goddammit advice here> and he's the last person I imagined cheering me on to pen this particular Gold medal winner in the Trainwreck Olympics.  So, I thought, "well, he just meant write more crap about embarrassing the kids in public and how often I fall".  Then a text came through after my last post:  "I'm really glad you're writing, again."  He wants me to tell this story and although I don't fully understand why, I'm grateful for his and Virginia's blessing.  They're both ready to weather whatever comes because they know how much writing was a part of me and how I disappeared a little more every day that I tried to pretend it was a passing phase.  I just hope they truly comprehend where this leads:  there will be bone exposed.  I will not do this if I feel like I have to lie about any of it because deluding myself is how I started unraveling in the first place and pain is what gets my undivided fucking attention.  It has to hurt, memorably. With that said, note: These are the things I've done; they are not who I am. The distinction is crucial. 

For those of you who sent me friend requests on Facebook solely to have gossip fodder to spread three and four fucking YEARS later on hate sites, grab a few changes of underwear because I'm about to give you the motherload, tickets to the SuperBowl of Oversharing, the bona fide what-the-hell-I-can't-believe-she's-telling-anyone-this secret decoder ring to share with your other sniveling buddies.

 For those of you who matter, who've prayed for my family and I, sent me thoughts of kindness and compassion, the people who perpetuate beauty and joy, the ones who remind me that there is purpose in this?  I'm so glad you'll be with me for the journey.  You give me strength.  

Away we go...

Every year I say, "This year HAS to be better."

....For 2017, I'm changing that to, "I will make this year better."  One way for me to do that is to go back to doing what I loved so much and to stop allowing the opinions of deeply unhappy people to change who I am and what I choose to do.  So much has happened over the past few years and I'm going to share EVERY. FUCKING. GORY. DETAIL and hope that it helps to heal me and maybe someone else might experience collateral clarity out of the wreckage I walked out of.  I'm going back to what it used to be...I won't censor comments (unless they're directed in a hurtful way to the people I love) and I won't censor myself.  The fundamental difference here is the most profound lesson I've learned in the past few years:  what you think of me is none of my business.  Is my skin a little thicker?  No.  I can still be hurt by vicious and thoughtless remarks, I still have insecurities and tics and fears and I still worry about how I'm perceived in certain roles.  My skin is the same.  But my spirit is vastly different.  My outlook has transformed.  The world and the people in it haven't changed....I've simply adjusted my perspective in a way that has saved my life and my sanity.  I'm growing every day and thanks to the efforts and wisdom and compassion of some amazing people, it's a foundation that is solid this time.  I've spent the past few years making sure of that before I chose to lay myself bare, again.  I am fully aware of the risks of doing so, this time.  And I'm armored and content.  I won't allow anyone, ever again, to have so much power over me that they drive me into hiding.  I won't let another's opinion of me override my own and those of the people who truly know and fiercely love me.  I'm not any more than them and I'm sure as hell not any less.

I am Crystal McKnob.  And I'm so glad to be back. 

No Place Like Home

If you look over to the left column, you'll see a link for archives (and I'm far from finished.  There will be a lot more coming)

Thanks to my best friend, Jamie, (and the urging of my friend, Amber), who sent me the posts in HTML, I'm able to put them up in groups.  And I thought all of these were gone, forever. Aaaand I'm sure there are some people who really hoped they would be gone, forever.

Na na nee boo boo.

I'm coming back to my spot, here.  It's where I started, it's where I belong.  In the meantime, you can peruse the archives if you have time to kill.

(For those who signed up for the mailing list, I'll still be using it...I'll just be sending out New Post notifications and there won't be passwords)

Here's to the future!

Here I Am, Panhandling Again

That title is in jest about a comment I got one time that I was no better than a panhandler.  I'm pretty sure panhandlers don't donate the money they get, but I could be crazy.

Anyway, I know I bombed the hell out of my email contacts and I don't usually do this...I buy and support the cookie drives and the wrapping paper and all of that, but I don't ask for people to buy just because it makes me uncomfortable.

This, however, is an awesome cause and Harmony is so excited to be able to help.

http://jumpgsa.kintera.org/harmonymckee

When I asked her what her goal was, she said, "Five dollars, Mommy.  That will help of one those kids get a new heart, right?"  She has such a good soul and I love her to pieces and don't ever want her to lose that drive to help, even in small ways. 

She didn't think she'd would raise more than five dollars because, well, Mommy never has friends or anything come over but I told her that I do have friends....they just don't live near me. 

Anyway, the donation is $5 if you're interested.  And thank you.  I'll try to get some pics of up the Jump Rope day.

Signs

Again, I'm keeping this site public and the other private.

I didn't turn anyone away but gmail routed a bunch to spam and after hitting 600 emails, a lot slipped through the cracks and I'm so sorry. Please email me and I'll give you the info.

crystaldawnmckee@gmail.com