Man, the problem with having a document of your life going back 20 years as a kind of permanent record is fucking enlightening if you’ve avoided all practice of self-awareness. What I mean is ignoring previous incarnations and promises BEFORE, ten twenty years ago TALKING about all the shit you’re trying to do and then seeing yes, almost two decades later you are still treading water because you legitimately have not thrown yourself off any cliff, made any attempts to finish a thing, just a bunch of empty promises rarely followed through with–to change that kind of person is a struggle and HOLY shit the books I have read I have read them all. I have gone through the whole evolution of books, yes I tried therapy at points, and seminars and programs galore. I have tried to figure out what is slowing me up to put myself out there at all and I guess it’s fucking fear. I have been around the internet a long long time. I’ve been bullied, I’ve been doxed, I’ve been harassed and threatened and that was before instagram and facebook. I have enough experience with people to recognize some of you are just fucking terrible people who get off on the thought of hurting someone or trying to lower them down to the level you see yourself sitting at socially—some of you are napalm bombs of people who like to revel in the suggested ashes of other people’s egos.

Problem is, I guess, wishes of death or telling me I am ugly or whatever else anyone is going to muster, kill myself, bla bla bla. It took me a long long time to accept that as a facet of being alive–there are always people who will be heavily invested in seeing you flail and suffer at the bottom of all consideration, and if they somehow help usher that in, they feel even more accomplished. But I am starting to realize I have been alive long enough and met so so so so so many people in my life living where I have–there is nothing any of you could really muster I haven’t been told or told myself directly.

I think that is the level I needed to get at before I approached this shit seriously because at the end of the day I have been so largely suicidal, stuck in repeat pattern of my own worthlessness for so so long I cannot even fully relay this to you in words but just to say I’ve hated hated hated myself and others have done a great job of cementing that as a great idea at points, and generally speaking, the closest to me. At this point I’ve really got nowhere to go but up, and thankfully I’ve got Don and Duke to make it less lonely in life. Family sometimes but that’s sporadic pieces of different ones, and nobody has an overarching fully evolved sense of making me feel like they’re really going to be around. Sometimes I have this fantasy of absolute abandonment of all I know here. Just grab the dog and Don and disappear somewhere warmer and wake up in a better place for everything we want to do.

Anyways, now I’ve got Don on my ass criticizing my lack of this, and at the end of the day–well I am convinced I am going to be able to figure it out this time because I finally have him telling me he will help, which is all I fucking needed possibly. Nowhere along the line has anyone mentioned really trying to help me do anything save my birth father at points, but this time well, if I don’t get there, it might just be a sad diary until I die.

He told me he would figure out my kitchen lighting etc, so you could see what I do for the two of us, recipes, etc. Then there is the skincare shit which I am still trying to get a good evolution of photo evidence on–again the power in those is going to be showing you all a good before/after series which I am still the process of documenting. What will happen likely is I will be dead on instagram and then I might get annoying. Whatever happens, I’ll share all the information I discover along the way–the articles of what makes this shit work and happen. Sure, being a cute college girl has its appeal, but are these girls even real people enduring the struggle or are they just caricatures of what brands think college kids are about?

Either way I will promise you this–the story is still coming but I am admittedly a little drunk this Sunday afternoon, so the focus I would need to tear my soul out for you to read I will hopefully find sometime today but you all know I am a bit of a fuckup and pretending otherwise would make me a fucking liar. One thing I can say–I will try and I will fully reveal my fuckups along the way. Most days I am naked but for a bathrobe helping people discern travel issues all day. I sometimes forget to brush my teeth at night and if I am tired enough, that’s a great excuse. I know I know guys, ALWAYS wash your face at night, but once again, I am a real person so I do forget. Some mornings I eat nothing, some mornings I eat a smoothie and a few hard boiled eggs, some grape tomato snacking, handful of walnuts. Sometimes I have my shit together, sometimes I am an abomination of failure. Whatever assholes. You show me a perfect person and I will show you someone secretly miserable with some major facet of their lives because nobody has everything. I will try to prove myself wrong on that point this year, how’s that? Either way, there’s a ton that goes into a person’s definition of success. Surviving a bunch of terrible shit might be success enough for some people to admire. To me it is, whatever, bare minimum level surviving. All I know is I will celebrate the realness of me, the fuckups and failures, the successes when they come. I told Don moving to Denver from NYC was like going 100 mph to barely 30–and if you have seen how I like to drive, 30 is the minimum I’d see myself adhering to drive. As it is, no photoshop edits on any newer photos, how’s that? I’ll never feign perfection, as I do not believe it exists. But you better believe if I get anywhere I will shame us all into being better people.

Either way, bitches. I have not forgotten my shipwrecks of promises in times past but–well let’s just shhh and show you as it comes. Trying to untrain a mind accustomed to swerving out of the way of disaster to have expectations like for real plans and dreams that can be fully evolved–this is a foreign concept. I have been so trapped by medical disaster that seeing my way out of it is a mythical thing. Maybe it just doesn’t have to be, ya know?

We can only hope, that is.