Kristincollision's Journals

Evolution and Absolution

I am now wondering, whom exactly I am hoping will forgive me. No one really cares that I’ve done stupid things. My parents were the ones who suffered most from my actions, and they’ve forgiven me. God is all loving and Karma redistributes justice when the universe is unbalanced, so clearly there’s no grudge being held by the greater force. The people I used to know have undoubtedly moved on. Why can’t I? The answer is: I can and I’m just fooling myself into thinking I can’t. Those dark years are over, and there is no reason for me to keep living in them. That girl really isn’t me and I have put myself through enough emotional abuse for her actions. That girl did her time, realized her mistake, and made a change. She changed into me. She changed into the person she was as a child… the person she was all along and somehow lost sight of. I don’t have to feel bad about those choices because who I am now does not make them. If I make a bad choice in the future, I’ll get to feel bad about it then… but for right now, all I have to worry about is my homework, staying healthy, and minding my manners. All I have to do is my best. Really that’s not too bad, considering it’s already in me.

Dead End Girl

It's really funny how in DARE class they tell you people will respect you as long as you're firm in your decision. They lie. I don't want to drink, smoke, have sex, or waste time in the ways of my peers. I understand who I am and I recognize my issues and I base my judgement on what I know of myself. I know myself better than anyone else because, as it turns out, I have severe intimacy issues and refuse to let anyone get close enough to me to know me. You might htink you do, but trust me, there's a wall I love more than I'll ever love you. So how is it that anyone thinks their opinion about me matters to me? People can only judge based on what they know from their own experiences, and no one has experienced exactly what I have... nor have I experienced exactly what they have. I hate receiving advice about social issues. Constructive criticism about my work is totally fine, but don't you dare tell me how I should live my life because all your advice would only shape me to be more like the rest of my age group. I don't want to be. I want to be left alone. I want to be straight edge. I want to stop hating people for distracting me. I want to stop resenting them for having an emotional hold on me. I know to the rest of the world it seems wrong for me to exclude myself, but it's WHAT I WANT. You might not think it's healthy, but it's what I think will make me happy. I can't feel happy if I don't feel strong. I can't feel strong if I don't feel independent. I can't feel independent if I'm letting people have too much say in my decisions, and I care about people too much to do anything else. It's not that I'm cold... it's that I'm too warm to feel comfortable with. I dislike it. You might love that about me, but I effing hate it because I have too much to do to be bogged down by affections and social committments. I just don't have the goddamned time or energy anymore. I can't think anymore.

I have to go.

I have to.

I wish you were her?

You left out the E.

Hello drama

The reason your friend Cynthia's version of the story is so vastly different from what actually happened, might be due to a deep psychology issue called "pathologial lying," or it may be due to a particular habit that is common among many human beings of both genders, though more frequent in females. There is a good chance that your friend Cynthia is terribly bored with her life, feels that it is not interesting and she is not exciting, and therefore has formed the pattern of exagerating every tale she tells, and supplementing the otherwise average with her own impressions, interpretations, and sometimes completely imaginary details. Though this classic symptom's presence is a primary culprit in the development of "drama," a large percentage of society is incredibly addicted to it. Because of this habit, which can be compared to the neurotic's delusions of grandiour, people seem to think that their lives are a whole heck of a lot more important than they really are. When everything small is made large, how can one help but to get upset at everything? These cockroaches are the size of elephants! This is why shows like "The Real World" are successful. Situations equally as pointless as the situations experienced by viewers, when given an elevated sense of importance, will allure the viewers, appealing to their need for reassurance that yes, petty drama DOES matter, every day disagreements ARE cause for war, and their unfulfilling lives are not really as boring as they seem.

This is where I would say, yes they are. When you care about things that aren't important, you become unimportant.. primarily to yourself, whether consciously or unconsciously. When you care about things that matter, you become driven to see their presence, and are motivated to seek out or produce them... in turn, giving yourself purpose. Things that matter, by my definition, are happiness, love, good spirited human connection, a soul as pure as attainable, and the enjoyment of life through hard work to acheive goals. These are the fundamental principles of almost every religion. I am not religious, by common term. But I know that the soul is above all else, and the bothers of the material life are insignificant. With this realization though, should I not be freed from the shackles of pettiness? Of course not, I am a human and there are other humans on the planet, and I am not rich or introverted enough to become a hermit. These things will happen in any social situation, because there is always at least one person who avidly displays this trait, and in doing so, brings it out in others who may have previously held a latent tendency. The key is in recognizing this personality trait, and taking it into consideration the next time you get a bit of information from the person you witnessed it in. These people are catalysts in the stress of their own lives, those they meet, and even those they don't meet. In situations they play no part in, there is always the posibility that they will find a way to reach one of the involved parties and whisper bitter nothings in their ear. It is not neccessary to distance yourself entirely from these poeple, for this is a flaw like any other, to be accepted and tolerated in exchange for acceptance and toleration of your flaws. But you must still beware these people, and be sure to check yourself every once in a while to ensure that you are not one of them. Seductive is the dark side, and once you start down the wrong path, it is far easier to keep going than it is to turn back.

The appeal in self generated importance is large, and I admit that I have participated more than once. I am an imperfect being and I admit my flaws, as well as my mistakes. Nothing good comes from "telling the story a certain way" that exaggerates undertones, emotional responses, tone of voice, any presentation of sarcasm or potential sublimal meaning, and so on. The incorporation of personal analyzation into a story alters it for the listener. While it may seem like an innocent thing when talking to your friend Sarah, who wants to know why Julie didn't answer a phone call, to suggest something like "Julie's probably just being a bitch to you because she's mad at you for yadda yadda," and while you may firmly believe this to be the case, it is not your place to make such accusations casually for they will be imbedded and become truth to the listener. You are in that instance becoming a key role in whatever situation arises from this missed call, and whether you realize it or not, your subconscious knows that this simple sentence will elevate your importance in the lives of your friends Sarah and Julie. Now their problem (which wasn't even a problem until you made it into one) has become your problem, because you were bored with your other problems. Way to go, good job, here's a cookie and a sweet sixteen party.

There comes a time when, if you truly want a happy life, you must realize this and say goodbye to whatever shred of this trait you had within you. To have a happy life, you must be a happy person. To be a happy person, you must BE happy WITH your person (who you are). The only way to do this is to become a better version of yourself. Work on yourself like a project, recognizing your errors, and attempting to avoid repetition in the future. If you are not ready to admit that you are or have been wrong, then you are not ready to become a happy person. This is a fine choice as well, because as much aggrevation as (those I will call) The Unrealized may cause, they are neccessary to keeping those who have taken the first step on their toes... and yes, they do add a bit of entertainment to the world as well.

That's all the time we've got today folks. More opinions on the way I see it, next time... on Collision Explains It All

Life on the Road

I never set out for any problems when I started out on this road. Of course, none of us ever do. And yet they still seem to pop up as you go about your societal deeds, no matter where you go or whom you meet. Itâ�™s just a thing, a tiny thing really, that is guaranteed. Any road is liable to have CAUTION: FALLING ROCKS signs, unmarked driveways, fallen trees, and potholes. Not all of them will, but you better be a good driver when you come across them. For lack of a better metaphor, such is life. It tests your ability to drive your body through daily routines. It keeps you on your toes, and you try to make yourself a better human being to prepare for such instances. You get there, think â�œshit,â� and try to do what you think is the right thing to do. Nothing can ever really assure you that the decision you make will be the best; you have only your sense of judgment to rely on. Any driver will inevitably make mistakes and bad decisions. In turn, they have the option to succumb to road rage and continue on being a bad driver, or they can accept their mistakes, get back behind the wheel after assessing the situation, and further keeping in mind previous errors. Itâ�™s the only thing you can do, if you want an enjoyable ride. Also, I'd like to make a side note that I'm listening to Blink 182 and I don't feel shame in it.

I'm too quick to use the phrase "my old life"

I miss New Jersey. I miss the trees. The sound of crunching leaves and sticks beneath my little black boots while Iâ�™m tracing years worth of steps in the woods behind my high school. I miss the VFW and the walks to Wawa in disregard of my fatherâ�™s request that I donâ�™t leave the show until heâ�™s come to pick me up. I miss having friends that drove and the random spur of the moment outgoings to nowhere. I miss the corn fields and the periods between solitude when I felt loved. I miss the rides to school with my brother and sister. I miss lockers full of secret testimonies. I miss the bathroom stalls that saw the worst of me. I miss the routine of teen angst. I miss the guidance office when they were concerned. I miss the act. I miss ditching class to hang out in the art room. I miss wearing high heels every day and weighing 104 pounds. I miss having long hair and lots of jewelry. I miss the things I used to care about. I miss my parentsâ�™ house and I miss complaining about being stuck there. I miss knowing who I was and what I wanted. I miss the hope. I miss having something to look forward to. I wonder if one day, I will miss writing this.

In a discussion with Andrea, a conclusion was drawn.

That life is no more than a series of the same story
rewritten, rehashed, and redistributed to our necks.

As is human nature, you will gravitate towards a larger group of people.
Safety in numbers applies to confidence.
Time will pass as you run with this crowd.
Eventually something will happen to startle your security in routine.
A fight, a falling out, a graduation, a stab in the back, a gradual drift...
and you will be on your own.

Assurance will disintegrate with the blaming of self,
the picking apart of details and excavation of all your flaws.
If you are naturally inclined to self loathing,
you will obsess on these until your hands are sore.
Time will pass and you will get used to it.

You will move along resiliently like a terrible pop song
and you will come across a new band of merry men.
You will merge with this group like a cell, and you will function for a period of time,
feeling confident and content in your place and purpose.

Then there will be severance and you will be alone on a city street at 4 am,
disillusionment and apathy rising to force out the regret.
It will benefit only if it takes away the fear in face of everything.
Apathy can be a wonderful thing if you love it like a child.
If you apply it to all aspects of your life.
If you embrace its entirety until you're over the fact.
If you gradually find things within yourself to grant importance...
If you only rely on things in your control.
If you do what I've done.

I'd like to say you'll be fine.
But you won't.
None of us will.
But as I've said repeatedly and redundantly,
maybe that's enough.

Survival depends on adaptation.

My mother wrote me an email telling me that she was making zucchini bread and getting pumpkins. She told me she missed my little face and hopes that I am safe. I wrote back to her, this: I am so jealous. I would like to decorate with a jack-o-lantern and arrangement of corn and small pumpkins, but alas, this will only result in a terrible squash slaughter by the hands of intoxicated destructors. I would like to hang old time cardboard skeletons and moon faces, but I know they would meet the same fate. The most wonderful time of the year cannot be as festive to me as it would be had I chosen to commute, and this saddens me to no ends, as I see it representational of my being robbed of something very important to me. But as with all obstacles, it presents a need to circumvent the inevitable foil and construct a means of accomplishing my goal in a new way. Thus, I will make my room the only place in the house that is a home. While the entire structure may not be capable of bearing the title, no one can stop me from making my own living space pleasing. That being said, I can't wait to come home and decorate my REAL home with you, and the decorations that aren't antique and have no place in our house, I can take back with me and have a happy holiday to myself. I predict that it will keep me sane in times of intense frustration, because I will remember what I love and cherish, and it will remind me that you are right: just because other people are inconsiderate and directionless, I am not obligated to suffer. I miss you Mom. I love you so much and I'm very grateful that anytime I get too bombarded with idiocy, I can call you and feel comfort in knowing I am not entirely alone in this. All is not that bad, and I will be okay.

Displacement and retrospect

I don't believe in anything
But I've been wondering if that's what I need.
I went back home for a look around
and found that nothing was the same.
Looked over the bridge and back to the city,
and it didn't feel so right to me.
I've thought about it long and hard,
I've sat up fighting with the night.
I've got these questions and all my answers
seem to me are far away.
I know these buildings aren't homes,
cause I'm just a kid without a place.

Misogyny and modern times: another list of things I hate about the female gender

Today we're going to explore things that are not generalized qualities or characteristics of females, but rather, specific people and products geared towards them. Let's take a look shall we?

Libby Lou, Bratz dolls

Poisoning our youth and teaching little girls to be hollow glittery shells complete with plastic cellphone and blonde clip in extensions. Oh god, how I cringe when I see a mother and daughter exiting the Libby Lou store in the Deptford Mall, and a perfectly beautiful little androgynous creature has been turned into a whining, materialistic, mini-consumer. The Bratz dolls have enough attitude to sink a submarine, and their use of the phrases â�œWhateverâ� and â�œDuh!â� teach little girls the most annoying way possible to disrespect their parents.

Gilmore Girls, A Walk to Remember, early Jewel

Personality-free! These girls are â�œsweetâ� and well-behaved, the epitome of 1800â�™s standard for female behavior. They show that you can get the guy of your dreams by being a quite little doll, and donâ�™t have to cave to the pressures of teenage promiscuity and three hundred dollar designer shoes! All you have to do is mind your manners and be a saint.

Oprah, Hilary Clinton

Two horrible human beings that get credit for being great Samaritans from 30 year old moms. Oprahâ�™s give aways and charity efforts are all publicized, of course, because a woman cannot do anything good without bragging about it in the hopes of getting a pat on the back. And quite honestly, the woman has so much goddamned money that I doubt she really gives a shit about giving some measly thousands away, itâ�™s pigeon shit to her. The whole point of cleansing your soul through charity is that youâ�™re supposed to help others in ways thatâ�™s inconvenient to you, thatâ�™s why itâ�™s such a good deed.

Hilary? Among other things, Hilary was a pushover for staying with her husband after he cheated on her. People have tried to argue with me about marriage bond this, love and support through thick and thin that... itâ�™s all bullshit. If someone disrespects you like that, not to mention publicly humiliates you in front of the whole country/world, you fucking leave their ass and take half of everything they own. But no, she stayed with him to get her foot in the door for a shot at the current election. The stint where she cried on television was just an effort to â�œproveâ� she wasnâ�™t an ice queen, and irritated me to no ends. How many male politicians have you seen cry on television? Come the fuck on... just because you have one, doesnâ�™t mean you have to be one.

Rock of Love and Flavor of Love

Proof that women are not the fairer gender, just the more jiggly one.

Sex and the City

Sluttiness and obsession with shoes is simply conformation to traditional gender roles, not empowerment. They try and put a positive spin on it, making it seem as if these gals are go getters, doing what they want, when they want, and not taking orders from anyone. Bullshit. No matter how â�œstrongâ� these chicks are meant to look, they are all ultimately serving only one purpose: to serve men. Their entire purpose is to catch a man. Every episode, every problem, every situation that one of them cries over... all because they havenâ�™t fallen in love and become the fairy tale princesses all girls are conditioned to want to be. Carrieâ�™s column even, though meant to be her claim to fame and proof that she can contribute to the world, is merely an instruction guide to other women on how to be pathetic boy crazy sops just like her. Itâ�™s pathetic.

Lipstick Jungle

Because Sex and the City wasnâ�™t enough.

Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe

Potentially two of the worst actresses of all time, completely over rated, theyâ�™ve become objects of obsession for nothing more than their physical appearances. Marilyn Monroe was a bulimic, drug addicted, tramp who hated her life and turned to men to make her feel worthwhile, but in doing so only made herself more miserable. Great role model. Audrey Hepburn was an anoretic whose only acting ability was to play insipid little twit characters that embodied everything wrong with the female clichÃ©.

Tampon commercials

Specifically the one where thereâ�™s a number of females in skirts spinning around and dancing, jumping for joy because theyâ�™ve got their period and the best tampon on the market. Lord knows I spin around the room, laughing like a lunatic and waving my hands in the air, when my crotch is spewing bloody gush all over the place. The attempts to make a burden seem like a great thing are ridiculous. This leads into my next topic.

â�œFamily Lifeâ� videos

Thatâ�™s what they called those awful cinematic disasters for which they separated boys and girls in 6th grade. At the age of twelve I was horrified at the emphasis on how AWESOME it is to become a woman and take on the responsibility of cleaning your gender specific parts. I remember specifically objecting to the manner in which they portrayed this, saying â�œWhy are they so happy, this is physically disgusting.â� I was chastised by a 60-some year old woman who screamed â�œNo, itâ�™s not! Itâ�™s a beautiful thing!â� At 20, I still find it to be equally as sickening as it was then.

The female lead in the Star Wars animation The Clone Wars

Itâ�™s bad enough that the last three Star Wars movies were even made. Itâ�™s bad enough that an animated Star Wars movie was made. But for godâ�™s sake, they just HAD to put a girl in it. They intended to make her spunky to show that girls can do anything boys can do, but to appeal to modern children, they instilled in her a modern sarcasm thatâ�™s devoid of any intelligence and contradicts the statement â�œlong agoâ� [in a galaxy far...] because the sort of betchy attitude displayed by this character didnâ�™t surface until the 1980â�™s at the earliest. This is worse than when they made the Sandlot 2 and put a girl in it.

The Vagina Monologues

I read the script, hoping that the hubbub was true, that it would shed some light on the perks of being one of the lesser gender. Unfortunately, it just reaffirmed everything stereotypical about women who claim to be empowered.

The Wiccan Religion

Mother Earth, the moon being used as a symbol of menstruation, and fat goth chicks who buy fairy shit from Hot Topic and cast spells on the high school quarterback. Thatâ�™s all I have to say.

Also on this list are: tiny dogs as accessories, jogging suits, long red fingernails, perms, wrinkle creme, Coach bags, Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, Peg and Kelly Bundy, having babies as a Hollywood trend, the Princess Diaries, the popular belief that being in a relationship will make you happy, Cosmogirl, Seventeen magazine, Deb junior, Barbie... and so much more that I havenâ�™t the time to list or delve into.

Personal stance on being a female:

I believe my misogyny to have first set in when I was 14 and became obsessed with a very attractive sexist pig. I was also under the thumb of a red clover taking, self praising, feminist history teacher who taught us less about the facts of The Revolutionary War [a topic I find excruciatingly interesting] and more about how great Martha Washington was [which, as it turns out, wasnâ�™t that great at all.] My hatred for her, combined with my efforts to justify the opinion of my obsession, led me to a general dismissal of female worth. [Note: I recognize now that seeking to justify the actions of a male with which I was enamored was ridiculously clichÃ© and contradictory to my own efforts to rise above femininity.]

Prior to this time period, I never really participated in little girl activities. I preferred tree climbing and spying on the neighbors to tea parties and fashion shows. I remember playing dress up only to take on the roles of different characters, ranging from male to female to neutral, and put on plays for my parents. My favorite character was a male magician who wore a tuxedo shirt. I did not shave my legs or wear make up until the latter part of junior high, only because some older girls made me feel absolutely awful about myself [this was my first encounter with cattiness and social rejection of non-identicals, another contribution to my hatred of women]. This was the beginning of my decline. I suppose that the onset of puberty being around this time period had something to do with it as well. Up til this point there wasnâ�™t an ounce of estrogen in me. I was a late bloomer, and perhaps because of this, all my hormones stock piled and came out in a great tsunami that made me a crazy overemotional train wreck. At the age of 14, I became everything I have grown to hate.

I still hate myself for my gender, my over reactions, my grudge-holding, my obsession with weight and physical appearances, my desire to have things bought for me, my expectations to be put on a pedestal. I have to constantly keep myself in check, and itâ�™s near impossible for me to determine whether my frustrations with people are legitimate or merely typically feminine overemotional overreactions. I cannot express to you how horrifying it is to not be able to trust yourself. My various fascinations with boys have always confused me because thereâ�™s a fifty percent desire to touch them, and a fifty percent desire to BE them. I fear that the moment I engage in any act that is specific to girls only, all my validity in the eyes of society will go out the window. Itâ�™s absolutely agonizing being a female and I hate every second of it.