Don't call me skinny, that's an insult

Any woman, entering in to any public space can expect to have her body judged by both men and women alike. We have so many ways to describe women's bodies, so many different criteria that we are constantly judged against:

How small are her breasts?
How big is her ass?
How broad are her shoulders?
How slender is her waist?

We describe women as curvy, thick, fat, skinny, slender, voluptuous, petite, athletic. While we often describe men in three ways: fat, skinny, muscular. It's no secret that women are held to a stricter standard when it comes to their appearance, and that's often because we're taught that a women's appearance equals her worth.

A fat woman, is an invisible woman, an ugly woman is someone to be ignored because when you're a woman, you must be attractive to prove your value to men and often to other women.

For a long time I bought in to this ideal. I didn't wanted to be stared at, judged, or worse, completely ignored because I couldn't manage to keep my appearance together. I developed an eating disorder, starving myself, working out excessively all to prove my value to society. And that's why I think as women, we need to stop congratulating one another for being thin or skinny.

It's not an accomplishment by any means, and calling someone skinny isn't a compliment, it's a body type. Some women look like that because of genetics without being healthy or exercising at all, meanwhile other women, not unlike myself, go to extreme measures to meet a certain ideal.

We continue to value one another based on weight, and it needs to stop. The body shaming needs to stop. The small, critical comments about each other's arms and legs has to stop.

And now there seems to be this influx of women's bodies that are sculpted, ripped, and muscular.

I will be the first to admit that I regularly lift weights at the gym, heavy weights, and I do it because I like the way it feels. Not because I'm trying to meet some new, trendy ideal of what's sexy. This new ideal is passed off as being about health, fitness, and loving yourself, and I just have to say that is complete and total bullshit.

If I have to hear, "your health is your wealth," one more fucking time I'm going to gauge my eyes out.

It's not about health, it's about vanity and you fucking know it. It's about shaming other women, who you deem as unhealthy, and you fucking know it.

There are overweight people who are healthy, so if it was really about health we would not praise some bodies while shaming others. It's a specific body, a look, that we deem as healthy and for most of us that look is completely unrealistic.

So I'm done trying to meet some fantasy ideal of what a woman should look like. This is who I am. This is what my body looks like, cellulite and all, and I don't give a fuck if it doesn't turn you on.

Keep your arousal to yourself.

My body isn't perfect, but it's mine so shut the fuck up. No one asked you anyway.

Love,
Kris

Because I AM the maniac: Living with mental illness

Times get tough. Folks get sad. Most days, it's easy to push through, to hold on until the next day and the next. And then there are those times when something just snaps deep inside. Can't think straight. Can't calm down. Can't get my mind to stop racing. I'm moving so slow, better move faster to keep up with the urges, the goals, but it's impossible. I can't keep up. Too much anger, so pissed, so frustrated.

Scream, yell, punch the walls but the pain won't go away. I can't get the feeling to stop, the itch to subside. So I hit the gym, work out for three hours straight, praying for a sense of relief, but there isn't one. Just want to calm down, want to slow down but can't.

The feeling persists. I don't want anyone to know. I don't understand the harmful thoughts and feelings. And if I can't understand them how can I ever tell anyone else about them.

Things get worse. It's time for sleep, but you don't sleep, nope, not anymore. Most nights just lay awake, thinking, replaying, can't sit still, can't calm down. I'm euphoric, on top of the fucking world, but I hate everyone. They're all too slow, moving like sloths. I can't deal. Need to separate. Need to get out. Need to do things that no one knows about. Hurting myself, hurting others. I  can't stop. I'm not in control, the other bitch is, she's confident, she calls the shots and I let her because I'm too weak. I'm lost inside myself.

Two years ago, right before Christmas I lost my shit. And I didn't even know I had lost it. I went something like two weeks without eating or sleeping, and I just remember feeling like my heart was going to beat out of my chest. I wasn't hungry, my stomach didn't growl. I wasn't sleepy, I  wouldn't yawn.

For a long time I just thought I was a superhero ( I actually believed this). I thought that I had some amazing super power that allowed me to work harder without sleeping or eating. And I ignored the itches and the urges, worked through the deep depressions that followed my manic states. So that only those close to me could tell that something was wrong, something just wasn't right with Crystal.

I once wrote an entire novel in two weeks, then turned around and wrote another in three.

I thought I was the shit. No one could touch me. Turns out I'm fucking crazy, and I did all of those things while in a manic state.

They diagnosed me with bipolar disorder and I had another stint in a mental hospital. It made no sense, but it made the most sense. I knew what I was doing wasn't normal, but I'm not in control when I'm manic. And then when I would come down from a manic state the guilt I felt would make me want to cut my skin off with a dull razor blade. But that was then.

Things are far from perfect, but with psychiatric help, medication, and therapy, I've managed to keep a hold on things most days. Stress is a trigger for me. I have to watch for the signs of mania, pay attention to my moods everyday. I have an alarm for sleeping, an alarm for waking up. Too much sleep and I could trigger a depression, too little and the next thing you know I'm bouncing off the fucking walls.

I just need balance and to appreciate myself despite my flaws, despite my illness. We all have obstacles to overcome, some of us have more than others and that's okay. You just have to keep fighting. Get help, because you can't do it on your own, and it's okay to lean on other people sometimes. You don't always have to be strong, you can be vulnerable and people will still love you. I promise.

Things are going to be okay because I am not my mental illness. I will have a life.

Love,
Kris

Excerpt from Logost, a Novel

My calves were sore from walking when I came across a stone, snow-covered bridge. It was icy, and I guessed that it would be unwise to cross it. But as I always went against my better judgment – trusting my own thoughts and opinions had never been easy for me – I trumped across it. It covered a small, man-made brook where water fell upon smoothed stones. An innate happiness flowed from the sound, and before I’d taken three steps to cross the stone bridge, I found myself retreating. I jumped down, and walked along the small ledge where the sound of the brook was heaviest.

The sound grew louder – a pulsating noise like the beat of a faltering heart. The act of blocking was becoming natural for me, and it took me only a moment before I realized that the sound was someone trying to break through my mental defenses. Someone stood behind me, attempting to cause me great suffering. I turned around to see Cassandra there, her friends Amy and Sasha flanked at her sides. Without hesitation, I froze several streams of water and shot the sharpened icicles at them. But Cassandra was clever and quick. She shattered each icicle in to tiny speckles of frost.

“That really is the best you can do.” She scoffed at me, and Sasha and Amy giggled. Cassandra’s eyes bore in to me, and I felt my access to oxygen cut off. She choked me with the strength of her mind, and I couldn’t scream out in pain – there was no air left in my lungs. The timing of my death beat closer and closer, but I refused to be killed by someone as trivial as Cassandra.

“I’ll be sure to tell Lucas how much you despise him,” she said. “And how peculiar it was that with your last dying breath, you told me that you wanted him to know you hate him,” she laughed, that piercing metallic sound. Happiness was unobtainable for Cassandra. She wasn’t happy even now that she would get her wish. To watch me die. Her eyes were dead, dark and emotionless. And even though she was killing me, I pitied her still. Poor girl, I thought as I waited for death.

The Earth quivered as it tried to save me from my untimely end. But I wasn’t the one controlling it. Cassandra fell to her knees and shrieked in torment. Her limbs flailed, and her body jolted upward towards the sky. Sasha and Amy made no move to help the girl, who they called a friend. They stared at me with horror-struck eyes, and jolted away from the scene. I got up from the brook and stood over Cassandra, watching as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She would die soon, and I had no inclination to save her. But I also had no desire to watch her die, so I turned to leave.

It was then that I saw him there, out of the corner of my eye. He leaned against the bridge, wringing his hands and watching me. He came over to me and stood behind me to whisper in my ear.

“She’s not dead yet,” Drew breathed, his voice a low, creaking sound. “She made an attack on your life. It’s only fair to end hers. Look at her, Mina. Focus on her heart stopping.”

“No, I can’t.” I thought about leaving, but I couldn’t stop watching her die. She looked like she would ask me to save her if she could speak.

“You were meant for greatness, my love,” he whispered. “And this is what it takes to be great. She’s nearly there. It wouldn’t take much,” he said, persuading me. But I made no move to end Cassandra’s life. “Fine,” Drew said as if murdering her were inevitable. And I watched her body stop shaking.

Her eyes didn’t shut once she was unmoving. They stayed open, and I kneeled beside her lifeless body. It twitched again, and I felt her tormented spirit escape her chest. I waved my hand over her face and shut her eyes. Drew kneeled behind me, slowly placing his hands on my shoulders.

To read more purchase Logost.



Love,
Kris

In Search of the Great American Novel

When I was little I kept a running inventory of all my toys, and the names of every person I had ever met.

I sat on the sidelines during kickball, scribbling in to a beat-up composition notebook; crafting poems, drafting short stories.

When I was little I had a nervous habit of chewing on my fingernails and pinching babies when no one was looking.

I once went eight weeks without combing my hair, and wore the same pair of jeans for a year without washing them.

When I was little I pined over Judy Blume, R.L Stine, and recorded every early-morning episode of Sailor Moon.

Back then, I walked slower, rested more often, and had the time to stare up at the drifting clouds. I watched the stars at night, and waited for the leaves to fall. I felt change, noticed it through the seasons.

When I was little I dreamed, hoped, believed that the world would one day be a place I could call home.

When I was little a felt an emptiness, a hollowing out inside my chest. And I didn't know it then, but now I know that I was searching for something I had yet to find.

Love,
Kris

Handling Criticism

With the wide span of social media, it's easy for a new author to be eaten alive by the Facebook and Twitter masses. The reality is that even if your book doesn't become a bestseller, you will still have your fair share of critics. Everyone isn't going to like your book, and you need to be sure that you can handle reading those gut-wrenching, negative reviews.

Reviews are crucial. For most Americans, reviews of restaurants, books, and movies guide our lives.

If a book has too few stars, I won't read it. I'll typically thumb through the pages of the reviews to see why it was so poorly rated, but that's it. A few bad reviews on your book and it can be difficult to recover, and that's why it's important to prepare yourself for criticism and to learn how to handle it once your novel, which you love, is published.

It can be difficult to hear the opinions of others, and if being attacked on social media is new to you it can be earth-shattering. Luckily for me I have already experienced what it feels like to enrage thousands of strangers and can share with you what I'm sure you already know: it fucking sucks.

A few years ago when I was just catching my bearings as a writer, I wrote a column for my college newspaper on the implications of shopping at Wal-Mart. When I wrote the piece, I thought nothing of it, surely there were many people on my college campus who felt as I did, and those who didn't, I assumed would ignore the piece altogether.

But the demographics of my college skewed conservatively and the next day after the column ran, I got a call from my editor telling me that radio talk-show pundit Neal Boortz had read the article and was discussing it on his morning show.

At first, I panicked. I wasn't sure why of all the columns I'd written, this guy decided to pick up on this one, and I didn't realize just how popular of a radio host he was. Hate mail flooded in to the newspaper almost simultaneously. People that I didn't even know were talking about me, saying rude, judgmental things, and then to top it off this guy wrote a column about me.

I could have let this break me, shatter me to pieces and give up writing all together, but instead I used it as fuel to the fire. This guy thought I would never amount to anything, and I decided to prove him wrong.

With the release of my debut novel Logost, I'm reminded that there will be those who love the book, there will be those who feel they can't relate, and the there will be those few hateful people who never seem to like anything. Ignore those people, have faith in the product you created and don't let their opinions of it drive you crazy. Do you like your book? If the answer is 'yes' then that's all that really matters.

Love,
Kris

Writing through Trauma

In life, everyone struggles. We all have times where we can't see the good in the world, where too much trouble and uncertainty has crossed our paths. And in my short life, I've seen more bad than good. The situations and circumstances that have befallen me would make most want to give up, but I'm not about to give up because I have a rare opportunity on this planet to create a life for myself.

I could be bitter about things, internalize my hatred for everyone and blame the world for the trauma I've suffered. I could also say that everything happens for a reason and I'd be destined for something great in the future. But all of those things would be a false hope -- either clinging to one extreme versus the other. No one knows why bad things happen to good people, but I will never stop trying to be good.

I wrote my first book four years ago during my first-ever long term depression. Sorrow clouded my vision. I cried in the shower and in my car on my way to work everyday. I couldn't see past my miserable life, and then suddenly a brilliant idea: why not take your suffering and use it as something that someone, somewhere else could learn from. Why not write to understand what's hurting you and in turn help others to deal with their own hurt.

And just like that my debut novel, Logost, was born. And it wasn't just like that. It took years of writing, re-writing, fixing plot holes rounding out characters, getting themes and motifs to flow perfectly. And I love doing that shit. It was torture for me to write about sexual assault and mental illness. It was torture writing the book in general, but the added fantasy element made it seem more real, if that makes any sense.

Don't be fooled by the magic of the world. Decide for yourself what's real, and if you are so inclined, buy my book and write and review. We can only support each other.

Love,
Kris

You can purchase my debut novel here.

Competitive Women: Are you a mean girl?

I have an obvious confession to make: all throughout high school and much of middle school I was your typical nasty/pretty girl who put other people down to make herself feel better. I wanted to be the best at everything and any girl who came along and threatened that had to be put in her place.

My arrogance and insecurity proceeded all other personality traits, and my tongue was as sharp as a machete. I made people feel bad, really bad and I regret much of what I said and did during that time.

I developed the habits from my Mom, a mean girl in her own right. The key is to build people up when they please you and then completely destroy them if they do anything to upset you. You feed them compliments and they like the attention you're giving them because you're smart, pretty and popular and then you take it all away if they don't do exactly as you say.

I call it "meangirling" and we women do it all the damn time. We shun certain women while praising others, and we all have that bit of competitive nature about us because we live in a capitalist society. It's inevitable to experience, but not impossible to circumvent.

But I've grown past that now, or at least I'd like to think so. It's not as easy as you might think to reverse your mean girl ways, but at a certain point you realize that manipulating everyone around you only makes you feel empty and alone. It's much better to try to relate to others than to always prove to them that you're better than they are because you aren't. That shit won't get you anywhere and so I revamped my mean girl ways but a few traits still linger, and it's often subconscious.

When people like me and compliment me, I eat that shit up. I love it, and get off on being the prettiest bitch at the party, the smartest, most successful, but you can't always be that. And if that's the foundation for your self-esteem, it could crumble at any second.

A good friend of mind had an outing for her birthday and didn't invite me because she assumed it was too sporty of an event for me. What she forgot is that she'd mentioned the outing to me and I reluctantly agreed to go. The day of the outing came and I asked her what time we were meeting up and she let me know that I wasn't included.

She felt guilty that she left me out, but that wasn't enough for me. I needed to dig the knife in to her back a little deeper and make her feel even worse. That's what the old Kris would have done -- shunned her until she proved herself worthy and that's complete crap! You can't mean girl your friends, let that shit go and stop trying to compete with every woman you meet.

So she's prettier, skinnier and smarter, who gives a fuck? Do you, and stop worrying about the next girl, because it will only distract you from everything you're meant to accomplish.

If you find yourself always comparing yourself to other women, or disliking another woman simply because of jealousy, stop and evaluate your thoughts and feelings because it's just not okay to treat people that way.

Love,
Kris