Do you know who I am?
My name is Crystal and I really don't give a fuck.
Hear me out, okay? I give tons of fucks about tons of things: great food, belly laughs, amazing sex, my Fiancé, friends and family, clothes, good shoes, getting a letter in the mail, my happiness. The list goes on... That said, my give a fuck levels are at an all time low. For any and everything that compromises including, but not limited to, all the the above, my mental health and my comfort.
Have I always been this awesomely non-negotiable? Hell to the no! I've spent a great deal of my life conforming to other people's “ideal Crystal.” The Crystal who was Homecoming Queen, Class President, went to a great university, dated professional athletes, and had a fancy job in fashion. That Crystal got on my last good nerve. That Crystal, with the weight of the entire world on her shoulders, damn near killed the Crystal that's sitting in her boxers, writing this story right now.
I've thought that I've been happy at points in my life, but true, unadulterated happiness came the exact day that I opened the book and started living my truest story. I've never known a freedom like I do now. A freedom that doesn't know how to apologize for all that I am and all that I'm not. A freedom to say that a Vagina is an amazing thing and I shall be marrying a person that has one! A freedom to shave every inch of hair off of my head and walk these streets like a Queen.
A freedom to know that being broken doesn't mean you can't be whole again.
While we're talking about being broken - February 2014, about three days after my birthday, there I was standing in an emergency mental health facility. I was broken, depleted and tired. Finally saying " I need help " was humbling in such a way that gave me perspective for a future existence.
Being stripped of everything that makes You, you, is sobering, liberating, and scary as all hell. My engagement ring lay in a ziplock bag in a dusty storage room, my Saks riding boots were crumpled in a trash bag, along with my $1000 Tibi Coat, that not one person gave a fuck about. My cell phone stashed far away in a security box, in “off” mode.
How do I navigate this experience with nothing that shows me that I am, in fact me? You navigate by doing the work - by letting go of all the bullshit and dealing with your shit. Your issues, your fuckery, your pain. Heavy shit right?
I'm a different me now, I fly through this universe on my own terms. I do what I want, I say what I want, I wear what I want, I love who the fuck I want, I am who I want to be.
What's my secret? Here you go: The next time someone projects their shit on to you - turn around like Beyoncé and ask them:
Do you know who the fuck I am?
Written by Crystal