Hope, Fear, Depression, Pleasure: Thoughts on Anthony Bourdain and Suicide

bourdain, depression, suicide

On Depression and Pleasure

or

Fuck This Shit

I, like everyone else, woke up this Friday morning to the news that Anthony Bourdain has committed suicide.

And course, there was Kate Spade just a couple of days ago who did the same.

I’m not sure if anyone else is feeling not only heartbreak but fear. Fear that no matter what you do, what you have, what you’ve gained, what you’ve lost. No matter how good it seems for a moment–the demons will always come back. The demons will always win.

All of these beautiful creatures who walk the earth broken, fragile, scraping by every day just trying to connect to something other than pain. Other than the heavy blanket of suffocating grayness that covers so many of us and keeps us alive, but barely. Every once in awhile lifting up, lungs filling with love and light–and then abruptly reappearing right when we think we’ve made it through, right when we forget that we ever had felt that way before. The cruelest joke in the world. Played over and over on so many souls.

This is so hard I think because we saw someone we could truly relate to in Bourdain. Flawed. Yet, able to rise above those flaws and do something.

Something.

Which is often the hardest thing to do at all when you’re being smothered by the thoughts that none of it matters. That it’s all a waste.

Is it?

I’ve often thought so.

Yet, there has always been that slight glimmer; often very very far away, yet, because I’m lucky or tortured I’ve held onto that hope. Hope that the demons will leave me the fuck alone for a day. Hope that at some point I can be strong enough that if they do come back I can drop kick their asses and they will go away only to never return.

There’s that hope.

But there’s also that fear. The knowing that they will return no matter what. And that maybe one day there will be no fight left.

The thing that I relate to so strongly with Bourdain– is that when all else fails, the road to pleasures opens.

Here’s what I mean.

When I gave up entirely. When I wanted to die and felt like I had nothing left. I let it all go.

During a three-day sativa-ridden mania I came to this basic conclusion:

“Fuck this shit. If I already want to die. If I feel like death. If none of it matters, then I’m going to go out in the world and squeeze every last drop of pleasure that I can possibly get. I’m going to be raw and open and so honest it hurts. Because there’s nothing left for me. Except for those things. And if I connect with people along the way, good. If doing this changes me and the demons no long come around, great. But I’m going to ride it until the last drop of wine, the bite of steak, the last loud and long and ecstatic-driven orgasm.”

This is how I relate to Bourdain because when I see him, flawed, yet out there traveling the world, enjoying the simple pleasures, it seems like he had finally figured it out. That he had figured out how to say, “fuck this shit,” and win.

That’s why there is both hope and fear.

The hope that I can carry on a bit longer without the gray suffocating me again and the fear of knowing that one day it will be too heavy to get out from under, no matter what.

This is why I tell people to, “Go Eat A Carrot.”

It’s basically a triple entendre (which is one of my favorite things to write in the world):

1. Go literally eat an orange phallic-shaped vegetable (aka take care of yourself).
2. You suck as a person, go eat a dick (aka STFU).
3. You suck real good, keep on sucking that dick and eating that pussy (aka we all deserve more pleasure from this devastatingly beautiful and hard as fuck world).

And with that, because I never know when the cruelest joke in the world will make its return into my own life, I just want to thank everyone who has ever supported me, loved me, hated me, cheered me on, wished for my failures, eaten my pink taco (and vice versa), let me lick their carrot, brought me flowers, brought be sandwiches, talked to me, talked me out of it, talked me into something that I didn’t want to do but it made all the difference; really each and every one of you out there who makes this place so fucking amazing and awful at the same time. I seriously thank you, because yeah I know, it’s super cheesy and pseudo -sciencey but we’re all here right now, we’re all connected whether we want to be or not; we each do our best and I’m grateful to be a part of that, even if sometimes my best is just breathing through the day.

P.S.
If you’re feeling like shit, if you’re feeling like you’re trapped on the top floor of a burning building and the only way out is to jump, please fucking reach out to someone first. And if they don’t help, reach out to someone else. It sucks and it’s hard but keep reaching because I swear to the fucking goddesses in all of the universe that someone somewhere will take your fucking hand and lift you up (or like bring a long-ass ladder over so you can climb out the building). It’s okay. Nothing really matters. Everything is beautiful. Enjoy the pleasures.

P.P.S.
Burning building/ hi-rise thing was written by David Foster Wallace another beautiful soul gone too soon. Here’s some of that quote just because it’s stuck with me since I read Infinite Jest and it might be the most poignant moment in that long fucking confusing powerful gorgeous horrible lovely book:

“The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.”

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I May Have Just Gone On The Worst Date In My Entire Life

how to be better on a date

Was this the worst date of my life?

or

Wow, maybe try like just 1% harder and you’d get laid.

I’ve been on hundreds of dates in my life. Tinder dates. OK Cupid Dates. Dates with people I met in real life (yes, it can happen). Even a blind date once (in high school before the internet was a thing).

Perhaps this was a reflection of me to have chosen this guy; he was insecure and couldn’t hold a conversation to save his life; he did have nice arms and I have a near-fetish thing for arms so I could have been temporarily stuck in my ID when I swiped right.

I asked him what he believed in and he couldn’t answer. I asked him what he wanted and he didn’t know.
I literally said, “I want to have an engaging conversation and then if it’s engaging enough I’ll fuck you.”

I’m in rebound mode so it doesn’t take much right now.

I did not fuck him. Or do anything except leave and go to a bar by myself because I’d rather spend time with me than with someone who can’t talk to other people.

Here are three quick and easy dating tips:

1. Ask questions that you actually want to know the answer to.
2. If you don’t care about the answers don’t go on a date JUST fuck them and leave.
3. Know what you want.

When you know what you want you can actually get the things that you want AND knowing what you want makes you way more confident than people who do not.

Confidence is the sexiest quality to have… that and nice arms and big ole’ brains.

Also, I woke up with this Throwback Thursday song playing on repeat in my head. It pretty much sums up what I was thinking while this date was happening.

“I’ve been waiting for a dose of your personality. If I’m in the mood and if all goes right, baby you will be, you will be, going home with me tonight.”

It just never quite got to the personality part.

In the end, I do wish him the best luck. I hope he can find a way to come out of his shell a little bit more and let people in or find a woman who likes a guy who never speaks. I’m sure they’re out there. Like, maybe a woman who really loves to talk constantly so there’s never a gap and he can just smile and nod and then they can bang and live happily ever after.

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Are You Scared and Intimidated by Sexually Empowered Women?

women's sexuality scares men

Do I intimidate you?

Yes, I Like Sex. Yes, I am a Slut. Own Who You Are Or GTFO.

Admittedly I was super excited to meet someone who I felt an immediate connection to; he was somehow capable of bringing out more of me. Like, I can be whomever I am and he enjoys seeing me that way. I don’t have to play games or pretend I am some innocent virgin. Plus, he can cook, so that was a bonus since I love to eat. One night he started acting a little weird and I was like, wtf is up. That’s when he said it. The words I never thought I’d hear come out of his mouth “I find you intimidating”. Sure, other guys have said similar things to me, but they were dudes to me. People who didn’t matter. I thought this guy was different. I thought he understood.

It’s not as if I am completely dismissing him since he said that comment, but I am trying to understand who he is, who I am, who we could be together and if anything sustainable and meaningful could come out of a relationship where the other person is slightly (if not more than slightly) afraid of you.

A guy wants to feel like he’s the only person you’ve ever slept with. Well, it’s 2018. In the world of Tinder and FOMO; in the world of birth control and unlimited porn; in the world of being whoever the fuck you want to be, being a virgin at 33 is really fucking rare. I am not that kind of rare.

It’s not like I know EVERYTHING about sex. I do know quite a bit, since I studied it and participated in it, sold sex toys to the wealthy Cherry Creek crowd for a year and yes, watched porn–both online and live. There is still a fuck ton to learn. I believe that every person you meet can teach you something if you’re willing to listen. When it comes to sex, that’s no different. It’s not just about what you’ve done, but what you CAN do together.

I may have the solution to this intimidation problem:

In any event, I do like him even if he rubbed me the wrong way with his words (and the right way everywhere else), so we shall see if we can overcome this intimidation factor or else I guess the whole “fucking off,” thing might become a reality. Let us pray to the goddess of sex, love, and drugs that this is not the case.

Let’s Talk About Sex and Liberalism, Baby

Did A Blow Job Open My Throat Chakra?

or

How I Can No Longer Stay Silent About Any Of This Shit Anymore

Because I promised to tell the whole truth or the (hole truth depending on how pervy you are) here are the videos of me trying to explain what I’m doing. Yes, I repeat myself. I was only going to use one of these clips, then I thought, fuck it. I’m not perfect. You can see how I’m not perfect in this series in multiple ways. Also, I talk about this one specific blow-job and how I’m no longer a liberal– a lot below. So. Watch one or all or none of them, whatever.

Just Trying to Figure Out What I’m Doing Here aka Breathing onto Camera

First Take On Why I’m Even Doing This

I Have No Idea What I’m Doing

Second Take On Why You Should Go Get Your Carrot Wet

Not a Liberal or a Republican, Just a Slut

The Beginning of Go Eat a Carrot

Or

Krystal Says Goodbye to Her Liberal Identity and Hello to Pleasure

Here enjoy my manic breakdown episodes from a few days ago. I explain how I got to this point below in a long-winded story. I’ll be posting videos for the next 30 days, starting today.

Breakdown 1: Fuck

(It’s not easy being honest with the world)

Breakdown 2: How a Blow Job Opened My Throat Chakra.

Breakdown 3: Goodbye Hats, Goodbye Guilt

(aka let’s all get slutty)

Breakdown 4: This is what Mania Looks Like

(aka go take a nap)

Here’s how this all unfolded. I was in bed, depressed for like the 10,000th day of my life and I was thinking about how there was this conspiracy theory post that said, “If the government wants to take your guns then you probably need a gun.” It was weird because it was clearly a Republican-leaning person posting that meme but I still resonated with it and sort of wanted to go buy a gun.

I thought back to all of my beliefs I’ve had throughout my life. What had gotten me to that point where I was actually listening to the other side? Through a series of thoughts, I decided that maybe I was no longer a liberal after all. It didn’t necessarily have to do with guns either. Admittedly Roseanne was the last straw. I was on Instagram and I saw a post where Republicans were complaining about liberals complaining about Roseanne. I watched the show and realized that both sides were right and wrong at the same time and that I could agree and disagree with both sides equally.

Roseanne is a situational comedy. That means in 20 minutes they have to solve a situation (and do so in a funny way). And can you believe that a show was able to resolve one of the biggest situations we’ve faced in the last year? That of people no longer speaking to each other because of their political beliefs?

Yet, both sides were pissed about how the show did it.

It was at that point when I knew I could no longer label myself one way or the other. That I had to either go to the middle ground or become an outlier altogether. Instead of being liberal or conservative I instead want to align myself with the open-minded.

The real, truly open-minded. People who willing listen to all sides of an issue and can understand where all sides are coming from while still maintaining their own voice and opinions on the issue.

As this revelation came to me, so too did my guilt from the last 30+ years disappear and most importantly, my depression. I no longer feel dead inside.

Besides the obvious divisive political issues that the two parties constantly argue over, what came up for me once I released the label was an ability to better own my sexuality.

I believe that pleasure is an important element for a healthy existence. How one explores pleasure is up to the individual, but for me, with my background in feminism and liberalism, it has always been difficult to admit that I LIKE COCK. I enjoy spending time with men and with women and the beautiful people in between. I enjoy sex. And though so many liberals claim to be sex-positive, many define sex-positive in a very specific way.

A friend made a comment to me about how all the dudes on tinder just want to “get their carrots wet.” I had never heard anyone refer to a dick as a carrot. The next day I was at the Denver Central Market when I saw a basket full of the biggest carrots I had ever seen in my life. I told my date how excited I was to see such large carrots. He said he’d buy me one and I said if he did I would, “fuck that carrot.”

Suddenly there was the largest girthiest dildo-looking carrot in my hand. We continued on our date. It was evening by this point, we had both eaten an edible and were in bed together doing sexy things. The carrot was looking at us. I picked it up. I realized we hadn’t eaten in hours. I looked at the carrot. I looked at my date. I bit the tip of the carrot off.

Because sometimes you’re hungry for carrot and sometimes you’re hungry for dick and sometimes it’s funny to call a dick a carrot and then put it in your mouth.

If that carrot-dick opens up your throat chakra and then the edible keeps you up all night with thoughts on how you have to TELL THE WORLD YOU LOVE CARROTS then you might end up doing what I’m about to do for the next 30 days, which is tell you everything I know/think about politics and sex. It’s not a lot, hence why I’m doing it for 30 days (and also I have commitment issues). While I’m doing this I want to hear from you too. Comment, troll me if it gets you off. Let’s have a conversation about all of this. I can be wrong. I can be right. In the end, it doesn’t matter as long as we all are happy eating our carrots or peaches or whatever we like to stick in our mouths, which can be nothing at all too.