the personal hurricanes of kirsty mitchell.

i have the biggest hair in the world. i think too much. my attention span and self discipline need a lot of work. this is why the internet is as good a place as any for the likes of me.

Oct 1


Is love an invention or a discovery?


Is love an invention or a discovery?

(via daddyfuckedme)

Sep 29

I am upset today, right at this minute I feel like I never wanna get out of bed again. I fell asleep on the bus home last night and my purse has gone missing.  It had all the money I currently possess,  my house key,  and a ring I inherited from my grandmother in it. I have been in tears for a lot of this morning,  in an out of character fit of self pity about the fact that for the past month I’ve been trying very hard to work hard and be nice, and bad shit keeps happening to me. I’ve been moping and wondering what the point is.  I’ve been sulking about not having any shoulders to cry on, letting myself dwell on being tired and feeling isolated. 

And you want to know something? It’s actually knackering thinking that way, it just makes me feel weaker and more disheartened. I don’t like the idea of seeing myself as a victim, regardless of whether life is kicking me when I’m down or not. Every fresh round of tears this morning made me talk to myself a little more sternly, about what it was really achieving. Would it make me happier in any way? Would it make facing my day any easier? Would it make anybody be concerned about me? Not really. So I’m sitting in bed,  letting myself get angry and determined to smash today instead.

I feel like this always happens when I’m trying to push forward with life: all the details go haywire as if something is working against me. I know it sounds silly but in the three weeks of starting this job I have been broken up with, gotten sick, not been paid,  and now been robbed. It’s discouraging,  and I wake up some mornings feeling like I’m wearing an iron diver’s suit of exhaustion and sadness. But what I’m holding on to is that it’s not beating me. I’m still dragging my weight to the bus stop, putting on eyeliner to hide my red rimmed eyes, and facing my day head on. No one needs to know how I feel inside. 

It’s not all bad, anyway. My new job is amazing,  so busy and stimulating and I’m learning so much. I work pretty much every day,  and I feel like I’m making quite a big impression. I am still, sadly, in that phase of new job loneliness,  where I don’t feel like I have anyone to really talk to, but that’s not going to resolve itself by me being negative and upset,  so I let all that out elsewhere. I think people there are starting to like me, which is good. I am focusing on learning as much as I can, as quickly as possible, and being as helpful and useful as I can. But that’s just the way I always work,  I don’t know how to be any different.  When I rang my mum today in floods of tears and said it didn’t seem fair that I worked so hard and tried to be nice and just got ground down she said ‘that’s why I’ll always support you’ and I clung to it, realizing that having her be proud of me and ready to fight my corner means I must be doing something right. And that I should be grateful on so many levels for her support, for the fact she raised me to he so resilient, for the fact she is always there when I need her.

And there are other positives. When you hold up these bullshit problems of mine to the light they seem much more easy to beat. I won’t stay lonely and isolated forever, because I can’t help but pull people closer to me, mostly because they interest me, but also because I seem to entertain them. It’s probably only intensified by the fact dan broke up with me. Which I reckon he was looking for a reason to do, because he provoked a huge row with me on the streets of fulham until he’d hurt my feelings enough that i flounced home. His reason? That I was a drunken mess and he was sick of looking after me. At that time I’d had two glasses of wine and was fine, and the more I think about it, the more I realize he had no problem getting me drunk enough to fuck him the first time, and he also got a kick out of being the sensible one, of taking the moral high ground. I am getting genuinely sick of letting men in, you know? This happened the last time i cultivated intimacy too, with another guy of similar age range and disposition. These older men always like the idea of me, and then realize the reality is not their art film boner mirage and withdraw. Fuck them. Fuck men, fuck letting them in, to see all my valuable thoughts and dreams. They don’t deserve the privilege,  they’re not worth my feelings. I need to go out and do what I do best,  which is fucking whoever I wamt and not even giving out my phone number. I need to do that, to start feeling powerful again. I need to channel my disgust at the self serving and capricious nature of the straight male into the kind of contemptuous shagging around that allows me to feel superior.

Enough about that . it’s not important.  I’m trying not to worry about the money thing either. It will work itself out when work resolve my pay situation, and I’ll be back to normal in no time. It’s no reason to lose motivation at work, to ruin the reputation I’m building. The minute i get paid I will splurge on something to congratulate myself for what I’ve achieved, and in the meantime, I’ve no time to spend money anyway so it ultimately doesn’t matter. 

I am not going to dwell and stay miserable, that isn’t going to help me. I am going to focus on the small joys. Like the perfect manhattan I made myself after work yesterday,  or the birthday group on saturday night who came to thank me personally for my enthusiasm in serving them. There is pleasure in my bleary eyed morning coffee,  reading ayn rand and blinking myself into awakeness. There is joy in the fact that my coworkers have started asking me to go for cigarettes with them, opening up to me about their lives,  telling me about themselves.

I’ve had my tears,  my self pity, and now I am going to take on my day with my head up. I am determined that nothing is going to make me feel bad about myself when I’m working this hard to put good into the world.  And as for losing my grandma’s ring? I was always a disappointment to her no matter how hard I tried.  What’s one more blot on that copybook now she’s dead anyway?

“I’m stuffed with literature. I don’t talk to anyone.” Charles Baudelaire in a letter to Caroline Aupick. August 3rd, 1838. (via mirroir)

(via ohdeanmoriarty)


blows my mind that women are considered shrill and whiny when all i have to do is insinuate that male feelings are not my #1 priority at all times and every indignant male in a 500 mile radius comes out of the woodwork to let me know how they feel

(via behindthefairyflossmachine)

Sep 27
Someone asked me why I don’t instagram much at the mo. The answer? Cos when I’m not at work I look like a fucking alien foetus. A really tired one. #selfie #nomakeupselfie #fuckyoudanhopeyourehappynow

Someone asked me why I don’t instagram much at the mo. The answer? Cos when I’m not at work I look like a fucking alien foetus. A really tired one. #selfie #nomakeupselfie #fuckyoudanhopeyourehappynow

Sep 21

Sep 18

Too, too perfect.

(via cigmond)

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