A Dysfunctional Collective

A blog of a blog. You heard right. This is a visual gateway to a blog not made for everyone. Maybe it's not for anyone. But thats not the point. The point is, this is the beginning, of someting mildly different. A fresh change of pace from the cushy cute fashionista posts, bright light images and please like me garbage we can't help but to follow, and choke down each day. This will be a collection of written secrets, dark dysfunction, and the things we know but wont talk about in life, childhoods, our common day, from dark back rooms, conventional day jobs, shot up shit we’ve done and how we’re functioning now.

[dysfunctionalcollective]

Happy Birthday

I sat by the phone, for hours, maybe minutes but who knows time at the age of 4… maybe 5? I don’t know how old I was but, I sat by that phone like it was going to change this time. This was my first birthday memory. You know what I mean, I’m sure there were more birthdays, and fuck maybe they were even happy; but this is the first one I remember. The most fucked up part? At this early age I…

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untitled

Do you know what it is to truly feel alone? No; really alone. Like if you stood in the middle of Times Square butt-ass-naked, screaming at the top of your lungs, would you still feel alone? Then you don’t know what it is. The first emotion I remember from a young age, was the feeling of being alone; like I knew no matter what happened in life or how old I got I was on my own. I could pin point…

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The Lost Boys

Have you ever read Peter Pan? The real book I mean, not the sugar-coated Disney version sprinkled in fairy dust. You should. Let me tell you something, this book is more accurate about life and how it pans out for us adults, than anything your mama told you. First of all, the author was one of two brothers and he was the black sheep. His brother was the golden child, the Marsha if you will. Loved…

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PSA

As we begin this journey I’d like to say; its gonna be a hot mess. This isn’t for the faint of heart, the prude, the proper, the pretty, or the content. This is a blood spill. A crime scene. A sacrament. This is real. You don’t have to like it, I’m not in the business of likes. But you can follow along. You’ll either relate, or pretend too. And if you don’t do either well… you’ll probably still…

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[dysfunctionalcollective]

She Thinks I Don't Understand

She Thinks I Don’t Understand

I can vividly remember thinking, ‘she thinks I don’t understand.’ As my “mother” scurried off to score another high. She put a coat on me and left me on the porch of my grandmothers house in the middle of the afternoon. Oh, it was December. Christmas Eve actually. In Maine. I was 5. If I had to guess now, it was at least single digits cold. So fucking cold. A coat, and my stuffed bunny.

[dysfunctionalcollective]

"Monsters don't live under your bed, they sleep inside your head." ::Lily::

[dysfunctionalcollective]

[thoughtkick]

You’re always haunted by the idea you’re wasting your life.

Chuck Palahniuk, Diary (via thoughtkick)

Waste it well.

[dysfunctionalcollective]

What are you waiting for?

Well it’s up to you to decide if you’ll stick around to see how this grows.

But like most humans, it’ll be so inconvenient to not get the instant gratification that is our millennial generation you’ll disappear.

Like your dad. Like your mom. Your husband. Boyfriend?

Whoever it was that abandoned you, and made you this way. And you’re thinking, “what way is that?”

Well, the way you are.

Stick around and follow this shit if you need to know why, you are, the way you are.

And if you can’t relate; well then maybe the silver spoon is shoved too far up your ass for any hope of removal or relation to us common folk.