Blind in New York City

Dear Benefactors of Kelly-Bergin.com,

On STUPID Super Bowl Sunday, the worst day in the world, I went to a rooftop in STUPID Williamsburg to take pictures. I placed my Ray Ban glasses on my lapel to properly shoot cliched photos of the Manhattan skyline when a HUGE GUST of UNRULY wind knocked my glasses onto the street below, never to be seen again. (A hipster probably found them and put them on his dog as a joke ha ha and then probably submitted his dog to Hipster Puppies!! STUPID HIPSTERS!)

Since glasses are pretty expensive and I'm pretty broke, I've been blind ever since. I don't "do" contacts (mostly because the one time I was supposed to get them, I got drunk with Rachel instead and missed my appointment. Also my mother doesn't think I'm "responsible enough". HA!).

Last week I went to the eye doctor to get an updated prescription for the glasses I can't afford and even THE DOCTOR was "Damn girl, you been walkin round blind all this time??" (she was sassy!) and I was like "Yes! I'm poor and my parents are trying to teach me a lesson about losing stuff!" (This is my fourth lost pair of glasses in two years.)

Anyway things have gone downhill since I lost me specs. Please see the following reasons y'all should buy me new glasses and/or give me your pair:

1) Since losing my valuable Bans, I've become That Crazy Slightly Racist Chick On The Street Who Waves At Strangers. (Un)fortunately for my liberal, lefty, love everyone image, it seems that every race has blended together to form one human I think I know and therefore should wave at. And since I'm not at all prejudiced when it comes to my blindness, the black, white, Asian, homeless, and minor celebrities all look the same to me. And that, dear stranger with a confused look on your face, is why I am waving at you. I think you're my friend or Julianna Marguiles, so please--wave back! I may not know you, but don't you want to know me? (No? NO? NO?!?!?)

2) Watching TV is hard. FOR EXAMPLE: I was watching LOST and I couldn't really see the TV so I thought the new chick on the show was Rousseau because they kinda look alike and then I was like oh wait, maybe that's Tina Fey? Well it wasn't either of them and now I'm even more confused about the show than I was in the first place!

3) Because I can't see, I'm always straining my eyes, head and neck. Now I have a constant migraine and have become addicted to Ativan/Excedrin migraine/Advil to deal with this. Also: chocolate.

4) Due to constant migraine, I am very cranky and annoy my coworkers to make myself feel better. Writing songs often works, especially when most go like this: "Death, death, DEATH/ Come take me/ I hate everyone/Including youuuuu!" They hate it and I'm going to get fired.

5) Since I can't see the screen, I've seen very few movies over the past few months. This is hard for me because movie theater popcorn is my favorite food and now I have to make the fake imitation at home. Yesterday I nearly set my kitchen ablaze because apparently mini bags aren't timed the same as normal people bags. (WHO KNEW!?) I got so frustrated with the charred mess of kernels that I went to Duane Reade and bought a Movie Theater Butter regular sized pack. Then I made the entire bag and tried to watch "How I Met Your Mother" but I couldn't really see the screen so I TRIED to move the TV stand closer and a DVD dropped on my foot and it really, really hurt. Now it's bruised and matches my purple nail polish, which is poorly applied because I CAN'T SEE A DAMN THING.

See (ha ha I made a pun, remember I can't see?) how bad it's getting?!? Please consider making a contribution (non-tax-deductible) to the Buy Kelly New Glasses And Her Security Deposit Because She Has To Move Again Fund.

Best Wishes,

Kelly "Blind as a Fucking Bat" Bergin


a word on how i live (because you asked haha just kidding you didn't)

There are many moments that I feel that I have lost because they were not spent living.

They were suspended between my feet on the ground and the air outside. They were not here with me but I was in them anyway, and they floated. They happened, they are over, more will come.

These times are not a judgment on the rest of my life.

But maybe they are and that’s what everyone remembers when they look at me and I’m not laughing.

When I am okay and at work or in the streets or at the bar, I am trying to move around those moments. I am refusing to let them be the words on the paper but instead scratches in the margins. Because I cannot predict when I will be in bed next, I choose to make the times I am awake realized.

I need to feel my way through the days without thinking about what will happen next.

So—I say one life and drink and mess around and make stupid decisions and then I go home and I write and I feel good and happy and manic.

I am trying to live while knowing it can stop. I live for the Tuesdays I get out of bed and go to work but I remember last week when it took an hour to move my leg outside the covers.

I live for what I can know and what I do not.

One life.


This is one of the people I call my best friend.

Genevieve: dude i have such a bad stomachache. I accidentally put in one of those packets that come in new purses/shoes that say "do not eat"...in my coffee
Genevieve: Cause it was in my new bag with all my sugar packets!!
Me: Omg. How can one person be so dumb??
Genevieve: I think I'm dying!
Me: You should def call poison control!!
Genevieve: Dude that shit is poison! OMG, I'm sitting in class, I don't feel so good. I drank at least 1/3 of the coffee...no like 1/4...and I put the packets back in my bag because i was sitting in class and i just looked at them cause i was wondering why it tasted wierd
Me: Hmm...yes.
Genevieve: I'm going to go make myself throw up. Be right back.
Me: Oh Jesus.


Yes, this really happened.

The sound of African drums fills my head.

Ba dum. Ba dum.

I am on an African safari with my BFF Chelsy Davy and the man I am embroiled in affair with, HRH Prince Harry of Wales.

Drums fill the car, booming on the stereo.

They get louder.




My eyes flash open.

The safari slips from my mind.

We were going to get married.

I hit snooze.

An hour passes. I get up. Dress myself. Halfheartedly slap some makeup on my face. Grimace into the mirror. Brush only the teeth visible to the world.

I sigh the heaviest of sighs and begin the arduous walk to the F train.

I dodge hipsters and taxi cabs. Today I am yelled at in Pakistani.

I am not popular around these parts.

I get to work. Unload my stuff. Begin to bitch.

I sit down.

I realize I feel different.

Things are...comfortable.

New chair? I check. No.

New sweater? Ah, yes. That must be it. Oh it is so nice, this new sweater. The material is soft. I cannot believe it was only eleven dollars at H and ---



I'm not.

I'm not wearing a bra.

I am not wearing a bra to work and...yes, I have seven meetings today.


I'm no Olsen twin. Bras are essential to my...look.

Oh god.

No bra.

Seven meetings.

One life (that is taking entirely too long.)