peeling it back: one miserable layer at a time

This has been sitting in the ‘to post eventually’ pile and now seems gooder time as any I reckon …

Heres the conundrum …

I note:

  • the anxiety (general and specific – to certain things) has increased incredibly since just before the end of last year
  • therefore, my sedative consumption has also increased

Before 2010 I was reasonably fit, healthy-ish, could socialize and actually enjoy it, could walk for an hour or so by myself and unaided. I also note however:

  • I was always tense as fuck
  • I was always dizzy as fuck
  • Couldn’t hold much food down
  • Couldn’t hold onto any weight

So even though I ‘appeared’ healthy, there were things brewing.

Upon reflection, after being medically discharged from my job in 2010, I am almost certain that what I was having for the 4 years of working there, were increased anxiety and big ass panic attacks. The result of those going undetected and undiagnosed started a long battle with myself, the ‘specialists’ and doctors and their medications and of course an actual diagnosis.

In hindsight, all their ‘diagnoses’ were symptoms and their medications inaccurate.

From 2010 till now I have spent more time incapacitated and bed and house ridden than any other time in my life. I have watched more movies than I can remember and tried more medications than I care to remember. I’ve spent nearly half of that time trying to wean myself off’ve those medications and another space of time recovering from the after effects of those medications.

My muscles are weak. My mind feels weaker than it ever has. My nerves are rattled more times than not. My thoughts are scattered and my guts is in knots.

What has always kept Me going, is My Fight.

So what happens when the Fight feels like it’s being sucked out of Me? What happens when all the movies have been watched? All the ‘alternative treatments’ have been tried? All the reflection and mindfulness is dried up? What happens when all the plans and re plans have been done, re hashed and hashed again? What happens when theres nothing left to photograph and no more stories to tell?

Where the fuck do I pull the ‘Fight’ from when it feels like theres none left?

And then there was this:

I learnt the other day, that the pedo cunt who violated my tiny being; terrorized my tiny world; imbedded fear and mistrust into my tiny little soul; who invaded my tiny body and soul and spirit …

Yeah, well that cunt …

It turns out that he is now old. Obviously.

He doesn’t leave his room.

He stays locked away and doesn’t come out.

Do I feel sorry for him?   …. Nope.

Do I care? …. Nope.

Do I hope he rots away in his own evil for whatever is the rest of his miserable life? …. Yup.

….. Then I Pause …..

….. And it occurs to Me ….

That that cunt … and I … are living pretty much the same existence. And I feel repulsed.


Now try swallowing that one whole.


Thats some serious fuckery that needs to be addressed.


kpm ©


4 thoughts on “peeling it back: one miserable layer at a time

  1. Damn friend that’s one deep revelation you’ve had there, I can’t and won’t call it a good thing but perhaps in a way it’s just what you need to speak the flame again

  2. Yes, we spend so much time and energy trying to escape them, to be the opposite of what they are. Mine died last year (Yay!) I was surprised that I cried so much, in fact I melted into a puddle of tears and had to leave work early. In the end I decided I was crying out of relief; no longer being responsible for keeping everyone safe from him (even though that had been over for years). There is no easy answer, no magic bullet, nothing. We will save ourselves in a million different ways every day for the rest of our lives.

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