now that we’ve found love ~ heavy d & the boyz: ft aaron hall, 1991
language ~ annie crummer, 1992
baby ~ brandy, 1994
too close ~ next, 1997
can we ~ swv ft missy elliot, 1997
lately, i have felt like a wounded animal or sitting duck. which makes me feel as vulnerable AF.
i dont like it.
not feeling ok, or not completely alert and on to it, makes me feel as vulnerable AF.
i dont like it.
panic attacks makes me tired & i want to sleep which makes me feel as vulnerable AF.
i dont like it.
& then feel even weaker, which i have tried to avoid at all costs, cos, yes thats right, it makes me feel as vulnerable AF.
i dont like it.
not one little bit.
chicken grease ~ d’angelo, 2000
like this and like that, monica ft mr malik, 1995
forever dont last ~ jazmine sullivan, 2015
woke up with the realisation that a lot of the awkward fuckery has come from a lack of simplicity.
i need simplicity.
like a fat kid needs cake.
i don’t / can’t do long-winded-meaningless-poofy-bullshit.
not unless it comes in 5 words or less.
somewhere over the last few weeks, i feel like my being has gotten all damned up with shit that isn’t mine; shit that’s complicated – way to complicated for me; & bullshit thats completely unnecessary.
dare i say it, but its kinda been like it since the beginning of the year & that the bit thats my ‘fault’, is caving in to the semi-psychotic whims of every other cunt.
fuck that annoys the fuck outta me.
i do simple. real fucking simple.
i get fucked up when cunts dump their shit in my nice clean, minimised backyard. & yeah thats a figurative & a literal.
think it be time for the skip bin approach!
psycho killer – talking heads, 1982
green bottles ~ six60, 2011
a capital A. for Arrogance (which is actually dripping from the pores of NZ atm).
after waiting over 2 years & multiple requests to see a specific type of psychologist through ACC & then Me finally finding & engaging with one – the cunts send Me a letter to say they have found a psychologist & have approved planning sessions & how important it is for me to feel supported in my motherfucking wellness, ‘please do not miss your appointment & if we can help further, don’t hesitate to contact us’.
i fucken hate bureaucracy.
*breathing out … & letting it go grrrrr*
be happy – mary j blige, 1994
the jury is still out about the psychologist.
but so far, so good. aka, i survived the appointment & so did she!
fyi re pts(d) by sexual assault & schooling the ignorant:
we didn’t come by this disorder because of precondition. it arrived upon our personage, thanks to someone elses choice to enact their criminal depravity upon us.
you’re welcome for the clarification.
maimoatia ~ pukana & whanau, 2016
i meet a new psychologist today. slightly fucken nervous but that’s a given. this morning i’m chilling the fuck out as much as i can.
i have a list of shit i need to ask.
like: wtf can you offer me, cos i am way the fuck over all of this.
ok, so thats a question & a statement, but hopefully she gets the drift. fast.
wish me luck. see yah on the flip side.
what anxiety? *eye ball roll insert*
i can see / feel theres something in the air.
like, angry AF.
it feels like some of it is hormonal. which @ any other time would be a pain in the ass (literally), but i’m embracing it. i think its enhancing the feeling thats already there.
& we all know how devoid of fucking ‘named feelings’ i am *eye ball roll inserted, right … here!*
it got me wondering why on earth we are all so obsessed with naming shit. all the fucking time. its annoying … & this coming from the bitch that loves analysis *insert yet another fucking eye-ball roll*
so, what’s surfacing? what is so fucking important that its plaguing my existence from waking to sleep-time, & sleep-time even … how rude! i’ve ground my teeth so hard, i’ve broken my back tooth. oh joy!
& thats a sure indicator that theres something brewing … oh yeah, that & the daily flashbacks … *yep, thats right … insert yet another eye ball roll … i’ll end up rolling those bitches right out my head soon!*
so, theres an ‘impending doom’ feeling, that sure, feels like anxiety, but different. it feels familiar. almost homely. but also fucking sickening.
i was reminded in the midst of one of these gutt wrenching fuckery’s the other day, that my involuntary interaction with the pedo cunt stopped when my grandfather died.
somewhere along the line i had kinda forgotten that just cos i had confronted his filth & come out the closet about his true nature, like, years ago; i had still had to put up with his presence on various occasions.
namely, when i wanted to see my grandparents.
my relationship with them was sporadic because of that fuckwitt.
after my grandfather died, i didn’t have to see him anymore.
& i haven’t.
thats actually only been 11 years.
repeat … 11 years.
i am forty-fucking-seven years old.
as all that dawned on me like a … fuck, i dont know what … i got that feeling (the above one i’ve been trying to describe …) in the pitt of my guts again. it kinda floated around in the middle there & then kicked me in the balls.
‘right bitch? yah get it now?’
& i dont.
& it actually hurts far too much to think about.
but that hasn’t stopped it from screwing with me feng shui.
so, thats me right now.
black and gold ~ sam sparro, 2008