birthdays birthdays

April and June are our birthday steroid months. I think theres 5 or 6 in April and the same for June.

Cool Story … lol,

Which brings Me to this weekend; where there will be, what was going to be, a small gathering of friends and fams.

Last count 25 and rising … eek.

All good … I’m breathing … I have my toolkit … eek.

Seriously though … this will be the first time in about 4 years that I’ve been in the same vicinity with all of the fams – both sides.

Eek and double eek.

Oh and I have drugs if I need them 😉

Wish Me luck … if I can pull this shit off without offending anyone to badly or having a giant ass meltdown … the possibilities could be endless 😉

Oh, and my father is apparently flying into the country on Saturday … again … maybe.

Eeeeeekkkk.

366 reasons to smile ~ +52.

+52. I don’t have a +52. I’m going through all my posts and it turns out on the 21st of February 2017, I didn’t do one of these posts. Why?

Fuck knows.

Does it bug Me that I left a gap?

Fucken ay.

And that makes Me Smile.

Because I’m an anal fucker like that. And now I have a +52 post.

Good lord LOL.

argument~ta~tive~ness

go on.

say something.

tell me how I should do it.

what I should feel.

tell me

I’m wrong.

tell me

I need to get a life.

go on.

raise your voice.

your tone.

puff your shoulders up.

stretch out the back bone.

lift that chin.

tell me, tell me

I’m fucked.

I’m a mongrel.

I’m lazy.

I’m useless.

go on, mother fucker.

tell me again.

tell me, what you think.

tell me what I should really be thinking.

go on, correct my feelings.

I fucking dare you.

tell it like it is.

tell me, fuck yah.

go on, just like you used to do.

flashback!

when I was weaker,

vulnerable,

in need,

sick,

wanting a hand,

a shoulder,

was whiny,

cry-I-er,

loser-ish.

isn’t that how you put it.

mongrel bitch,

go on, try it again motherfucker.

please, please.

I am in need of a dam good fucking argument.

you used to like it like that,

but now,

not so much, ay.

because my voice

my arm

my anger

my fierce

my being

my woman

my heart

my soul

and my fucking steel

spirit.

don’t play that shit no more.

so, I tell you.

I dare you.

try it, go on, try it.

and see what happens.

activism ~ Me re: parenting and protection

My goal for parenting ‘well’, was to protect.

Now I didn’t wake up one morning, breastfeed my daughter and think ‘oh gosh, I think protection of you and your little world is going to be my number one goal as I raise you’.

No, protection was / is an engrained response.

I think there’s supposed to be way more to parenting. But this was my driving force. It shaped how I was with my children, my absence from my children, my need to step back or be in their faces, or someone elses … it was to protect.

Protect from what?

Besides everything …

Sexual Assault.

Dim and grim view you may say, and yes, in hindsight, I get that it probably was. But as I’ve said before, my PTSDness has shaped who and what I am, for the most part of my life.

When I knew I was having daughters … I was petrified. Absolutely petrified.

Statistically, females are sexually assaulted more than males. Well, that’s whats reported. And I get now, that those stats are largely incorrect. But as a new mother back in the day; and a very young mother at that; and based on my own experiences … being a female, and a little female at that … your chances of survival were slim.

I became ‘absent’ from my daughter when she was a baby. For the most part, this was to protect her from her birth father. He was violent, but his violence was directed at me, not her. In hindsight, a stronger, wiser person would have just reported his ass and been done with it.

However, if you know anything about reporting physical violence, from a females perspective; you’d have more results pushing water up hill with a fork than have the ‘authorities’ come to your aid.

I did what I thought to be right at the time.

I was never far away and was forever watching.

So when my daughters came back to live with me, after their father decided he needed to ‘find himself’, I saw it as a second chance. And one I wasn’t going to fuck up.

My basis for parenting was environmental; as in, I had learned and absorbed what I had seen and experienced. The rest of it came from Biblical principles that I had also heard and absorbed whilst sitting in church for years. Unfortunately, that didn’t give a step by step on how to protect children from pedos, and I wasn’t about to leave it up to faith and prayer.

So I hunted for solutions and a ‘how to’ manual and came up short. And then I figured –  what better way to learn, than from peeps that hunted pedo freaks for a living. You’ve got to remember, this was about 2002 and there wasn’t a lot available to your average peep on this sort of thing.

Enter, ‘John Douglas’, former FBI criminal profiler dude; now author dude – of ‘Mindhunter’.

At the end of this book there was a list, of sorts, of what to look for, behaviour wise, when scoping out a would be, could be, offender. There were tips on what to look for in your children if you suspected something was amiss.

Here are some of the things I came away with, rehashed and implemented into my parenting.

  1. Know your children. Properly, and deeply. If you know them, really know them, then you will notice any changes.
  2. Teach your children confidence. Build confidence in them. Not only is confidence a good thing; a predator of children is less likely to ‘hunt’ a child that exudes confidence. Not always, but it minimises the chances. Confident children don’t make easy prey.
  3. Teach your children to trust their instincts and their gutt. If it feels odd, then it is odd. Always roll with your ‘first thought’ or ‘first instinctual reaction’.

These sound like simple things, but they are hard, for us. When we’re to busy to ‘know’ our kids … when we would rather have them obey than to seem disrespectful or obstinate … when we would rather that we taught them how to act and react.

Children are way way smarter than we give them credit for. They usually know what to do in any given situation, but our ‘socialisation’ of them teaches them to not listen to their instincts, to trust all adults and to obey authority.

If a child is uncomfortable with a certain adult, don’t make them say hello or give them a hug because we feel uncomfortable about how the child’s unwillingness to be compliant makes us look.

Teach them honesty, confidence and love; but also observance, instinctual response and strategy.

And for us … listen to what children have to say … we might actually learn something!

backdrop and current dilemma, of sorts

In a previous post I touched on having to go and get my drivers licence renewed and the ‘art’ of trying desperately to ‘look’ normal.

So heres the back story.

I haven’t driven, properly, or long distance, for years. This is my choice; as in, I haven’t had my licence revoked or anything. But I figured, possible panic attack and driving don’t really go well together …  so better safe than sorry, at least until I can get a handle on everything. And thats not going into the Vertigo scenario and being able to handle movement etc.

So at the end of last year, I was flicking through my extremely empty wallet, hoping to find a lazy $20 I may have tucked away and forgotten about; when I happenstanced upon my drivers licence. Looking longingly at the 30 something year old on the front of it, wondering if she had imagined ‘this’ in her future, I thereby-ist noticed the expiry date … Shit Fuck! June 2017, it read in glaringly obvious torment.

  1. I’ll have to go in to the licensing place.
  2. I’ll have to talk to them.
  3. I’ll have to make eye contact.
  4. I’ll have to fill in forms.
  5. I’ll have to go during the day time.
  6. I’ll have to leave my house.

Now by the end of last year, I was way better than I had been the year before. I had made a few trips into town; I could walk to the local shop by myself and down to the beach by myself. I could even talk on the phone for 10-15 minutes! Yip-fucking-py! Sure, I still needed, and still need, my ‘tool kit’, but I was, and am, slowly gangstah-rizing my process.

So I put my licence back in my wallet and made a note of it on the whiteboard – so I wouldn’t forget and so I wouldn’t dwell on it and freak out even more.

June 2017 rolls round and holy fuck, I’m not ready … but I am … but I’m so not!

Bring on the Thursday just gone; 1 day before my licence is due to expire. I get myself ready and drop and quarter calmer sedative, and we head off. But I have this roaring gnawing sensation in the pit of my gut.

“How the fuck do I do normal?”

Not that I had ever really been ‘practiced’ in the art of ‘normality’ or steadily practiced ‘active normality’ LOL. But i think, without even realising it, we’re all ‘socialised’ into being, or at least acting, normal. And that normality, as despised by those of us who … well … aren’t … really is an awkward farce. And those of us on the fringes, spend a shittonne of time establishing something outside of that norm, to call our own, and the spend the rest of that time screaming at the normal mofos, to notice us and let us be all at the same time.

Wouldn’t it be nice to live in a world where normal was gay and heterosexual was abnormal; where the only access ways were wheelchair ramps and there was only one ‘abled-bodied’ toilet in a restaurant; where atheism was normal and christianity was abnormal; where female was the dominant gender … and normal … and male, was abnormal … and subservient; where my mochachinno was only served to me by white middle aged men in suits 😉 Yah get my drift … And whilst we all struggle in our own sections of ‘abnormality’ to find normality of our own … we can acknowledge somewhere, somehow, that the ‘normal’ we all long for – is Not.

This is a straight able-bodied white mid-aged, upper middle class dude world. Anything outside that … isn’t normal. Soz peeps, that actually puts a lot of you into the ‘abnormal’ section by default 😉

So knowing that most of Us are not normal, We still strive to fit. Because there is a ‘look’ that we are after … and that is one of “Yeah, I know what the fuck I’m doing”.

So when all that appeasing and pleasing is stripped away, and You really are left with your A for Authentic self and whoever that may be … could You, would You, go back to faking it? Even for a moment?

Well, it turns out – I can’t without getting sick!

I made it to the counter to get my licence renewed … I managed to fake a smile or two and do ‘banter’ on the bad photos that end up on the front of all licences. And all the while my head was spinning; my gutt was gnawing and I desperately wanted to throw up; my legs wanted to get the fuck out of there! But I stayed – because I Needed what they were providing.

Now some would say that this is the price we have to pay to get what we want. That Complicity is what we have to employ to get things done.

But I’ve never been complicit. I have had complicity forced upon Me and complied because it was the choice between breathing – Or not.

But for these everyday things, I really do wonder, how we got to the point where complicity was the normal. Who made the rules up that we all follow? Who decided what looks and acts normal? Who decided what was abnormal?

Anywho … that gnawing in my gutt went on for over 3 days. No, I didn’t have a panic attack (not a biggie anyway). No, I didn’t freak completely. And that in ‘the big picture’ of things, is what the psychologists would call “Progress”. And don’t get Me wrong; I high fived myself!

But aren’t I just re-learning how to be ‘normal’? How to work the system so I can get what I want?

That leaves a bad after taste in my gutt.