control.

‘it’ feels like a struggle for control.

i have never ever benefitted from someone else or something else, being in control of me. how do i navigate in between what i need & what i want & relinquishing control of my ‘self’.

should it be a trade off, or should i be able to retain exactly who i am, all the time.


kpm ©


 

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sexual politics of religion: pt 3

following on from the other day and post:

i was having a hard time getting my head round the whole thing, but it’s sorta coming together.

.

being raised in mainstream christianity compounded being sexually assaulted. where they should have been showering the love of jesus, they were trying to control me … as an outcome. they wanted a good little christian brown girl and what they were seeing was not that.

i get all that now.

what also occurred to me though, was in that environment there is no room to be thyself let alone explore your options. there is after all, only one option and thats ‘gods’ option. straight, white, male, conformist.

it took awhile to realise i wasn’t white. and that no amount of appeasing the white christians was going to make me white.

i was definitely no male.

straight? well that was a given … after all, brown girls are better on their backs after all … and then cleaning up and repenting for their brown ancestors.

and conformist i was not and am not.

i had questions and no answers.

i think what disturbs but is that in this environment, which isn’t unlike the rest of society really … how is a person supposed to be comfortable in their ethnicity, sexuality, chosen gender and role?

there is no room for figuring that shit out and becoming all that you were intended to be.

instead we fight.

fight to be heard.

fight to figure shit out.

fight to be.

but when do we stop fighting?

when is it alright to just be? to just explore? to just figure out what fits?

i guess my point i am making to myself really; is that the time to relax and figure out who and what i am … what i like … what i Want to express … what i Want to say …

is Now.

the present.

my hope for my grand babies, is that will be able to explore everything they want to be … figure out for themselves what they believe in and whats worth believing in. i hope in doing so, they’ll save themselves a hell of a lot of years fighting and fighting some more.

they’ve got bigger and better things to do.


kpm ©


 

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the procurement of dependence and resistance

This shit keeps Me up at night. Seriously, it does.

After a thousand posts on Responding and Resisting Control in one form or another, and another thousand on trying to gain and regain some kind of Independence, I am slowly coming to yet another realisation.

But let Me digress slightly first.

I believe we are ‘controlled’ in one way or another, from the cradle to the grave. Some would say that this is ‘good control’, as in we need ‘checks and balances’ and some kind of stability to maintain a sense of order in society. Same goes for our daily independent lives. Routine and roles are allocated, whether we mean too or not.

We are hammered with gender roles, education ‘musts’, societal niceties, allocated roles, parenting tools and health ‘necessities’ from the get go. What we ‘see’, we absorb, one way or another. It’s the ‘nurture’ debate. That our environments mould us. That what we are taught, advertently or inadvertently, we take on board as a ‘norm’.

(not my meme)

Each ‘group’ has a ‘standardised norm’, just as each household or family has their standardised norm. Whether that be that you attend church every sunday, or go to anti-abortion rallies, or discuss the politics of a certain party. Whether you have 2 daddies, or a single parent, or no parents. Whether your mother cooked your meals, or your father did the preserving, or your siblings vacuumed the floors. All these intricacies build up your ‘standardised norms’. Some we take on, inadvertently. Some we fight against.

And what are we fighting against? Control?

And what are we fighting for? Independence?

Right?

So we head off into the world to find ourselves; to establish our beliefs. To flex our independent muscles. Only to find that we are met with another, possibly differing set of standardised norms, that we are to conform too. Once again we are met with an array of information telling us what we should believe, what we should fight against, what is considered ‘normal or abnormal’, what is deemed justified or not.

(not my photograph)

And we filter that information based on the learning we acquired previously. Right? Racism is bad because Dad was of colour and he suffered at the hands of whites? Sexism is bad because my sister was made to lengthen her skirt at school and called ‘wayward’ when she didn’t want too? Eliteism is bad because my grandfather fought in the war? Christianity is good because Jesus died for us? Separating the whites from the colours before washing is good because mum did it? Showering daily is good because Nan said we shouldn’t smell?

With that information we decide whether we should be treated a certain way and whether those around us should be treated a certain way. Right? It’s OK not to have wheelchair access in every building because theres not that many people in wheelchairs. Right? It’s OK to ask females that are raped how much they drank because that might have bearing on why she was raped. Right? It’s OK to teach our children to sit quietly and listen to an adult talking because everything an adult says is important. Right?

(another, which is not my photograph)

So whether we agree or not, with what is presented around us, this process, based on the knowledge we absorbed before-hand, becomes a field of landmines to negotiate. And we react. We didn’t believe in all the christian stuff, so we’ve decided to turn to Buddhism. We don’t agree with segregation so we make sure we are inclusive to default. We never liked being told what to do so we won’t ever put limits on our own children.

And before we are able to get to the other side of that field of land mines, we happen upon a series of events, called Life. Included are sickness, loss, impairment and injustice. The stuff that was supposed to happen to someone else, not us.

So we negotiate our way around that stuff, as best as we can. Based on what? The knowledge acquired beforehand and after? We tackle sickness by going to the doctors, because thats what mum did and thats what the poster at the clinic says. We sign up for every single job we can find because grandma said ‘idle hands are the devils workshop’ and dad said ‘the bills don’t pay themselves. We ignore the lady that says she has ‘friends who are black’, because mum said ‘suck it up, you need the job’ and ‘Mary’ in HR was ‘let go’ after she made a human rights ‘complaint’. We pay the parking ticket even though we know we weren’t parked illegally, because dad said you can’t win against the system and every moment we delay not paying it, to fight against it, a ‘late fee’ gets added. We get insurance, like my brother suggested, and all the television adverts suggest, so the next time we’re robbed we can replace our stuff quickly.

We take up the cause or causes based on the information we ‘know’ and what is presented to us. We take the drugs because the specialist says we should. We send our children to school because they ‘need’ an education. We vote for a certain political party because their beliefs align with ours.

(also, not my meme … apparently owned by a ‘herbs’ place. JS)

Whether we explore other options seems to come down to a couple of things. How trusting we are and whether we can think for ourselves. Right? But what if the other ‘reasons’ for how we respond or react, actually have nothing to do with trust or independent thinking? What if there was another piece of information we were missing?

We take the drugs because we are afraid of the outcome if we don’t. Our children get an education because it is illegal for them not too. We vote because it is the only system afforded to us.

These are not the options generally presented to us. We are usually wooed, blamed or sold the former. I’m assuming because it’s easier to get people to comply inadvertently than offer them a informed choice. Imagine if everyone decided to not choose as was pre-destined for us to choose. So does that mean that these choices are pre-destined? Would that not then make them not real choices? To be offered an alternative that isn’t really an alternative, is therefore a controlled alternative, is it not? By design, the alternative response is also a controlled response.

(&this lil beauty i wish i had written, but alas, also not my meme)

So we react or respond. We ‘free-think’ and come up with resistance. Awesome – Right? What if there was No need for Resistance in the first place? That the Resistance itself, is still Controlled? But what is there instead of complying or resisting? What is there instead of the notion of dependence and independence?

And this is where my realisation came too:

For Me, as an Indigenous person, I am able to look to what my tipuna cohabited like, prior to colonisation. In this existence there was No Dependence or Independence. There was only Interdependence, similar to the ‘community’ concept.

We had no concept of or word for poverty. There were no genders or allocated roles based on gender. There were only states of being that were seamless, transparent and interconnected. They Just Were.

And so I am left wondering, why am I trying to ‘reconcile’ or find wellness, within a superimposed system that was not designed for Me; does not care for Me and does not have my best interests at heart? Why am I trying to strive to be Independent when in actual fact, there is No such thing for someone like Me?

As morose as it may sound, colonisation was not designed to assist Us. It was utilised because complete annihilation and slavery was being abolished by the time the Crown hit our shores. We were not supposed to survive. Rather become willing slaves.

Now even in this realisation, there still has to be a silver lining, Right? Because what is the point otherwise?

What I hadn’t quite comprehended till today, was that just because they’re serving the dish, doesn’t mean I need to eat it.

By doing things ‘their way’, e.g.. -their drugs, their compensation, their options, their reasons, their labels – I am wanting and waiting for them to come up with the assistance and solutions, because somewhere deep down, I must believe they know best? That they have ‘more’ than I do and are able to assist Me with what I need?

But if I also believe what I quoted above – that colonisation and the Crown, were not designed to assist Us – To assist Me – then what am I waiting for?

Would it not be brighter to just do it my tipunas way?

Letting My Yes be Yes; My No be No; being as I Am – Now – with No reason or theory or thinking process attached; embracing Interdependence instead of In-dependence; defining my own version of ‘congruence’, intelligence, reconciliation.

It sounds a whole lot easier, does it not?


kpm©


 

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wearing?

“are you going to wear .. that?”

Yes. Yes I am!


kpm ©


 

ever been ..

intellectually

raped?

yep,

it

feels

similar

to

the

generic

model.


kpm ©


 

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dissecting, processing and clarifying : Me styles

Bullet points on ;)

  1. hey [Me]
  • by disabling the relationship, an air of maturity and authority is thusly donned.

2. I don’t mind you hating me you got every right,

  • affirmation and confirmation = I’m about to fuck you over … wait for it …

3. but

  • said after the initial ‘grooming statement’

4. when it effects my mokos

  • classic, ‘what about the children’ routine

5. to see your hatred towards me

  • classic blaming tactic … *yawn*

6. it hurts them and thats not fair,

  • ‘the children, the children … what about the children’

7. especially when they miss their mum,

  • ahh yes, the thick layer of guilt
  • ‘remember your sister died, you heartless bitch’

8. you can do whatever you like to me,

  • just to reiterate the opening statement whilst dusting off the super hero cape …

9. this is the second time you have done it,

  • just to add a touch of intellectual mystery … before …

10. you are nearly fifty and you still have a chip on your shoulder that I can’t help

  • oh, a big slathering of  …. the obvious!

11. just for the record

  • ahh, getting authoritatively technical now …

12. i didn’t abandon you, your mother left me,

  • ahh yah … strong women tend to do that after their husbands have beaten them and they’ve had enough of being treated like shit
  • aunty google said abandonment is waaaayyy different in definition to NEGLECT. JS.

13. if you don’t want anymore contact thats fine by me

  • *says whilst hitting the messenger ‘block’ button*

14. my mokos don’t want to come home to hatred like that

  • taadah!! All the patriarchal misogynistic controlling classics, straight from the ‘How To Shut Women Up and Keep Them Silent and Submissive’ Handbook.
  • Now to commence sulking.

;)


kpm ©


 

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trapped aversion

Well this was an interesting re-read (as @ august 2018) … and kinda pertinent right at this moment … cos today is a fucker!

As I read and type and re-type, our house is vibrating to fuckery as a large digger is in our front yard, digging up the road to install a footpath. We were warned about it yesterday.

I don’t like diggers. I don’t like surprises. I don’t like my house shaking. I don’t like feeling trapped inside my house whilst my surroundings shake!!

So its been a tense fucking morning and theres been a couple panic attacks, hyperventilation and a shittonne of tears!! I rang my mama to get her to help me calm down .. and she did xo

And now I’m sitting on my bed, reading and writing and looking straight out my window at the road works fuckers lol … I think Me staring at them is making them a little uncomfortable and them seem to have sped up their digging lol.

Anywho … my point is … anxiety is a cunt!


I have a huge aversion to being put into a position a feel I have no control over. I’m working on figuring out what happens when I can feel it happening. But most of the time it’s here before I get whats happening. It’s anxiety and it’s not. It’s an overwhelming revoltion; a searing seething anger and a pounding headache…usually followed by a flood of tears…then more anger…so on and so forth.

It can be anything that I feel has taken away or seeks to take away my freedom…or freedom of choice. Or something like that. Anything or body that has the intent to manipulate for their own gain; my loss. Loss of anything…but mainly my will, free will.

Favours…I don’t like those. Technically speaking, I’m then indebted to someone or something. Just a straight forward transaction is fine. But a lingering…not so sure…possibly may come and collected on said favour anytime they please…not straight forward transaction…well the bites. Hard. I can’t do it.

I start feeling tight and suffocated.

Anything that starts to back me into a corner…I don’t like it.

Anything that makes me feel like I can’t get out…I don’t like it.

It doesn’t have to be actions…it can be words…or intent. Usually intent. Most people hide their true intentions. I think that’s why I like Autistic, Asperger’s, general mentally supposedly disabled peeps…and children…they don’t hide their intentions….they’re not able too. They are what they are. Beautiful and transparent…completely. Others, who have the capacity for bullshit…utilize it to their advantage…all the time. Their intentions are never quite what they seem. And I don’t like it.

I get that its PTSD and all that shit. I just don’t like it…being trapped.

I had my tubes tied just after I’d given birth to my second daughter. This was partially due to the preceding issue I have with not having a choice. The thing with pregnancy and child rearing is…if the other half decides to re-neg on the agreement, the load gets left with the child bearer. And I get that’s there’s always the exception to the god dam rule…but I didn’t want to be that woman with 50 kids, by herself…because the impregnator decided they…had other stuff to do…someone else came along…they had to help the guy down the road…and get left holding the baby so to speak.

I made a decision based on what I thought was the likelihood of a marriage failing; the history that I had lived and the possible future I was in for. For the now…not 50 kids later. I based that decision of what I knew at the time.

The choice gave me freedom…sort of.

I aborted, so I wouldn’t be trapped. I gave my kids up, so I wouldn’t be trapped. And for all the other prissy reasons…

I can’t be trapped.

When I feel trapped, I feel like what a caged animal looks like.

Pacing. I’ll rip your throat out if I can get out from behind these bars…kind of look.

The psychologist says it’s just a thought, a state of mind…that I need to realize it isn’t real anymore. I’m not trapped anymore.

Easy for her to say…shes not feeling trapped.

I get it though.

I just don’t like being or feeling fucking trapped.


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

my challenge : the explanation

I’ve had lots of moments and memories in the last week or two. I seem to lose them as fast as I have them though. That’s whats partially led me to the following personal challenge…

I’ve decided to take a journey through my life….to retain and document my memory of me; to open up and then lay to rest what I need too.

Its not that I haven’t worked on me at all. I’ve done lots of talking, writing, research, soul searching, trial and era, meds, no meds, natural remedies, ‘alternative healing’, councelling, psychologists, education, focusing, meditating, breathing, CBT, tapping, diets, no diets, change in eating….the list goes on. Its all part of my discovery of who I am, what I am. And I guess this is just another part of that.

At my last ‘assessment’ I was told by the well meaning, reasonably pleasant psychiatrist, that my recollection of timelines, dates and events all revolve around my children’s life moments. Not a bad thing. But I have come to realise I’ve had my identity so wrapped up in them, I’ve hidden in it. I’ve forgotten who I am. And forgotten to develop me. I have a lot of difficulty remembering what I’ve done or who I am outside of them.

My children are my defining moments in life. They are why I’m still in the land of the living. They’ve always had my heart, not always my presence or emotion.

My survival has depended on being logical; clear cut; cold and simple. Living in ‘hypo arousal’ made this my normal. And even if you tag all the psychological titles to certain behaviours, its still my normal. I’ve tried to eradicate these behaviours, but they are part of my make up; my survival; they are who I am, with or without PTSD. They are my normal. Therefore I’ve tended to make logical decisions at times when I possibly needed to use my heart. My emotions? They are definitely unexercised and underutilised muscles that I am trying hard to get into shape.

What I do is, make a decision based on what information I have at hand and in its historical context. I analyse the possible outcomes of the decisions I need to make; eliminating the high risk and reducing the risk on the other possibilities. Decision made.

I do this system for just about everything I do. First I desensitise myself by repeating the thought or decision. Similar to playing a song over and over again….the first time may make you cry or laugh or something, because it touches something in your soul.  By the 50th time, you can just hear words. Hear it again in 2 years time and you will remember the feeling that it brought about but it won’t rock you like it did it at the start…well that’s the case for me anyways.  Sheer brilliance I thought! Shame it hasn’t worked instantly on ‘fixing’ PTSD…go figure!

But I have done/still do this for everything. I even have difficulty writing a blog – my personal cathartic vent vehicle! Dah! I have trouble unfolding. I edit, re edit, delete, clean it out, change it round. I simplify and throw parts out. I do the same thing in my home! Yes, I am a self confessed clean freak! I love white walls and clear spaces…minimal, minimal, minimal…funny though, that used to be called poverty, now its a thing!

Soooo, on this new challenge for myself…part of it will be, to NOT edit, NOT delete or eradicate what I write. NOT analyse and reanalyse what I think, reword and rehash. I will document (the word document makes me feel safe lol), my ramble and leave it alone. Well I may still organise it into categories…and then leave it the fuck alone…for a certain period of time anyway! Till I’m finished…yeah till I’m finished. Ohhh I feel anxious already lol!

I’ve always considered myself to be open and transparent, but somewhere along my path I think I started to fool myself into believing my own bullshit. The truth is…I WAS open and transparent, as open and transparent with what I knew at the time. Then there came a time when I decided to ‘leave it be’. Which in itself sounds healthy, but I haven’t really let it be at all. I’ve forgotten on purpose because it no longer seemed viable. And with the help of some serious sleep medication, I’ve lost my ‘mind’ and memories along with it.

As I’ve mentioned before, I have never slept well. Well never slept as the ‘professionals’ say is ‘well’. And after a few hard out years I opted for meds so I could get some sleep! Some long, good, well needed sleep! Ahhh. Im now going through the agony of weaning off the ‘dependency making’ pills, without more dependency making pills! Turns out I should have only been taking them for 3-6 months, not 5+ years! – which, I might add, the doctor failed to mention, but google had all the info on!

This leads to the second part of why I need to do this. I was challenged after reading a fellow bloggers piece on her and her daughter. I realised I had cut my children, and my gender, out of my personal recollections to others; and myself. Partially to protect them, partially out of guilt. Partially for my own protection, partially because I hated being a woman. My children are my heart; but therefore my weakness; my Achilles heel so to speak. I need to recollect all parts, not just what’s comfortable and non-emotional.

In all of this, I’ve got to be myself. Evolve into the me I want to be. To accept who I am, in its entirety.

So for the next while, week by week, representing year by year; I will be documenting ME ;)

#mystory


kpm ©


 

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conversation to self

Its been a couple of brilliant days, full on days. Trying to keep to my therapeutic (Blah blah) schedule ;)

I managed a slow walk to the beach, beepers and stick in hand, music for my ears. I got there, enjoyed the sand and sun, even a couple of strangers strolling by didn’t seem to bother me too much. Nice I thought :)

Heading off home…the heart started to speed up and the vision started going abit blurry – tried really hard to notice what was changing in my thoughts…head. Noticed I had sped up…I obviously wanted to get home and was finished with all the wonderful sightseeing, therapeutic bullshit…I was over it…really. So instead of speeding up more…which is what I usually do…freaking myself out in the process…I slowed down, breathed slower. Then stopped. Had a little chat to myself..which went abit like…

“righteo dick…if you speed up your gonna set yourself into a panic…you cant make this walk any shorter unless you’ve turned into a super fit athlete overnight and didn’t fill me in on it? No…so you are gonna have to slow down…if you happen to pass out I’m pretty sure someone will pick you up…you won’t be out here too long…but if you slow down, breath….you might just actually enjoy what’s around you…stop squinting at everything, your making it worse…focus on one thing…breath then move on to the next…we’ll do that the whole way home…right…lets go”

LOL

I got home, in one piece, took a nice little triumphant selfie and posted it on my fb page ;)


kpm©