?”

how do you protect yourself against something thats already happened.


kpm©


 

.me.i.

i need proof me won’t betray me

& i won’t betray i.


kpm©


 

where are they now?

from the moment they said i should ‘feel’ more, i shoulda told them to shut the fuck up.

when they said i needed to be more connected; more in tune with myself. be compassionate and not so cold.

i shoulda told them to go fuck themselves.

but instead: i listened.

& then attempted to be all those things.

but where are these cunts with all the helpful advise now?

offering to hold my hand through the grocery shop as i squint at the lights or shake at the counter? holding me up as i near drop to floor after a car backfires or consoling me as i breakdown in the front seat of the car waiting for the lights to change?

where are these cunts with all the wonderful expectations?

not the fuck here are they!


kpm ©


 

i can feel it.

today i felt the water on my back; then it running down my legs. i felt it, like i’m guessing, most people would when water touches them.

it felt weird.

not hot or cold. just drippy. moving.

as a dissociated twat, this is something i’ve never really felt before.

my pain threshold is reasonably high, so when i ‘feel’, its in terms of pain. tattoos. headaches. when i stub my toe on the corner of the table leg.

but by in large, i don’t – haven’t – felt things like, water dripping, or a light breeze across my face. i can’t feel my fingertips touch. i don’t really recognise my clothing against my skin. i know, cognitively, that its there, and therefore i ‘feel’ it. but i don’t ‘feel’ it.

today i felt the water on my back; then it running down my legs.

& while those around me might celebrate that, if i were to actually tell them; i’m not celebrating.

i know it’s coming.

change.

it’s coming.

& i’m afraid of what i will ‘feel’ next.


kpm ©


 

the thing with dissociation

Whilst the terminology is varied, we can agree that dissociation is detachment, in one form or another; Right?

So the thing would be, that the dissociative state is unhealthy? Right? Because it is an altered sense of reality; or Not reality at all?

Well heres my thing …

  • Dissociation is survival.
  • Dissociation is a very gangstah tool for survival.
  • Dissociation is in it’s completeness, a Reality.
  • Dissociation is key to mental, physical, psychological and spiritual health, at the time it is employed.

But I wish some psychological cunt had’ve pre-warned Me about this:

  • Dissociation has some cunty backlashes when one decides to Not be dissociative anymore.

I think I employed dissociation as a survival mechanism before I could speak. Does that mean my perception of Reality was off?

Hell No.

I knew what was going on around Me was shit. I knew in the pit of my gutt that there was fuckery afoot. Could I do anything about that? No.

I was physically incapable of ‘fighting’ back; of desisting or resisting; or fleeing the situation. I could hardly walk, let alone talk.

But what staggers Me now, is that I knew enough then, to know it was time to ‘leave’. And leave I did. For 30 odd years.

By the time life caught up with Me, and the nagging voices espousing “You’re so cold” “You’re so aloof” “You’re so distant” finally got to Me; it didn’t occur to me then, to tell them all to get fucked. It didn’t occur to Me to ask them Why they hadn’t asked Me Why?

Instead – I tried to feel.

Guess what comes with feeling shit?

Anxiety and Panic. Great buckets full of it … great big shit filled buckets full of it alright.

Why?

Because when one is devoid of emotion, one is also devoid of anxiety and its best friend, panic. There is No stress. There is No worry. There is only Nothing. Nuddah. Zilch. Sure it all goes on ‘underneath’ everything, and its the sick feeling you get in your gut or the persistent headache that hasn’t let up for years … but theres pain meds for that shit, and back to soldiering on.

So along comes grief and sorrow … and fucking anxiety about grief and sorrow. The gutts ache of wondering what or if that is actually what it should feel like. The same goes for love, peace, anticipation, excitement, joy, friendliness, waiting, contentment …. etc etc.

Up until recently, I could describe what all those things ‘looked’ like. It is why I understand body language, and the inconsistency of what is spoken versus what is non verbally spoken. I call it cognitive feeling. I know what it should look like, therefore I believe I know what it cognitively should ‘feel’ like.

The problem is, feeling feels very different than thought.

So before you ask someone to be present; to feel; to get a heart or a soul – just remember to ask these things first;

  1. Why don’t you feel anything?
  2. When did you stop feeling anything?
  3. What purpose does it serve you, to feel nothing?

If a person is happy in their dissociative-ness, leave them to it! Who are they hurting? You? Because you want them to be like You? All touchy and feely and shit?

Dissociation serves a purpose. A vital purpose.

And just remember, when dissociation goes, there in its place, is a shit storm of unknown emotion … that We have to learn from scratch.

And that learning may Not look how you would imagine it.

For Me, happy is chocolate, coffee and the mokos. It doesn’t have anything to do with the weather, or my career, or what I bought. It’s the same for sadness and fear. What I fear and what makes Me sad, isn’t the same as my partners. He fears not having eggs and baked beans lol. I fear bright lights and loud noises. He gets sad when he thinks. I get sad when I see someone else sad.

So what does all this bring Me too:

Today I went and got my drivers licence renewed … I’ll update that debacle on another post … but suffice to say, I was nervous as fuck. New place, new sounds, new smells … I felt like throwing up, so downed a 1/4 sedative to take off the edge.

What was I nervous about?

In an ‘aha’ moment … I realised I was nervous about trying to do ‘normal’.

I couldn’t rock up to the counter to get the licence renewed with all my breathing thingees; I couldn’t take my blanky; I couldn’t sniff my orange … Why? Because I’d LOOK mentally ill … and in this country, you can’t drive if your mentally ill (and it effects your driving). I had forgotten how to ‘fake normal’.

Normal is polite … it’s also hurried and rude.

Normal isn’t chatty or truthful … its important looking; like you’ve got somewhere to be and something to do.

Normal doesn’t ask stupid questions.

Normal isn’t assertive.

Normal doesn’t blink a lot … it’s still and quiet … otherwise you look like your dodgy.

Normal is ticking the boxes, including the one that asks if you’re ‘Male’ or ‘Female’; Normal doesn’t ask why thats Normal.

Normal is beige. Not black. Not stripey.

Don’t believe Me?

Try it. Try looking around You at all the things that people do; the way they conduct themselves in public; at the counter waiting for service … people behave in a certain way … there are unwritten, unspoken rules of engagement. And I have been so long out of the game that I had forgotten how to play it.

On any other given day I would high fived the fuck outta myself … but when you need what they’re selling, and you need to appear Normal … it’s not such a cool thing lol.

Any-who … the up shot, is I have my renewed drivers licence, I am thankful as fuck that I managed to fake normal for 15 minutes, and now I am fucking exhausted and I’m going to have a Nanny Nap ;)


kpm ©


 

so, that sucked ..

The morning started with a slight tummy ache but nothing to warrant any medication … hmmm … now I’m at 11.40am having just spent the last hour on the floor, with 2 ice packs on my feet, in the lotus position trying to breath deeply and meditative-ly … and nearly a whole sedative coursing through my veins now … and I’m just beginning to feel ok.

So was that a hot flush? Didn’t entirely feel like one …

So a small to medium panic attack? At what FFS?

I’m still unsure but I aint dwelling on the whys … or so I thought …

As my legs started to feel ok to walk on I head off to the kitchen to get an orange juice … thats what my body feels like right now. And I remember this:

When I was about 14, and I’d been period-ing for a few years by this stage … I woke up one morning with absolutely heinous cramps in my gutt. In hindsight, the pain was centred in my uterus and tubes … at the time, it just felt like my entire tummy area was trying to rip itself out of my body. It hurt like fuckery. I couldn’t walk or sit and lay there doubled over. I was crying and asking my Mama to fix Me … cos I didn’t know what was wrong.

We headed off to the doctors almost immediately and I sat doubled up in the waiting room for about half and hour. The cramps were getting worse and I felt like throwing up and passing out .. the latter I did once I’d got into the doctors room.

Upon ‘waking’ I went off to the toilet to throw up and it felt like my insides were exiting … and hello … there was my period. Arrghhh.

The doctor of course rolled him male eye balls, didn’t say much and prescribed me some kick ass pain killers to take every month.

“It’s just a woman thing”, was the diagnosis.

No explanation as to the hows and the whys … especially since I had been menstruating for a few years and hadn’t experienced anything like this.

But this sums up my entire ‘biological woman’ experience. I’ve gotten more than my fair share of eye balls rolls and been prescribed way more than my fair share of ‘woman’ medication.

As I was remembering this, I thought about the pills I take now. The sedatives. They’re not pain meds as such … they’re sleeping pills … that I use in small doses to bring down my heart rate, numb my body and take away pain … so I feel semi-functional.

I haven’t found anything else that works as quick and as effectively. Sure the deep breathing helps … sure the ice packs help … sure a big ass fan helps … sure positive fucking affirmation helps …

But sleeping pills help Me feel normal. They don’t make Me sleep. They just calm my senses.

Now thats some fucked up shit.

But this is also the story of Me and Biological Womanhood.

I’m pretty sure it hates Me.

Or do I hate it?

Hate it like panic attacks? Hate it like emotion?

I’m not really sure. But it fucking sucks. It sucks just as much as the hippies that think being ‘in touch with oneself’ is the cure all.  Ps: Not offence intended to actual hippies … love y’all ;)

It’s fucking hard … near impossible to ‘feel’ and be ok. And I’m pretty sure my uterus feels the same way … like its saying … ‘dam bitch … what are we doing?’

I think she’s been intruded upon so many times that she freaks the fuck out at every little twitch. It’s the same with sex. I know she feels the anxiety and is pretty keen to shut up shop before anything comes near lol.

Wow … now that was one hell of a diversion for someone who ‘wasn’t going to dwell on that shit’ … I think the point I was trying to make to myself …

Is … my body is used to feeling numb … numb is my normal … its quiet and its peaceful. The bits that like the numbness to the extreme, are my biological woman bits and emotions.

Ahhhh. Fuck it.

There it is, the very long #thoughtforthefuckingday.


kpm ©


 

 

emdr again.

I finally did the next session of the (in)famous emdr, after having the last 2 sessions postponed…due to…me.

And while I wasn’t too apprehensive…I should of been. The first couple seemed sort of ho-hum…tiring…but…yeah, ho-hum. And it wasn’t till a couple of weeks later that I actually noticed a change in my ‘thinking’ or feeling. But each session was not particularly painful…possibly due to the wonderful art of dissociation.

But this time…it hurt like a bitch.

I hadn’t really prepared for tears and hurt and shit. Just the waving of the finger. I should’ve prepared for tears and hurt and shit. I guess I’ll be better prepped next round.

The memory tackled involved the pedo cunt so I’m guessing that’s probably why it was a tad more painful. Genius!

This time round, I did the finger following sweet, apparently (yah, super successful me blah). But this time it felt like…numb…sweet…breathing increase…panic…numb…tired…panic…tears…I want to run away…more panic…numb…more tears…headache…chest sore…throat stuck…

all in a matter of moments!

It was freaky and dare I say it again…freaking tiring. Emotional…grrr don’t like emotions.

Anyway, we got back to the ‘happy place’ and then the shrink asks me if I feel alright…ah, no. So she does a bit more waving of the finger and gets me down to a 3 – on the scale of 1 to 10, 1 being awesome – 10 being shit. Then informs me that this stuff isn’t completely resolved…processed…whatever…and we’ll have to pick it up again next session.

Oh Yippie. Can’t wait…NOT.

But next time, that’s right, I’m prepping for it…for tears and hurt and all that shit!


kpm ©