ear plug update:

Yep, they semi-worked good.

Not as good as the drugs though.

#JS


kpm ©


 

unedited ramble … getting it out there …

As the title suggests, this is a spontaneous and unedited ramble, of sorts … there’ll be plenty of mistakes no doubt and no particular flow … so hang in there ;)

I’m listening to Angie Stone, again … loving her stuff at the moment …

I was scrolling through my FB newsfeed this evening and came across a friends lovely little post with pictures, of him and his wife at a wedding in Australia somewhere.

Now my mate has had vertigo on and off, like myself, but other than that he’s pretty healthy. His last vertigo bout came when he last travelled to Australia and seems to think it had something to do with the flu and the altitude.

Anyways … as I’m looking at this awesome pic of him and his wife, a thought crossed my mind … “how on earth did you get back on a plane after the last bout of vertigo???”

Which if course set Me off on a train of thought that I’m still grasping at:

The last time I  got on a plane I had a panic attack and just before the doors shut I jumped up and got off that plane as fast as I could. It wasn’t a pleasant experience and neither was waiting at the airport for 5 hours for someone to pick Me up!

But I’ve never got on a plane again.

The same thing has happened with driving … or going places … or certain people … or occasions … if theres been an inkling of panic I don’t go back.

Enter … The WHY?

And as I’m pondering all the adjustments I’ve made to my life so I can have some semblance of ‘normality’ and functionality … I’m wondering Why I can’t just go back and do what I used too …

Train of thought goes immediately to a little girl stuck in a room where she can’t reach the door handle so she can get out … where she can’t yell cos she can’t breath properly and feels like she’s suffocating … where theres no-one coming to get her … where theres no way Out …

and the only source of survival that she can muster, is her witts.

She negotiates … she pleads .. but not to much because that brings a different kind of fuckery if it goes wrong … she tries to ‘change the subject’, like a diversionary tactic …

And … I’ve been doing this Ever Since!

It’s not just avoidance. It’s survival.

Survival of the fucking fittest.

You see, people are predictable in their own fucked up unpredictable ways.

Just ask the social scientists!

And I had variables … reasons … things to avoid … things to move and remove … faces to employ and a way to breath so as not to appear too frightened … I was able to predict the unpredictable until it became to unpredictable.

And this is Me.

This is what I do … I don’t move for fear of moving and what it may ’cause’ … the repercussions.

Even as a fucking adult, my muscles tense and my heart pounds way to fast … my breathing will slow and I’ll remain quiet … so I can hear ‘whats happening’ … whats happening in the undercurrents … what the ‘feels’ are … whether there is danger or if it’s just a passing noise …

And that whole fucking sensation is built in and no amount of ‘I have pts(d) and I am recovering’ makes that tense sensation subside.

The only fucking thing that works are mind / feeling numbing drugs!

It used to be alcohol and fuck do I wish I could drink like I used too! If anything it was numbing … there was no panic and ‘over watching’ … and I don’t give 2 fucks what anyone says, if the fucking alcohol works then drink that son of bitch till it doesn’t!

I can slow my breathing down … but it’s still intense … and that intense sensation doesn’t subside until my personage feels like it … feels like its ok.

And this is my fucking life. And at times it’s mind fuckingly fucked! When my head aches and my muscles won’t relax and I can’t focus and want to run but theres nowhere to go … because all those demons, are In Me … they never went anywhere. Sometimes they subside and let Me breathe … sometimes they choke the life out of Me.

And …

Why can’t I, I, I get on a plane again and go to Australia and have pretty little photographs with my partner and kids and mokos and smile like the sun is shining out of my happy little ass???

Because …

Sometimes … a lot of times actually … even though I try and try again …

I am nothing more than a frightened little girl standing in a dark damp room trying really hard to breathe, hoping that the needle he’s just injected will kill him and someone will come to the door, whilst scanning the room for something to hide in or stand on so I can reach the door handle … if Only I was just a little bit taller …

Sometimes, I am nothing more, nothing less, than that little being, in that moment.

And that fucking sucks ass.

Thats All.


kpm ©


 

drugs and druggies??

So, we found out from my sisters autopsy, that the cause of death was a Heart attack from a ‘recreational’ drug, otherwise known as meth.

I figured I may as well start with the punchline first and then roll into the rest of my ramble … If you’ve read any of my shit before, you’ll know I have a disdain for ‘druggies’ – I’ve always loosely classed this group as those whose indulgence is based in the ‘Fuck it, I’ll do what I want’ theory.

To expand on that slightly and maybe for some sort of justification for my cause, these are the drug-wits that spend all their money on their drug of choice BEFORE rent, food, power … their kids. These are the cunts that are quite happy to sell their kids clothing, toys … their kids … for an extra hit. These are the fuckers that get their kids to hold the belt while they look for a vein, or tap the pipe to remove the residue. These are the mongrels who don’t give two fucks whose around their kids, who don’t notice where their kids are or what they’re doing whilst they’re getting fucked up … these assholes can’t care about what their kids inhale or exhale; whose fingering them or when they last ate. They can’t because they’re addicts 1st; fucked up 2nd.

Never met any of these cunts in real life? Just seen them on those poxy movies about some street whore whose fucked up and then sets her life right after meeting Jesus?

They’re a breed all of their own.

Is it a sickness? An illness? Fuck Yes.

And my disdain for them isn’t because they can’t give up but because they won’t give up. And whilst they don’t … their kids get left behind, fucked, absolutely ruined.

My disdain for them isn’t because they are in pain, denial, a huge spiral downward that has led to their addiction … my disdain for them comes from them taking their kids with them.

A couple single peeps that want to get all fucked up all day, all night … go for it … they’re not hurting anyone but themselves.

When I talk of the despising I have for druggies, the former, are the ones I am referring too.

So …

While I still hold this angst … and I know why I hold it:

—– parents that aren’t ‘with it’ (drugged or not) don’t notice whats happening with their babies. As the years have trolled on, it would appear they no longer need to be drugged … they have other distractions; like work, sport, socializing …. building a career. And that isn’t just aimed at women … far too long fathers have sat around in the background barking fucking orders expecting everyone to obey and get in line!

—— the fucktard that sexually assaulted my person was able to because a. he was able to, b. he was fuelled with his high of choice, c. no one around me was paying attention.          …. has that filled me with all kinds of hate over the years … hell yes … have I let a large portion of it go … yes. Most of the time now I roll with point A. Because you must have the ability to do something that hideous, already present in your psyche … the rest comes after. Drugs aren’t the cause of such a fucked up action. They definitely helped lubricate his actioning of it though. Do I believe that cunt would’ve done it without the drugs … yes, eventually he would have. With this fucker though … there is no him without the drugs … the two are symbiotically joined.

And I get that most of my angst toward white supremacists, racism, drug addiction, sexism … come from what I endured as an infant and child; and continue to live with now. I get that.

So like all of my pts(d) quirks / realities … drug addiction in my reference to it … has been at the top end of the scale, because that is my experience of it. Me taking a concoction of pharmaceuticals with a bottle of whiskey, has never been in the same calabar of ‘drug use’; from my perspective of course. Becoming ‘balanced’ by way of ingesting a couple of tabs or smoking a fat joint to relieve pain … is not the same … in my world. Thats the equivalent of taking a Panadol for a headache.

So the angst … And then … I learnt about my sisters:

The older has been an addict, in and out of rehabs, for years. Why does she go to rehab … because she’s sent there or guilted into it. She believes she should do what everyone else tells her to do. She’s neglected her kids along the way and fucked up plenty of lives including her own. Is she dead? No. She’s very much alive with a tolerance to drugs, second to none. She’s still struggling; still ‘pretending’ the rehab solution. She chooses to remain as she is. She’s in pain, emotionally … and she’s causing pain. She has to live with the pain that she has inflicted on her kids throughout the years. But she remains high. Do I blame her for that? No. She’s made her choice. Her kids are grown. Her actions are her own. Do I ostracize her for it? Fuck No. She’s my sister. Will I call her out on her lies and bullshit? Yup. Would I let her ping up in my home. Nope.

Then there’s my younger sister, now dead. She indulged in a bit of pot smoking and beer drinking throughout her life … the odd line every now and then … to get the party started. She also made choices. She chose not to smoke with her kids present; she chose to hide her self medication and recreational drug use from others. And none of us realised the extent of her usage until after she died.

So which one is a better choice?

I don’t know.

It blows holes in my theory of ‘druggies’ because these two I love.

It’s easier to be angry, and justifiably so, at the pedo cunt whose over use of all things synthetic fuelled his abhorable actions. Easy peasy.

But I’m thinking, that’s where it ends.

Oh, I still have a disdain for fuckers that choose to take their kids along for the drug fuelled ride they’re on. Everyone reaps the consequences of their actions. But like everything in this world really, I guess I can’t generalise the judgement. Although sometimes its easier to generalise when your too afraid or ashamed to lay the blame squarely where it should be.

Like i said before, the pedo cunt became a pedo cunt, because he could and that’s what he chose. No drug, no hate group, no thought process, other than his own, made him the way he was. He found those other things along the way. He is a fucker through and through.

And as for my sisters.

My heart bleeds for both of their circumstances … would their lives be different if there was no access to meth? Possibly. Would they have ended up in the same position as they both are now. Probably. And that’s the stink ass realisation of it all. If there was no meth, there’d be something else. They have both numbed their pain in various ways … as have I.

Pain + Relief = Pain Relief : by any means necessary.

And that is the fuckery of that.


kpm ©


 

these eyes

these eyes have seen

been

there and here.

crimson fog

orange hue.

glazed, yet glassy. moving

through the halls

down the stairs.

noting the darkness surrounds

everything.

the smoke in the air

the spoons on the stove

the oil dripping

from the caps.

no food in the darkness,

but bottles and bottles.

of tears

of piss

of losses

of pills

the haze it follows

her. me.

through the dark.

fuck 1

fuck 2

fuck 3

it makes no difference.

a woman once was.

her womb a sacred store house.

now.

slaughtered and wretched.

and she passes dem pipes

passed.

watching them inhale

exhale.

their lives.

but no high

no low.

just sweet balance.

tranquil balance.

tomorrow, she will shit not.

too constipated to care.

to heavy.

eventually wiping her ass

hole on yesterdays news.

and no food.

just drink.

no touch

just invasion.

but

sweet balance.

have these eyes

seen to many.

sorrows.

to readjust

in the light.

to remember.

is to smell.

to feel.

to weep.

memories

are held in

these eyes


kpm ©