myself & others

some days I wage war with myself

some days I wage war with others.

today, i’m on ‘others’.

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jam

this

is

my

jam

and

i

will

embrace

the

fuck

out

of

it.

yesterdays fuckery and todays recovery

When they happen they happen viciously. Of course there’s the build-up  that can be managed a lot of the time. But then there’s the seemingly out-of-no-where bitches, that leave you gasping for breath and pretty much floored for the rest of the day.

I had one of those bastards yesterday.

Oh … Panic attack, is what I’m referring too. A good old pts(d), kick you in the vag and leave you winded, panic attack.

And what bought this one on?

Maybe a week or twos worth of ‘unknown’ anxieties?

Maybe the weather?

Maybe being tired?

Fuck Knows!

What triggered the hair raiser though?

A digger being moved up the neighbours driveway ffs!

I’m pretty attuned to the noises around Me, and I’ve spoken about my super sensitive spidey hearing and sense of smell before … which btw seems to go into ultra super sensitive mode whilst in panic mode. I know … awesome alright!

So what does that mean?

It means everything becomes incredibly loud and extremely pitchy (imagine finger nails on a chalk board type pitchy). Then comes the sensitivity to movement and then my eyes start squinting and doing weird criss-crossy things … oh, and throw in an accelerated heart rate, sweaty palms, pits and other bits, and you have yourself a good old-fashioned panic fuck.

The digger doing its thing next door was a surprise attack (literally) which meant I was not prepared. I scrambled for my ear phones and music and couldn’t get it all fast enough … I scoffed a half a tab but it was too late. I ended up doing what I havent done in a while, which is dropping tabs till I feel ok, forgetting that they don’t work like a shot of tequila! Not Cool!

I was in tears within 15 minutes.

It was at this point I realised something pertinent … for Me anyways.

I realised that I was scared.

Not a little ‘fearful’; or over excited from the noises … No. I was, hide-under-the-bed, kiddy-type, scared shitless … and I couldn’t shake it. No amount of self soothing music of self talk was working. And the drugs weren’t kicking in fast enough.

Just as well .. (in hindsight) in realising that I was scared as opposed to the adult version aka ‘panicked’ … I knew what to do … because I had done it for my mokos.

I grabbed my fluffy pillow and howled like a scared child, into that pillow, for about 10 minutes!!! It was fucking exhausting!!

But it took the edge off …

Then I made Me a cup of tea and was able to gather my senses after that. The twats next door didn’t stop – but as the anxiety gods would have it, their digger broke down! Hah!

I rang my mama later and told her my sordid tale and she came and had a cuppa with Me … which was lovely … and distracting 🙂

Today the digger twats started up again and I got my partner to stay home with Me. I’ve been fucked most of the day and am only just coming right. We figured out the vibration of the digger isn’t so bad when I’m outside … and I watched them doing some of their shizz so I could get a visual of what the haps were. It all helped.

Tonight we’re going ‘out’ for dinner … down to our Beach ❤

And then it’s an early night for Me.

I hate panic attacks and I hate feeling scared but I’m kind of pleased I had this one though. Because, now I know it’s ‘fear’: and that requires a cuddle and chocolate … not freaking meditation 😉

Fears a bitch. But fear is also god dam Normal ❤

narrative

ohhh

i can feel a narrative rewrite coming on;

in 3,

2,

1

pts(d) can be useful …

When I’m at home by myself, I lock all the doors, sometimes the windows; depending on where I am in the house. When I go through a door, I close it behind Me; with the back and front doors, I lock them behind Me. When I’m not alone in the house, I pretty much do the same thing, once again, dependent on where I am in the house or outside. If I’m in the backyard, I lock all the front windows and the door.

Turns out this is a ‘pts(d) marker’ according to all those overpaid professionals. It’s one of the ‘quirks’ that led to the diagnosis.

However, in my mind, it’s a safety thing sure, but it’s a practical safety thing and something I think more peeps should be doing.

So, Me and the partner have had numerous ‘discussions’ on this. He thinks I’m paranoid and crazy, of course: on a good day, he just thinks it’s an annoying habit. I’ve told him my reasons for doing it, and they include the fact that a burglary that happens during the day (opportunist burglaries) is usually done whilst someone is at home and the burglar gains access through an unlocked front or back door. They usually take small valuable items and aren’t in the house for very long.

Slight digression: I had a ‘client’ once, who was this type of burglar. On one such occasion he escalated to rape because the valuable item in the front of the house included a laptop he couldn’t access so he decided to terrorise the occupant to get the password. The terror ended with rape. Not because he wanted too particularly, but because the opportunity arose and he decided to tap into the darkness that had been raging in him forever. This is how some rapists, sexual pervs start their journey: with burglary. But thats another post.

Back to jist:

So, the partner comes home from the shop the other day, going on about a friend of his, whose house had recently been burgled.

Turned out, I was right.

The burglar gained access through the front of the house (an open door), stole phones and money from the front bedroom, and left. They saw a person leaving but presumed in was a salesperson who they hadn’t heard knocking.

As the partner was flamboyantly describing the scenario, I butted in and said:

“See. Told You”.

And thats it. He looked pretty embarrassed and brushed it off slightly, but acknowledged, in the way men do when they don’t like to admit they had been judgemental shitbags previously; that I was indeed, Right.

I’ve been doing this quite a bit lately.

Pointing out when I’m right. Not because I want to rub it in, but because I am fucking sick of being blamed and shamed for a ‘pts(d) quirk’, that a. may well be, but has a fucking dam good reason behind it and b. I am well tired of having to explain my actions and c. I am WAY over explaining my thought patterns and fears (founded or unfounded) and reasonings …

You see, I’m discovering, I am pretty fucking capable, pts(d) or not. And some of my capabilities come from the fact that I have pts(d).

I’m a survivor, bitch.

And More.

fear is

a strange thing,

is fear.

can save.

can kill.

can cripple.

can free.

pts(d) friendly spaces: do they exist?

No.

No they don’t.

You have to

Make

Your own.

Video

activism ~ moana jackson on: violence

Who defines what violence is? Who defines who is defined as violent?

You? Your ancestors? Or some old white guy none of us have ever met?

vs

excitement

versus

anxiety.

why do they feel the same?

Image

art for exhibition: take 3

Well, most of it goes up today and the exhibition opening is on Saturday.

Me? Nervous?

Fucking ay!

This will be the first time I’ve attended one of these; for my own work anyways. Once I realised I hadn’t met my ‘goals’ for the year, this attendance became a ‘must’.

This time, the whole process has been a huge learning curb. Yes, it usually is; but I think for Me, this time, I’ve been more aware of it.

I learnt that my fathers criticisms and ‘input’ in my life over the last year, whilst having a negative effect, have also led Me to this point. That in recognising the lack of understanding and love toward Me, I have realised that I am still here … I am OK … and that the life I’ve led would have been so much Worse if he had of been present throughout it.

And that the people that were good, that surrounded Me with the love they could – well, those people matter a shit tonne more than 1 guy who delivered some sperm 45 years ago.

I am who I am, in spite of him. I am who I am, because of the people that did care. I am who I am. And thats all that matters.

Art does all that?

Lol: Yep it does.

It’s a process.

I thought I’d lost my love for it. It was becoming an anal chore instead of something that helped Me reflect, relieve, explore, create. And thats because I thought I was doing something wring.

Story of my life really. But it turns out; there is No right or wrong. It just Is.

And that is freaking fine with Me 🙂

(PS: I’ll post all of my pieces in colour and with their titles once we get photographs back from the exhibition 🙂 )

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