me.responding

I always knew I’d respond, but was not sure what that would look like. And trying to recover from all the shit that comes with the heaviness of all that shit in the first place, has been somewhat of a full time fucking job.

It’s taken along long time to sift through what is mine, whats others, what are misperceptions, what are guilt shit trips, what are passive aggressive silencing techniques …. the ptsd shit list goes on.

But after sifting and re sifting for a rather long time … i see a little light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.

Sexual assault of any description, dumped on anybody, is fucked…to say the least. It would be nice, pleasantly twinkly, to have a world where that type of assault; that type of action, was never even in any type of vocabulary. But thats not the case.

Now, I’m pretty sure I get the technicalities for the ‘why’ it happens, and the ‘who’ it happens too, by the ‘what type’ of person does a fucked up thing like that … and my over intelligent answer is … why – because; who – anyone; what type – anyone.

There are no definates…there are no absolutes … there are summations and theories and best guesses…and these are stupid, but should be employed for a long range look at the subject. But there is NO definite quantifiable causes and effects. There are things that may minimise the chance of it occurring, but overall, it is some shit ass luck really.

And that might sound a bit blazay … but this is my topic, and I’m beginning to really understand that there is no-one else that knows this shit like me…because it is mine … it is my story. I can add to it with other peoples perspectives and learnings, as they can do with my stuff … but I am the expert on my shit, no-one else.

So with that knowledge, slowly seeping in and out of my pores, I am finding myself at a bit of a turning point.

How to respond.

I feel like, up until now anyway, that I have always been on the back foot…struggling with shame, then stubbornness, then determination, then anger, then nightmares, then anxiety, then more shame, then blame …. and so it goes on and on and on.

In amongst all that there are the external voices of well meaning but ignorant assholes who think its something that should be forgotten, forgiven, not dwelled on, left in the past, let go of … which, it turns out, is more to do with their discomfort than it has to do with mine.

And then add to that whole cocktail the additives of PTSD, personality disorder, OCD, OTT syndrome (made that one up – over the top syndrome lol), addiction …. blah blah blah …. and there is a small lifetime of crap to sort through. As we all get caught up in the ‘whats wrong with me’ cry … and the ‘please fix me’ cry … which are all relevant … we are all diverted away from the crux of the actual fucking issue!

You see, when my daughter was sexually assaulted, I didn’t have a full deck to play with really … as in, I had my own issues with the whole subject, I had issues with mothering … but when this happened to my baby girl … two very distinct things happened for me, and to my thought process.

  1. What and how do I help my baby girl NOW
  2. I’ll kill the cunt that did this to her

I didn’t know, without a shadow of a doubt, what exactly to do in response to number 1. But I knew she needed time … lots of time…to talk … cry … come to her own realisations … she needed to know that it was by no means her fault and she didn’t cause it in anyway shape or form … i knew i needed to undo, if i could, the thinking that had been embedded into her so that this act could happen … i knew she needed love … lots and lots of love … to respond as she needed too … without being wrong or right … just to be.

Number 2 was easy … I just had to figure the logistics of it.

Never, not once, did I think that she may have caused this … because of the length of her skirt … by her little giggle that she does … because she is caring and compassionate and likes to listen … because she is beautiful and intelligent … none of that was the point …

The point, which I knew unreservedly, was the cunt that had assaulted her had done so because he could … he had the opportunity and the perverted and distorted thinking to act on that opportunity. This wouldn’t have been his first time and it wouldn’t be his last.

But, with what I knew … I knew I wanted to protect, heal, hold, love … her. That was my mummy reaction to the beautiful baby girl that I gave birth too … I wanted to take away all the bad.

As a society however … we like to think we would do that in response to learning that someone … a child, or an adult … has been sexually assaulted. But we don’t. We become uncomfortable … start asking how and why could that happen .. was it dark, were they alone, was no-one watching, I bet they were all drunk, was it a stranger … and those are questions from the inquisitive. More often than not, there is an uncomfortable silence. Followed by more silence.

For an adult surviving sexual assault as an infant, there is not much compassion or understanding, just blame and shame. Theres a lot of ‘moving on’ talk and awkward silence followed by more ‘letting go’ and forgiveness talk.

But what we really are all forgetting, is that sexual assault of an infant/child, is an epidemic … of greater proportion than global fucking warming or sex trafficking or drugs …. stats back in the day were 1 in 4 girls by the age of 7 … those are now, i believe, 1 in 2 and do not account for under or not reporting. It used to be 1 in 7 boys by 7, and those have increased to about 1 in 3 or 4, again not accounting for under or not reporting. The average pedo in a 40-50 year life span has a conservative number of between 60-200 victims. It doesn’t take a math-me-fucking-tician to figure out those are some fucking disgusting numbers.

Knowing what we know about the effects of sexual assault on an infant/child and the issues that they have growing up … you would think there would be more of an outcry to eradicate sexual violence, in particular sexual violence and assault against an infant/child.

And if compassion doesn’t work, then look at the monetary cost that this shit has on the whole of society … medicating, locking up, counselling, insurances, institutionalising …. a good business model would see that we are not getting the best value for our dollar here …

Wake the fuck up world … if you fuck kids over … if you stand by and watch … if you don’t intervene … they will eventually grow up and bite the fuck back!

My point to my response though … is that in amongst this whole entanglement of shit, we forget that the person that should be taking responsibility .. the person to point the finger at … the person to shame … to despise and humiliate … is the perp-per-fucking-trator! Plain and simple.

We need to refocus and stop blaming the kid that got fucked over .. blame the fucktard that did it!! And then do something about it instead of burying our heads in the fucking sand dunes!

And this is the beginning of my response …


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 ©


 

the preference is…

‘they’ prefer my response be more

technical

rather than literal.

figurative

rather than literal.

but literal

is what you are.

pathetic is what you

exude.

for you to die

quietly

would be

a

shame.

the preference

is for

you

to die,

with

the same

amount of

fear

as you have

inflicted.

thats my technical and literal

preference.


kpm©