.. …

what happens when you stop punishing yourself.


kpm©


 

qt .15

there’s no point to guilt.

other than to learn, what not to repeat.


kpm©


 

yah know …

when a train of thought just keeps going ..

yeah well, thats what’s happening here!

.

after all the internal fuckerys, support group exits etc etc i happened upon a thought this morning …

about my father.

i haven’t heard from him. he hasn’t apologised. i haven’t reached out …

& as that thought was unfolding … it kinda struck me, that i felt this guilty kind of infection, somewhere deep in my gut … like i shoulda forgiven him & been ‘the bigger person’ & reached out to make some kind of amends in the whole situation …

& then it double struck me … that i didn’t cause the situation that led to me cutting that niggah off. & that i have waited more than patiently (like 30 years patiently) for way more time than he shoulda got, for some kind of relationship or connection & have even tried multiple times to build that connection / relationship. i have invested time, children, honesty, loyalty & quality into that motherfucker over my life time.

& again … i am not responsible for his thoughts, his patterns of behaviour or the outworking of it. it aint my job to correct him, educate him, inform him or gently help him out just a little … NO.

thats his job, his responsibility.

mine is to do me.

& i did. & i cut that bitch off.

so why the guilt???

its habit. its a motherfucking habit. its a societal habit. its a habit enforced on women & POC. its a cunt of a habit that is backed up by ‘the word of god’.

its a habit that keeps us grovelling in  the dirt, looking for penance, blessings, righteousness, when all we should be looking for is a new start.

in that whole train of thought about my father, i started moving it to other ‘people’, situations & areas of my life. where i’ve been waiting for some kind of reconnection or unattainable righteousness or forgiveness and reconciliation.

its fucking eye opening.

& guess what.

yah cant reconcile with something / someone that thinks they’re in control.

it dont work.


kpm ©


 

‘sitch.

just i had a pang of ‘shit, i haven’t caught up with … i have done such in such … i should’a …” and that’s about where i stopped that truck, parked & decided to evaluate the motherfucking situation.

yes i been here before.

no, i’m not staying.


kpm ©


 

an(other) A-ha moment

Yeah, I have them regularly, and then I regularly forget them as fast as I got them!

So I’mma tipity tap this one out before it becomes an historic thought, relegated to the archives of my memory banks somewhere.

I thought I wasn’t one for regretting shit. You know, I’ve done what I’ve done: lived as I’ve lived … some of that shit is best forgotten, but it all had it’s place in the making of Me. And then theres the stuff I didn’t write but was a-written for Me. Thats the shit I’ve dwelt on for the longest time … because I wasn’t in control of it … because other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time or being just too darn … small … I had no hand in … rather it was ‘done’ to Me.

Thats the shit I’ve been trying to let go of. No regrets, or so I thought, of the other shit I have been / done / not done.

But everyday, about this time, I get a gnawing sensation in my gutt. And being the dissociative retard that I am … I’m unsure whether its hunger, panic, menopause (thats the new entity arghh), pre-menstruation, anxiety … or just nothing at all and I’m actually waiting for the ‘impending doom’ that I’ve become accustomed to over the years.

So today, as I’m taking the anti-anxiety elixir, it occurs to Me to ask my tummy what the fuck is up with it.

“Puku”, I say … “why are you in knots? You’ve been fed – you’re not over-coffeed, or over-cigarette-ed, you had enough sleep … so what gives?”

She not so gentley replies: “You, you fucking retard! It’s You! …”

Ummm?

And away she goes:

“You … You have regrets. Not just little ones .. not just the extra piece of cake or the time you didn’t tell the plumber he was a fucking racist cunt … No, you regret everything else. You think you did everything wrong and thats why you are the way you are. You think you should have worked more, spent more time with the kids as they were growing up, not studied, studied more … you think you shouldn’t have had fun that night you got blitzed and passed out in town … it’s not the actions, you just think you should have done it ‘differently’ … yah know … more civilised. You regret everything because You believe you are a worthless piece of shit. You therefore not only regret everything, but you carry more guilt for everything you are and everything you aren’t – more guilt than one person should carry at any one time! You’re a regretful guilt-carry sack of shit.”

Oh Ok.

Note to self: I really should speak nicer to myself.

So thats the A-ha.

I’m trying to re-write a narrative that I’ve already -re-written – Into the Negative. And while I try-est my hard-est to change that groove, it can’t be changed if I’m not trying to re-write the Actual story.

It’s not a matter of justification, it’s a matter of embracing everything that I was … everything that I am. Because it is what it is.

Could I Really have done any better?

With what I had, No, I couldn’t have done any better.

Really??

But thats not what I tell myself … every, single, day.

No I tell myself (deep down in the pitt of my stomach), that I should have done better. That saying I made the most of it is an excuse. I shoulda woulda coulda done it differently … better …

Different … meaning, like everyone else?

Arrrggghhhh … since when the fuck did I want to be like everyone else?

“When I started to Believe That Everyone Else Was Better than Me and that I was nothing more than a dysfunctional retard that needed someone else to save Me”.

Fuck.

Now thats a bitch of a revelation. I don’t know that I like it, but Oh well.

Looks like I’m going to have to work on my ‘self-worth’.

Fuck.


kpm ©


 

Dear Baby Girl

“On and on, i just keep on trying, and i smile when i feel like crying .” (by Aswad).

I’d sing you that to put you to sleep. A bit of a mantra for myself i suppose. But it worked every time. I loved holding you while you slept and yes i am responsible for you wanting your head patted every night…still. I selfishly enjoyed those moments because they were mine and yours, alone.

As it all went along, i still loved you. Immensely and immeasurably. I wanted to protect you from everything including me. I am so sorry if you felt abandoned or forgotten. You never did anything wrong and you could have never altered the outcome.

I have to make peace with all the demons that were put there long before you came along. I need to let go of the guilt and the hatred i have for myself for letting you down, letting you go. I have to make peace, with all of me, and you are part of me.

You are my first born and I am grateful that those that helped raise you, did an amazing job. They broadened your view. They taught and loved and cared and loved. They helped make you who you are today, as a woman, and as a mother. I am forever grateful.

But you were growen in me. And you are my baby. My first born baby girl. And that is something noone has ever or can ever take away from Me, or you. I grew you. I birthed you.

And i did good. Really really good. Because you are perfect.

Love you my girl
Xxoo


kpm©


 

Hey Caryn Or Karyn Or Whatever Your Name Is

Do you remember me?
Well I remember you
I remember your prying
Invasive fingers
And your trying to look innocent
I remember the nod you would give
As I played on the jungle gym
And I remember your
Let’s keep this our
Dirty little secret look
Did you know I already had one?
Way way bigger than this one?
Did you realise your invasion
Wasn’t the first
And was by no means
The last?
Well I grew up
And I’ve carried the guilt
And shame of you
For far to fucken long
I get now
That you were probably being
Fucked at home
Or somewhere else
And that your little soul
Was probably as tormented
As mine
The empathetic part of me
Feels for the fucked up part of you
But I hated you for invading me
For guilting me
And tormenting me
And while I wish you
No direct harm
I wouldn’t shed a tear
If learned you had
Had your prying little fucking fingers
Severed, the fuck off.


kpm ©