needed to know i was important to you.

in My language. not yours.

yours sucks.




insides out


outsides in.

kpm ©



classic Over Sharing:

them: ‘hi, how are you doing?’

me: ‘argh … bleeding like a stuck pig atm & peri-menopause is kicking my ass. & you?’

~ awkward silence ~

them: ‘oh, i’m good thanks.’

*bustles off quickly whilst avoiding direct eye contact*

kpm ©



remember, un earth & unfold.

take it from my head & throw it out into the open.

kpm ©




if anger is disguised as grief. what comes after grief.

kpm ©




to be, to do

I Resist.
I don’t conform.
Even when I do.
My heart with Never conform.
Not to the quo.
Not to the ‘musts’.
Its part of my nature.
Part of the non-conformist dialogue.
And when I snap my pics
it’s also to explain.
To explain my view,
Share my perspective …
the intricate. the narrative. the story within the story.
I was a child.
I still am a child.
I was a frightened child.
Who survived an extraordinary experience.
Who choked on a dick too large for her
tiny throat.
And she’s been choking ever since.
They named it pts(d) and said I was super sad.
So sad that I may harm myself.
But I didn’t.
Not on purpose anyway.
Instead I died, just a little, as the shit got kicked
The head got beat
The heart got broke
The bottle got empty.
And all she could do was cower.
So cowering became the sport.
The sport for healing.
The transport for unfolding.
To build a bubble that could expel the fear
and protect the good.
the good being, Me,
So, so serious has been my pain.
So so serious has been my tone
that even the lights are angry
the brightness is broken.
So she went and flipped the switch off.
Off. Till another could be found.
Not a replacement.
An entirely new form of light and dark.
Where the script is written in the dark
And the sleep takes place under the sun.
A place where an opposite is another.
Another option.
Another alternative.

kpm ©



an interesting conversation was held today …

Me and the partner.

Turns out he’s learnt a lot over the last 13 or so years (yep, kinda lost count now lol). And I love him for it.

Here is what ensued … and it’ll get capped off with a bit of a question / query for feedback.

As the last few months have unfolded, especially concentrating on the death of my sister in October of last year, and the ‘reconnection’ with my father … there has been more than one conversation had, that have seen Me completely infuriated and bewildered. I’ve written about this at length, trying to process and make sense of whats going on … within the ‘relationship’ and the, ‘what the fuck am I supposed to do with that’ thought process. I get that, if my sister hadn’t died, Me and the father would still be having the once a year ‘message’ relationship, that I had grown quite accustomed too. I also get that, somewhere in amongst everything, the father is probably grieving. I also get that, I don’t know him very well … and he doesn’t know Me. I get that this whole ‘getting the land back’ has more to do with him and him wanting to feel like he’s done something substantial for his offspring.

I get this shit. I don’t think he does though.

And thats fine.

Moving on.

After every conversation we have had I am left feeling angry and confused (which by the way, takes quite abit of energy to recognise). Today was no different; but I did wonder whilst talking to him, if he was suffering from some kind of dementia.

This thought sent Me to the partner for advice. I know right lol.

Now this little meme sums Me up quite nicely. And it’s not just a Facebook thing, its a Life thing ;)

Whats interesting though, is I don’t actively think about Not offending anyone, or, offending anyone. It’s not till afterwards (conversation / meeting / introductions etc) that I am aware there is a mess but I’m uncertain how it got to be that way or if it’s even my problem.

Now I wasn’t always ‘say it as I see it’ person. I had other shit going on and survival mode included inward analysis; not discussion with others. But as I move through my ‘reconciliation’ process, I am vividly aware that I am missing some pieces. This is hell’ah evident after my conversations with the father.

I do not understand him. But this is not a new experience for Me. There have been a shittonne of people I don’t understand … and it usually comes down to this:

What is coming out of their mouths doesn’t make any sense to Me.

Now I’m a smart woman … this much is true. But there are certain things I really Do.Not.Understand.

The question posed to the partner was this:

“What the fuck is happening?”

He in turns grins, and asks me define what I’m asking, lol, like I said, he’s come along way!

A couple of conversations ago, with the father, he was going on about the land … again … and how he wanted Me to be a trustee etc and I had said ‘Hell No’ … and then, out of nowhere, he says”

“Have you seen a car?”


The partner was listening to this conversation and smiling the entire time. I was looking at him slightly bewildered.

So my answer to the “Have you seen a car?” question, was “Yes”. And thats it. In my head I was thinking … “of course I’ve seen a fucking car; I’m staring at ours sitting in the drive way right now”; but all that I said was “yes” and then silence.

The father continues with … “I need a car … have you seen one I can buy?”; to which I replied, “No”. Then he asks if there are any cars for sale where I live, to which I ask a clarifying question: “How much do you want to pay for  it?” … and he says, “Ummm 2 dollars”. Me: “Well No then”.

Then he starts rambling off onto something else that I wasn’t really listening too. I was still stuck on … “What The Fuck?”. All the while the partner is still grinning.

That conversation ended and I got off the phone angry and frustrated … again.

So today, when I asked the partner … ‘what the fuck is going on’, he recounted the ‘Have you seen a car?’ conversation, and explained thusly :

“Dear, you are literal. Very literal. Your father was hinting for us to pick him up from the airport.”


“Todays conversation, your father was hinting for you to pick up the lazyboy chair he has purchased and deliver it to him.”


And mine and the partners conversation progressed from there.

I don’t understand hints. Not because I’m stupid, but because I don’t understand them. Period.

To Me, the father should have just asked for a ride or for us to pick up his chair, if thats what he meant. To go on about buying cars or seeing cars, or in the instance of todays conversation – that he sleeps in a lazy boy recliner chair and the road is closed – does not make a shred of sense to Me.

It’s taken the partner all these years to figure out that I’m not being obstinate or annoying when I seek clarification. And that when I answer a question literally I won’t go into long explanations. It just is what it is.

I understand, or can ‘feel’ intent, but that has more to do with ‘evil’ intent. I know when someone is fishing for information for exploitation or trying to manipulate me into a corner. I can feel that in the tightening of my stomach and chest.

Hints – not so much. Maybe because they seem like the amateurs version of manipulation.

But as I’m asking the partner to explain what happened and I’m obviously not getting it; he flips the script for Me.

If this was him having the ‘car’ conversation with my father, he would have asked him if he wanted to be picked up from the airport; which is his version of seeking clarification. For Me, that is annoying hard work. I don’t think it’s my job to figure out what he’s trying to say. The partner would have asked whether the father wanted the chair delivered to him. I didn’t.

And I don’t get how the partner gets the underlining conversation thats not being had!

But technically, it means that the partner is listening and then asking what isn’t being said to get to the ‘un-said’ outcome. Fucks sakes … thats exhausting!

Most of the time I feel like Sheldon or that dude off Guardians Of The Galaxy, whose people are literal … and I really don’t understand what is being said when people won’t say what they mean. And then I realised the multitudes of times in my life that I’ve gotten into trouble or been blamed or shamed for being annoying, acting dumb, being ignorant or rebellious, for being this way. The partner reckons, other people don’t get Me just as much as I don’t get them.

So, I guess, after all the dribbling on, my question is:

Why don’t people say what they mean?????

kpm ©






me, the dentist and pts(d)

I really do wonder sometimes, how much a person can tolerate; how much can an individual endure; endure as far as shit storms go I mean. And when one compares to another, there is no comparison really. I couldn’t do what some peeps do…my mates who have severely disabled kids; my gay mates; mates that have had their parents, partners or kids die; mates that are sick…deathly sick…I know I couldn’t do that…but I guess if it was mine to bear then I’d have too. And what I do have in common with these mates of mine, is we are made of the same stubbornness, determination and will to be different…better…whole.

And they have all at one time or another looked at me and said the same thing …  ‘don’t know how you do it; i’d be dead by now; I couldn’t handle it; how do you keep going’ … so yeah, that’s our common ground … fucked up circumstances that make us staunch beyond belief.

It was in one of these recent staunch moments, that I had somewhat of a realisation. As I was sitting in the dentists chair, shaking and crying…gripping the sides of the chair, hyperventilating and having a slight panic attack…yes, very staunch moment…I realised I was petrified…yes, of the obvious, pain…and it hurt like fuck by the way; I don’t care what those assholes say, it is not painless! … but in my petrified-ness I was able to ask myself what I was so scared of?

And I answered myself honestly; or so I thought, (and the nurse…cos she was asking the same thing! Actually she looked more scared, or possibly, sympathetically scared, than I was!). I was scared of the noise of that drilling and buzzing, it was fucking up my head…I was scared of the wobbly chair cos it made me feel unsteady…I was scared of those big plier things in my mouth…I was scared of being vulnerable…

But I survived it…and as a ptsd peep, these are all normal reactions…well that’s what the ptsd experts say anyway.

And as the days after wore on, and I started healing up, I got to wondering abit more. Was I really scared of all those things that I had rattled off? Yes … but it wasn’t quite just that. I understood that I wasn’t in any immediate danger, that this wasn’t an abusive situation, that the noises were temporary, the invasion was temporary…but necessary. I understood all that perfectly. It wasn’t really that, that was scaring me.

It was having to hold all that fear in.

Bear with me.

It wasn’t the fear of it all that got me; it was realizing that I had never been able to express that fear, or any other fear…ever.

When your choice or freedom to chose is taken away, violently; every choice thereafter is made tentatively and with great consideration to the possible ongoing or impending violent outcomes your choices may have.

For example:

I can not breath with this big person on top of me  … do I comply … or not … if  I scream I may get hit … or someone may hear … but probably not because they never do … I can hold out without air for about 2 to 3 minutes … if I try to talk that may bide more time … if I cry that may bide more time … but its going to hurt … but I need to breath more than not hurting … to breath … ask for a drink … drink … yes that will work …

And there in lies the thought process or pattern of thinking, that happens every time I am faced with something that I am afraid of. That I don’t even know I am afraid of. It all happens so quickly that I am in a panic before I know it…because all that is going on underneath all that internal conversation is … GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.

The last is the reaction that SHOULD be going on … that was going on … that I had to swallow and think about how to survive … get out .. in one piece…with the least amount of damage.

But I am not little anymore.

And as I sat in that dentist chair with those pliers all up in my grill .. I figured out that I hated being at the dentist, and it scared me and I cried like a bitch and shook and freaked out .. and that’s ok. Once I knew it was ok and I was ok reacting like that .. reacting to my fear .. I was ok. I knew I would be ok, and the panic subsided.

So, in the longest, slightly fucked up way that self realization happens … going to the dentist was a catalyst for a realization that I may not have had otherwise.

Geez I’m neat alright ;) … and I’m looking forward to telling the shrink .. I think she’ll dig this Aha moment just about as much as me. No matter how fucked up it is :)


kpm ©