an unload.

it is what it suggests & thats all.


i’ve spent most of my 47 years surrounded by people & institutions that would rather wade in the shallow end & enjoy the pretty water. they’re happy in what i’d call their blind submission & dim gaze. they dont want to hear or see anything beyond their minimal paddling pool because the rest is too far beyond comprehension, their reality & their pain threshold.

i’ve spent all of my 47 years treading water in the deep end. occasionally i sink, inhale water, near drown & then fight for the surface & air again.

i’ve spent nearly all of my 47 years doing that alone.

i’ve spent most of those 47 years screaming for help.

i’ve spent all of those 47 years wondering why on earth no-one hears or helps.

i’ve spent nearly all of those 47 years also wondering what the shallows feel like.

recently i found out.

im not impressed.

in the shallows there is nothing but illusion & mediocrity. although i can tell myself that its ok to be there, to rest, to listen to those around me that say its all about enjoyment & fulfilment, i dont really believe it. i dont believe it because its a lie.

i believe theres an in between, where you can enjoy the shallows for what they are & the deep for what they are. where you can wade between the two without drowning & without turning your back on those who are drowning.

i haven’t quite found that in between space yet.

i haven’t found it because im still yearning for some time of rescue that isn’t fucking coming.

i feel ashamed that i want to be rescued. that i want to know  what it feels like to have someone catch me by the arm & pull me to safety.

i feel ashamed.

why.

because its an illusion? because it heightens vulnerability? because it smashes the hoax? because it reduces me to a small frail vulnerable frame of a womxn who cant look after herself?

no. i feel ashamed. because. then i’d have to admit that i once was small & no-one stood in the gap for me. no-one rescued me. no-one cared enough about me & less about themselves to abandon their own fears & hear me & save me.

it feels shameful because it means that i was not worth saving.

& so i have screamed at the world. screamed & screamed. knowing full well that no-one is listening. but i continue to scream.

guess what.

im tired of screaming.

i know with my head that it is their shame not mine that kept them silent & un-mobile. to afraid to tople the tower of lies. i know its not mine. but my heart. my soul.

thats cracked. well more like shattered. into a thousand teeny tiny pieces that are never going to be put back together again.

thats impossible.

its shattered & i wonder how. why. why would anyone do that to another. i dont understand & probably never will.

i get that the shallows is safer for them. but its also selfish & arrogant. to paddle around & pretend not to see someone drowning because they’re to comfortable in the pretty end of the pool.

also. without the analogies … it requires nothing of them. no hard work. no depth. no honesty. no dealing with the uncomfortable shit.

most won’t deal with it. they’re quite happy to live & die in ignorance & lies.

im not.

i cant.


kpm ©


 

“nz is racist AF.”

so says our bro taika waititi.

so, this happened today.

headline: forty-nine dead in mosque mass shooting.

& let the blame games begin.

am i surprised this has happened in clean green new zealand?

fuck No.

& this is all i had to say about that:

“yep ill say it:

this is exactly what NZ is. there is a part of the population that is awake, aware & not racist AF … but the time for letting the other part of the population, that are as racist AF, get away with their racist little snide remarks & their openly cowardice actions … yeah that time was way the fuck over years ago. this is not the first time this soil has seen a ‘culture’ decimated by white men. & today is a wake up call. 

this is not about religion or even politics IMO. its about the notion of superiority. in this case, white superiority. which we all know is some bullshit.

y’all need to get your ‘culture’ in check.”


kpm ©


 

Video

– just tired of it.

the purpose of this post is for awareness and acknowledgement of ptsd as an injury and those, like myself, who are sick to all fuck of explaining themselves, whilst trying to manage symptoms and generalised life.

to my point – in a week, i lost count of how many eyeball rolls, deep sighs, maligning comments and condescending conversations i can have. which is then followed by long strains of silence.

for those that don’t know, i have been diagnosed with ptsd, which is a mental ‘injury’, caused by being sexually assaulted as an infant.

although diagnosis is reasonably recent, symptoms have been persistent but fluctuating for 44 years. it is my norm.

my mission of recent years is to blend my experiences into my life as a whole having realised that symptoms can be managed but ‘i’ cannot be ‘fixed’.

my family are tired if ‘it’. my beautiful mokos can’t understand why i don’t or find it hard to attend their events; the most heartbreaking of all. my ‘partner’ is over ‘it’. my friends generally don’t understand it. doctors and specialists don’t fully understand its implications, even though it has been a ‘thing’ for as long as war has been a thing, psychologists don’t fully understand it and neither do psychiatrists or neurologists.

medication, meditation or mindfulness as management are the generalised ‘go-to’s’.

i completely understand why a random can’t get it if a professional is still surmising theories and experimenting with medications.

which brings me to this.

when someone shares with you that they have this injury, understand that that injury is caused by another person/s actions and / or crime. that in the course of that action or crime, the now injured, were minding their own dam business.

understand that by discussing their injury with you, they are trusting you more than most. that they aren’t asking for sympathy or fixing, just a bit of understanding. when they say to you ‘google it if you don’t understand’ thats because they’re tired of reliving it, retelling it and of explaining or excusing ‘unsocial behaviours’.

and when you’re wondering if the injured are just making it up and you choose to ‘voice’ your disdain with your eye ball roll, that they should just ‘get over it’ … that this, is what it ‘feels’ like in the head & ears of this pts(d) reconciler:

& please note, that it is an unpleasant sound so for the sensitive of hearing, turn your volume on low. however for epic fucken effect, turn it right the fuck up!

& welcome to our world.

its startling, loud, painful, random, anxiety inducing.

now try reasoning or juggling any thought or action with that going on in the background.

just spare a thought for us at those ‘loud & joyful’ times of the year. they’re not overly joyous occasions, they’re filled with random unknowns. smells, sounds, visitors, expectations, family, fireworks, extra people, drop-ins, events – expectations.

they’re filled with anxiety and social expectations .

while I’m managing my symptoms in the confines of my home im not being a miserable cunt per se. i am managing the noises and randomness the best way i know how.

i don’t have social anxiety – nor am i slightly nervous of crowds or talking – fuck, i’m a fucken talker given half the chance. & no, im not shy.

its flashbacks, that are random as fuck, hence the name ‘flash-back’.  its all that ‘noise’ in the back drop that screams its way to the foreground & then trying to manage, on the daily, with simple shit like … i need groceries: Fuck!

so next time you suggest we should get out for some fresh air or ask us to feel or be more affectionate or engaged: just remember, that all that ‘noise’ is going on, all the fucking time & ‘engaging’ means we are subjecting ourselves to the possibility of added random ‘noise’ to the senses that may last for minutes, hours, days or weeks, so ‘just going out for some fresh air’, is a calculated risk that we are not fucken willing to take, today.


kpm ©


 

fierce ~

for too long

I have listened

remaining silent

to the ignorant

uncompassionate discourse

espousing their taunts:

 

“Get over it all ready …

Stop using it as an excuse …

That was years ago …

You need to forgive …

You need to move on”.

 

And as I have fought my own

demons

of a pervert cunt

getting into

my tiny panties;

defending myself from an

impending assault that

exists only in my senses and dreams now;

I am loathed to

plead

with you to understand my position;

to educate yourselves;

to show some empathy

and compassion.

Not realizing however,

that you,

the ignorant

do not wish to understand.

But,

as I raised my own daughters,

I learned what

being 3 looks like.

.

It has grazed knees and tantrums.

It picks its nose and flicks it.

It imagines fairies and candy.

It rolls around on the floor with its cat.

It chases butterflies.

It draws pictures and bakes cakes with its Nan.

.

and what it doesn’t look like.

.

It doesn’t have nightmares.

It doesn’t hide under the bed.

It doesn’t hold its head because it hurts.

It doesn’t slice its arms.

It doesn’t piss its pants in fear.

And it deserves

Fierce, fierce

Protection.

So now I defend my being;

my position.

And I refuse to listen to any more

uneducated bullshit

or let ignorance be an excuse

or an answer.

.

And for her,

for me;

.

for all those little people

that didn’t make it

out of that dark room

with prying fingers

and filthy deeds;

for all those little people

who never got the chance

to get out

and grow up

and live a life worth fucking living;

for all those little people,

just like me,

who grew up

into big people,

who are still battling their demons

and healing their scars;

who have rocked in the corner

holding their head in their hands,

for far too fucking long;

I will keep speaking the unwelcome truths

and the

mundane horrors,

so we will be heard,

our stories told.

So we can change

the future for all

Our Babies.

.

Haumi e! Hui e! Tāiki e!


kpm©


 

genius.

me: i feel anxious

them: don’t worry about it

me: fucken brilliant! why didn’t i think of that.


kpm ©


 

Image

the reasons im here.

we don’t have a lot of contact with moko #8. and today we found out her leg was broken whilst in the care of her daycare.

.

.

there should be some very simple but very important things happening now.

  • her day to day care, whilst in a cast, post surgery, should be a given.
  • the details that were missed when we were first told, should have been filled in by now. we have offered our assistance.
  • the daycare that she was in should be asked, ‘WTF happened?’

but so far the partner has been told he’s lucky to have been told at all. that moko is ‘fine’. that we weren’t going to be told because we’d ‘tell on the daycare’ and get them in trouble.

.

.

yep thats a mother fucking long ass pause.

.

i’m am trying my damn-dest to breath and gather my shit.

in all ways this is layer upon layer of absolute bullshit.

add to that the deafening silence and retreat into ‘i don’t want to talk about it’ territory everyones going too.

.

all this, once again, smells awfully familiar.

this is how abuse within a familial system, thrives.

its left unchecked.

adults cover other adults asses.

and in the meantime, they all forget about the little person who could not protect her self and can’t speak for herself now.

ohhhh the fuckery.

.

there aint no way i’m letting this shit slide. at all.

.

and here i am again though, speaking and acting for those who can’t … which i don’t mind. what i do mind is the fucking ignorance and downright complacency and lack of mother fucking care there is going on around me.

and yep, its a-fucking-with-the-pts(d) big fucking time.


nan always said, when it rains it pours. just as well i don’t mind the fucking rain.


kpm©


 

wake.up.bruh.

 

finished licking the ringhole

of the pakeha yet?

still think they have your best

interests at heart?

.

yah know:

they never did.

and they never will.

.

just like a rapist

their intent is not what it appears.

they have not

compassion

tendency toward equality.

they are here to take.

and take violently.

Wake.

The.

Fuck.

Up.


kpm ©


 

SaveSave

SaveSave

Image

the unfuck of thyself.

So this is another one of those rambles … those ones that brew away for awhile, that don’t quite have the vocab to pad them out proper like … and then a wave of hormones hits … or an extra shot of limoncello is downed … or the right ignoramus espousing the spiritual awakening of the year clears their throat …

And the flipping of the bird doesn’t quite do it .. but it manages to placate the need to throttle.

Today. Is. That. Day.

.

Yes. This is a blog about Me working through the daily shit-fest that pts(d) and all the other happy delightful fuckerys that go with it.

Yes. I don’ always get it right. But by fuck I give it one hell of a go. Always have. Always will.

Yes. I can be cunt.

Yes. I can be a right royal cunt on some days.

But here is where I pause. Because the comparison I’m about to make, isn’t supposed to be cunty, it’s supposed to be a reality check for those who don’t understand pts(d), mental illness (I fucken hate that title … and working on another …) and ‘hidden’ illnesses …

I had someone “Pfft” My pts(d) symptoms and diagnosis the other day.

That “Pfft” was also accompanied by an eyeball roll that almost got lost at the back of their ignorant head.

And I let most of that slide … cos, hey, you can’t teach the ignorant. Well more specifically, this ignorant fool … I’ve tried … It don’t work.

My management means I have little to nil to do with this particular person.

Then, lo and behold, I have another ignoramus do a similar eye ball roll, ‘Pfft’ing, followed by a shoulder shrug and the line … “Ohhhh whatever … you’re just using it as an excuse …”

Hold the fuck up Mate ….

No-one has been this stupid for awhile … as in, saying shit like this directly too Me or within my ear shot … so big ups for having the lady balls to say it out loud … High-five and moving the fuck on …

My response however wasn’t the cordial – ness they were expecting:

‘Digression and quick back story’:

We have a nephew who has cerebral palsy. It effects his speech, coordination, walking, communicating … He was left this way after dying in utero, being cut out and resuscitated, thanks to a midwife and health system fuckup. But I won’t get into that one … Our little man is gangstah as fuck … he’s a fighter, because he has to be … he’s learning new skills everyday … his dream is to oneday … Run. Fuck he’s cool ;)

‘Back story and digression done …’

So after the above ignoramus statement, I says:

“Have you ever said that too [nephew]?”

*Head shake*

“Would you ever say something remotely close to that to [nephew]?”

*Head shake*

“Then why the fuck do you think you have the right to say shit like that to Me? For the record, I don’t fucking want to hear it. I have enough to deal with and I am not educating your ignorant ass hole – not now, not ever”

*Open mouthed … looking a tad surprised*

You know sometimes I am all kinds of surprised about the shit people say to others because they want them to comply, or they want to feel more comfortable, or the want some other fucked up thing that someone like Me just doesn’t get …

But I Am Over It.

No More Motherfuckers.


kpm ©


 

let me explain it again … slower this time …

P, for Post.

T, for Traumatic.

S, for Stress.

D, for Disorder.

Now you can google these separately

Or all in one go.

But to re-cap;

No. It’s not ‘drama queen’ related.

No. It’s not an imaginative state.

No. It doesn’t go away.

No. It doesn’t go away by ignoring it.

Yes. There are flashbacks.

Yes. Please do google that.

No. Going to bed early doesn’t prevent these.

Yes. I can smell the pedo cunt.

No. Thats also not part of the imagination.

Yes. I would like to be better.

No. Trying harder at positivity isn’t going to fix it.


kpm ©


 

same sex marriage

thought about writing something long winded,

yah know, condemning the haters

tryna educate the religiously deluded:

a small speech on freedoms and privileges

that aren’t exclusively owned by

straightness.

but then i got tired.

i got a big ass headache.

i felt the weight of their ig’nance

muddying up my waters.

i scrolled on,

and left them to their prayers for

homosexuals

lesbians

bisexuals

gender nonconformists …

 

we don’t need your permission

or prayers

to love

who we love.


kpm©


the speech

you need to,

pull yourself up

by the boot straps.

suck it up

& soldier on.

“everyone’s afforded the same opportunities”:

bullshit speech.

.

that speech is spitted by

those, with boots.

& bootstraps.

.

those without, don’t give a fuck about your productivity speech.

they don’t give a fuck about your mentality, your wellbeing

or your version of moving fucking forward.

.

you talk of crime,

where there is no real crime.

.

you talk of homelessness,

whilst cosy in your homes.

.

you talk of being cultured,

on your stolen land.

.

you talk about being more,

because you have more.

.

you talk of being educated,

in your educational institutes.

.

those of us without those things:

.

wait for it:

.

we don’t give a fuck!

.

your bootstraps make no fucking difference here.


kpm©


 

so in light of that … whats happening

And unfolding as I do …

Me and the partner had a ripper of a ‘discussion slash disagreement slash argument’ that turned into tears and a deeper discussion than what i was prepared for …

I’ve had this overwhelming, can’t shake it – sense of fear (unrecognised) and discontent and anxiety … and one of my least favourite things in the world – fake-ness.

And as I’ve said recently, my body has been doing weird ass shit. It’s sore. It’s sick … more than usual. I think I had the flu a few months ago and from there it’s been one thing (not majors, but annoying shit) after another. Culminating with a kick ass gutts ache and nausea and then a UTI, which I haven’t had for freaking years!

And as I’ve managed, just … I’ve dreamed some weird ass shit as well … and I’ve managed … just.

And at the peak of all that sick and anxiety, I felt kind of desperate.

And … and …

Then me and the partner collided … well over due … and I remembered this shit;

a. he’d stopped talking to me … had gone into silent sulky mode, quite awhile ago…and I’d written about it, but left it there.

b. i had the bitch ass psych assessment that I’d been waiting like, forever, for … and it was stressful as fuck … and, the partner, and no other cunt … gave two shits.

c. and then there was this: the flashback fucker that I tried to brush off

And like a big fat eureka, that happens when you least expect it … it dawned on me:

…. … … … … . when I had this flashback fucker back at the beginning of November 2016, I ‘actively’ tried to take a ‘positive stance’ about it and I ‘actively’ ignored.

Now generally the two don’t have to go hand in hand … as I have discovered. Being all happy clappy doesn’t necessary mean that you put your head in the sand and pretend like everything is sunshine and roses when it is clearly not.

But at this point, I believe I did what I actually despise.

I shoved my head in the sand. So far in the sand I forgot to take it out.

And whilst ruminating on sand particles, my body tried to give me quite a few ‘warning signals’ …. “hey bitch … ahhh, you bn down there enuf now … time to face it … hey, you … bitch …. ”

But instead, I switched her annoying voice off too.

But my body and mind will only put up with so much.

Heres why.

My entire life … yes thats right … my entire life … has been a shit storm of denial to make others comfortable … confrontation followed by a slap down followed by more denial … don’t speak, don’t yell, don’t have a fucken opinion … don’t cry … don’t annoy anyone … don’t smile, don’t frown … just DON’T.

And for safety sakes sometimes … I did just that … I didn’t …

Didn’t respond, didn’t cry, didn’t yell, didn’t rock the boat …

Inside I did … and inside I died a little bit every day.

But I am as stubborn as fuck and I always knew I would come back … come out … eventually. And I did.

BUT, and heres the but …

When I ACTIVELY choose to put my head back in the sand for no other reason than i am too pussy to deal with shit right now … I suffer the consequences of that …

And that is the WHY ,

the anxiety, the dreams, the sick, the sore gutt, the ignoring the partner, the partner ignoring me, the fake-ness, the no energy, the panic, the tension, the fucking fear.

I fear being back where I was.


kpm ©


 

the right to be white?

If I was white for the day …

 

what would I do?

probs not wotcha think.

 

i’d go shopping.

1st to that little boutique,

the one that has absolutely gorgeous couture,

even though its prices are waaaaaaaay to inflated.

i’d browse.

and not be followed.

 

then I’d do the bank.

just the credit card pamphlets,

at my leisure of course.

i know no-one telling me

‘yah need a job for one of those’,

or ask security to stand next to me.

 

next I’d do lunch at that french patisserie place –

with the croissants that have chocolate in them!

i’d point to the food cabinet as many times as i like

and ask a tonne’a questions about ‘what’s that made from’;

knowing no-ones calling the manager or asking me how I intend on paying for anything here.

 

over lunch, i’d ring and apply for the house

round the corner

that declined me on sight.

 

after lunch, i’d go back to the store

that wouldn’t serve me,

asking me to wait for the ‘lady’ behind me.

i’d run up a huge purchase,

getting her to package all my unpaid goods.

 

and when she was done,

i’d change my mind and go elsewhere.

 

 

not big things, would I do.

not big things, to you.

call it, ‘exorcising my demons’.

the little things, that i avoid,

not being white.

 

and as a twist of fuck you fate,

i’d post the video footage of my day on FB,

quoting: ‘NZ is racist as fuck’.


kpm ©


 

uncomfortable shift…

i watch

the uncomfortable

squirm in their seats.

their skins.

when the mention

of

sexual assault.

.

the uncomfortable shift.

the awkward silence.

when said sexual assault

is, a child.

or me.

.

not like it comes up over lunch,

or anything.

it’s just conversation

i don’t hide.

 no longer apologize

or explain.

.

it is interesting though

that such a subject

as this.

causes an uncomfortable shift.

but not enough to do something

about it.


kpm ©


 

ignorant ass; smile

me, was in front

she, behind

me, brown

she, white

me, eyes hazel

she, eyes blue

me, female

she, female

me, well spoken

she, was too

me, polite

she, not so much

me, had credit card

she, not so much

me, lotsa tattoos

she, not at all

me, smile

she, not

 

“Can I help you ma’am?”

 

me, yes I was looking…

she, not noticing

 

“Not you; the lady behind you….”

 

me, oh okay

she, really?

 

“Ahhh, this lady was here before you…please wait to the side”

 

me, ahhh

she, no she was

me, yes I was

she, ahhh

 

“Well, you’ll have to wait till I’ve served this lady”

 

she, that’s my daughter

she, she was ahead of me

she, is it because shes brown?

she, is it the tattoos?

she, is it possibly because you are an ignorant racist?

 

me, smile


kpm ©


 

dear dude in the dress

You won’t remember me, you were more wasted than I was

Somehow I remember you though

You gave me that, are you gonna fuck with me?, look

After you came out of the toilet stall, and we collided at the basins

Having trouble standing, leaning, looking

I wore sneakers and you wore six-inch stilettos

I had just finished throwing up, you were applying lipstick

Both trying to pretend we were alright

I tried smiling, so did you

You had a penis you said, so which toilet do you choose?

You’d stood outside for ages, waiting for everyone to leave

Last time you used the mens, they raped and beat you

Even though they had penis’s too

You couldn’t walk or talk for weeks

I nodded, I understood, but I couldn’t explain

I complimented you on your dress and the legs I wished I had

Then you wobbled off, and so did I

I didn’t get to say

That ignorance raped you and ignorance beat you

It does that

But that I admired your courage and strength

To be who you are, still

To be that dude in the dress

And not give a flying fuck


kpm ©