learning ..

I don’t have to learn or glean a life’s lesson. Or make it all into some righteous learning curb.
Don’t have to commodicise it or make money offve it.
I just gotta enjoy it .
Embrace it.
Love it.
Enjoy it.

& thats fucking hard enough to do .. geezus.



mental health professionals love quoting animal euphemisms when recommending we adopt certain ‘healthy’ behaviours, like vulnerability. Since I know virtually nothing about animals, my question is : what 5 animals willing make themselves vulnerable to a predator or an environment, in order to learn a valuable lesson.

rhetorical question.


nope ..

Don’t just trust them. 

Remain with the back up plan.

& always, get receipts


please note :

on my gravestone, or whatever it ends up being ..

please note :

“this bitch tried like no other”.





not sure what i was expecting. but i should’ve known better.

kpm ©



11 ks ay …


i managed to drive 11 ks out of our little town, right up to the main state highway.


(shit photo i know, soz)

& when i got there, i was super proud of myself … of course lol & then …

i freaked out! big fat L O L. yep i had’a size 8 panic fuck cos i was excited cos i got that far;  which went to a 9.5 once i realised i hadn’t brought some of my ‘lessen-panic-fuck’ mojo with me & was starting to have a hot flush!

fuck me!

wtf the was i thinking!

however … upside is, obviously, i made it back!

i rang my mama whilst i was out there next to all the action lol, & told her how proud i was :)

so, she decided to come celebrate with me … coffee & cake of course!

i think that’s part of what got me home actually.

as proud as i was of my blelf, i learnt a few valuable lessons. one of course being, ‘double check yo bag bitch! before you leave the house!’ ; second …

as much as i want to be alright, i learned-did this day, that i’m not alright. not completely. & it’s gonna take a lot more small steps before i can drive freely.

when i got out to the main highway i was quite overwhelmed by all the noise & the movement of all the cars. the picture doesn’t portray that, but it was busier than what i was used too. & for all these years, i haven’t been able to navigate around all the extra noise & movement so have managed what i could. so, as i try to take more of all that stuff on again, its no wonder i felt overwhelmed.

i was absolutely fucking munted when i got home & ended up sleeping for like an hour!

even the following day, i slept in & felt like i had been run over by a fucking bus when i did wake up. i still feel a bit shattered actually, but am getting there.

good lesson learnt though. & a few exhausted moments are definitely worth it.

next time i’ll be more prepared.

yes there’ll be a next time. & little bit further afield <3

kpm ©



because that is who i am

Although I’m not a hoarder by nature, and tend to gangstah lean toward the minimalistic slant on life, there is one thing that I do, unintentionally, hoard.

Sexual assault memories.

Now I don’t hoard them on purpose; they’ve just made their way into my basement and that’s where they stay. However, they do make uninvited appearances whenever they feel like it.

While I’m asleep.

While I’m awake.

When something smells familiar.

When something sounds familiar.

Otherwise known as Flashbacks: Or ‘Fuck-off Flashbacks’ as I like to call them; until recently, I thought everyone had this phenomenon happen to them. I figured though, that if their lives had been full of beautiful, picturesque, cheesy moments, then the emergence of any said basement memories, must be a pleasant, rather than horrific,  occurrence. How sweet does that sound!.

(not my meme)

Turns out, flashbacks come with pts(d) aka Post Traumatic Stress Disorder; they’re not an everyday thing for everyday peeps. Although an ever popular title at the moment, the first time I can remember this title being used to describe ‘Me’, was in the late 90s. But that was it. No further explanation, or plan, or treatment, or anything. Just a wave of the psychological hand as I was ushered out the door with the recommendation that I take anti-depression medication. I argued vehemently that I wasn’t ‘depressed’ per se, but having to figure this shit out was wearing Me the fuck out; is that the same thing as a ‘Depressive Episode’? I think Not.

I dodged the system there after. I threw myself into motherhood and studying and working. By 2006 I had nearly completed my studies and was moving into a new job.

By 2008 I was getting physically sick. I couldn’t hold food down; I was covered in an irritating rash; my hair was falling out; my head was always sore; my heart was always racing; my stomach was always turning. A raft of medical tests showed up nuddah. Instead the ‘professionals’ prescribed antidepressants; which I didn’t take. Again citing that I wasn’t ‘unhappy’, but I was losing weight faster than I could keep it on: and, oh by the way – “can y’all fuckers help Me or not?”

(not my pic)

By 2010 I was medically discharged from my job and shit was declining rapidly. I couldn’t walk, couldn’t hold a conversation, couldn’t drive, couldn’t make sense of much. The ‘professionals’, once again, prescribed antidepressants; the kick ass, make yah dribble, kind. Along with a few other strains of pharmacology – just for good measure. This time, I didn’t argue. I took them.

By 2013 I couldn’t leave the house. I still couldn’t drive. I was fat. I was tired. I was drained. I was broke.

So we did what any normal human would do, and we moved to the beach.

From then till now I have had an ongoing battle with ACC, to get assistance. Any assistance. The last assessment was done in August of this year; 3 years after asking for the initial one; 8 years after the one I should have had in 2009; one year after making a long ass complaint with ACC and them apologising for ‘the delay’.

In May of this year, I knew the battle with them was wearing Me thin (not literally – I wish!). The infrequent interaction with them and the long delays in between were adding to the anxiety and making me feel ‘sicker’, which was actually impeding any progress I had made from 2013 to the present.

But: Theres always a But –

I persisted with them. Believing they were my only resource or course of action. I thought I needed more money; more counselling; more help – of which I was actually entitled too, but felt like I was begging for. I really just wanted my life back and I wanted them to assist;  just a tinsy winsy little bit!

But gnawing away in my gutt, was a very clear voice:

“Girlfriend … They can’t give You what You need”.

I could feel the unbalance settling in as the father issue got thrown in there. But I persisted. With the father and with ACC. Because that’s what I do.

(also not my meme)

So on a particularly bleak ‘soldier on, even though I am nearly worn the fuck out’ day, I was trolling through my Twitter feed, and stumbled upon the Podcast of one very righteous drag queen who goes by the name of LaQuisha. Her Podcast was aptly named for my very situation: “Breaking Up With The NZ Mental Health System”.

Within the first 5 minutes, I had big girl tears in my eyes.

Sometimes … just sometimes … there is huge relief in knowing your not alone in something … that you’re not the first person to experience whats going on around you.

I felt relieved. She described her struggle; similar to what I was currently having with ‘the system’. She likened their neglect as similar to what she had experienced as a young person and within her family of origin. And I had a lightbulb moment.

(and also, not my pic)

I could see it falling into place. The father issues … the resounding silence … the blaming … the abuse.

I got it. Hallelu-Jah, I finally got it.

Or so I thought.

So Me and my newly enlightened self, wrote a quick post about it, so I wouldn’t forget and because that’s what I do. I saved the podcast for later perusal and thusly celebrated my Aha Moment.

The End.

That was 5 months ago.

And that’s right. I forgot everything I had just learned and I got further weighted down. Actually, I continued to let myself be weighted down. I analysed the fuck out of all sides of the issues, both ACC and father. I flipped it, responded to it, dropped the anti-anxiety meds, I talked it out, cried it out, blogged some more and then some more; I raged, I painted, I tried to remember the good things, I listened to soothing music, I tried more photography … oh, and I minimised and minimised the fuck out of everything. And yesterday, as I was on another rampant minimising mission, and was deleting shit off my computer, I came across – that’s right:

LaQuisha’s Saved Podcast.

A little surprised it was sitting there, just looking at Me, I decided to re-listen to it. And Yes, that’s right; 5 minutes in, and I was in big girl tears. A-Gain. So I paused LaQuisha – made Me a very delicious coffee – and came back to gaze at the screen for a just a little while longer, before un-pausing and re-listening.

Yes, that shit dawned on Me long and hard for quite an embarrassing length of time.

I had the answers to my conundrum 5 months ago, and for whatever fucked up, deep-seated psychologically mind numbing reason – I freudian-ly, chose to ignore it. I knew 5 months ago what I should do. What I already knew in my gutt, instinctually, 5 months before that. That there was No help in the system for Me and that my father and his bullshit, needed to Get Gone.

So I am now on a break up with ACC. I figure I need them like I need a hole in the head. I’ve done the assessment and gotten sweet fuck all from them. Will I get anything else out of them? Not without applying a shit tonne of pressure. And I do not have the energy for that, and actually, I don’t want to waste anymore of my time and precious resources on hitting my head against the proverbial brick wall. In the new year I may apply for more EMDR if I feel I need it; but that will be done on My terms.

Am I breaking up with my father? Definitely. I’ve deleted him completely from my life – Again. I don’t need his bullshit. And I never needed anything he had to offer; which was next to nothing anyway.

(yup, another, that aint mine)

I’m now talking with my Mama about getting my name changed back to my maternal family name. We’re going to take a trip up the River, where our tipuna came from, to find the burial sites of my Great Grandmother and Great Great Grandmother.

The thought of that stirs my spirit.

This is about finding where I belong. Who I belong too. Who loved Me long before I was born. That is where My healing is at and that is where my strength lies.

It’s not in what I’ve lost, or what I haven’t got, or what I can’t get. It’s in what ‘else’ I am, what else I can be and what else is waiting for Me.



they listen

how do you make someone listen to you.

not listen, like:

‘ah huh’

sorta listening.

i means

listen: with more than their ears.

kpm ©


thats it.

“theres no right or wrong.

theres just the process.

forward is not always a movement and the things that seem the darkest are sometimes the things that are ok.”


kpm ©


i don’t really like doing bloody titles: any who …

Just over a months break from steady blogging. Shittones has happened … well in my little world anyways … such as:

  • I turned 46 … Yah
  • 2 mokos had their birthdays … we now have a 10 year old and a 9 year old eeek
  • i went to the shop by myself, in the pouring rain, and it was glorious!
  • me and mama went to a cafe and i loved that!
  • heard from AC fucking C … they’re still ‘processing’ my claim
  • doing yoga again
  • we’re expecting moko #6 in August – Yippie!!
  • i stayed with my daughter for a couple days …that was awesome :)
  • i’ve started on my next lot of art works for this years exhibition
  • i’m at 3 smokes per day … I know … no applause needed ;)
  • i heard from my nieces … that was cool
  • we found a photograph of my great nanny (grandads mother), in a museum … we’re trying to get them back … or renamed at least
  • i got sozzled on my limoncello one night lol it was fun!

Anyway … I enjoyed my break. But I must say, to being with, it was one hell of a head fuck.

I used to be a rigid routine person … and in some ways I still see the safety in it … it keeps you focussed. But sometimes I think it becomes a noose as well. And I think thats what I had done with blogging.

“Have to do it … have to do it cos I started it … have to do it because … i have too”

I turned it into a chore … a bore … a complete and utter head fuck … when it was supposed to be a release, a relief, a conversation, a vent, a reworking …

As I’ve gone over my old posts, I started deleting some of them, thinking to myself, ‘what a bunch of bullshit’ … and then as I read on, I released that even though my ‘re working’ wasn’t has I thought it was going to be … I was in fact, doing just that.

My beautiful chaos was and is parts of Me that I have stuffed away, on purpose sometimes, so I could survive life.

And now that I am in a place where I can unfold and rewrite my narrative, it is happening, but not as I’d imagined.

But isn’t that the bloody way ay!

Whilst reading my #freestyle thought, in the form of writing rants, or loosely labelled ‘poetry’; in the form of visual images, art and random thoughts … I have managed to find some kind of crude balance in it all.

I’ve inadvertently allowed myself to be ME.

With all its profanity, quirks, repetitions, responses, anger, frustrations, creativity, sarcasm, love, hate, wishes and anguishes.

And in all that, I’m finding a pretty dam strong, sensitive and fierce old bitch. And it’s all alright.

Things are definitely not perfect. But I’ve come to realise – Perfection is for pussys. The real battleground is bloody and raw with a touch of daisies and daffodils.

So, I’m technically Back … whatever that is ;)

I’ve jiggled round my categories and made a few alterations here and there. I even changed my Theme for like, 5 days … and then I got sick of the capital letters in the headings, so I came back to my old faithful :)

I hope everyone is well … and I’ll get to your Blogs ASAP (note: not a standard ASAP, more of a, Me sort of ASAP ;).

Love and light atcha all xo

kpm ©



unfucked today.




Homai to Aroha


I’m not really sure the photograph does the ‘mindful moment’ justice. But there it is anyways …

I went to the beach again (Yuss! A ‘Win’ to Me today) … and it was peopley, even! It was so hot I pretty much didn’t give a flying fuck about anyone else … and even went for a swim in my undies LOL.

But as I was making like a beached whale, and not looking for any particular mindfulness moment, one smashed Me in the face in the form of a giant wave!

Now a couple things came to ‘mind’ …

I think this whole mindfulness routine is supposed to be a ‘being in the present’ – ‘appreciating the moment’ kinda thing … but what I did wonder in my moment, whilst gulping large amounts of salt water … was:

Who defined what past, present and future actually is?

Because it occurred to Me today, that in my ‘culture’, there really isn’t such a thing. It’s all fluid.

It just Is.

Emotions. Thoughts. Events. They’re All Right Here, Right Now, even if they were 10 years ago.

Which got Me onto the 2nd thing.

A few years ago a man I knew (he is a ‘healer’, in Our sense of the word), who has since passed, was talking about listening and learning from nature. That sitting in the rain will give you lessons in ‘feeling’ and being ‘present’, so to speak.

That sitting in Tangaroa (the Ocean), will give you lessons in breathing and ‘being present’, so to speak. Because if you’re not watching what Tangaroa is doing; how he’s changing and rolling … you Will definitely get smacked up the side of the head by an enormous wave, And you won’t be able to breath lol.

I Got That Today.

Tangaroa is a huge force that is continuously changing his ebbs and flows and currents: he’s predictable – but completely unpredictable.

Isn’t that exactly how Life is?


kpm ©