ready.

.. for something that aint 2020 .. ah huh.

actually thats not fair .. cant blame everything ‘bad’ entirely on 2020 ..

or can i??

edit : cos this been in the ‘drafts’ for ages .. Then we moved into the gregorian 2021 & sweet fucken geezus ..

Make It Make Sense!!!


kpm©

an.im.als.

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.


kpm©


who?

.

who benefits from the concept of me being broken?

.

not me, that’s for sure!

.


kpm ©


 

able ‘bodied’?

what does that even mean … to be ‘able-bodied’?

according to the dictionary, it means one is healthy or not physically disabled.

but what the fuck does that really mean?

does that mean that mentally able is not included in ‘physically’ able?

cos where i come from, its all part of the same package.


kpm ©


 

where are they now?

from the moment they said i should ‘feel’ more, i shoulda told them to shut the fuck up.

when they said i needed to be more connected; more in tune with myself. be compassionate and not so cold.

i shoulda told them to go fuck themselves.

but instead: i listened.

& then attempted to be all those things.

but where are these cunts with all the helpful advise now?

offering to hold my hand through the grocery shop as i squint at the lights or shake at the counter? holding me up as i near drop to floor after a car backfires or consoling me as i breakdown in the front seat of the car waiting for the lights to change?

where are these cunts with all the wonderful expectations?

not the fuck here are they!


kpm ©


 

i have a feeling.

ewww, IKR.

but i have this feeling. that i’m going to confront him. do for myself what should have been done for me years & years & years ago.

it makes my gutt turn … but …


kpm ©


 

its currently a cunt of a day.

hormonally. horizontally & intuitively.

random as fuck you might say?

not really. as i’ve come to realise about my pedantic little self.

whilst my brain is clear (ish) & i’m full of ideas & energy: my body is not so fucking willing.

vertigo is through the roof, or the floor as the case my be. my tummy is doing somersaults & i’m guessing this is PMS in all its fucking glory (after referring to my anal little calendar), or i’m hungry … again. my head is aching, but that seedy sorta ache. oh & i’m as nauseous as fuck!

i’ve done the ’emotional’ check, such as it is, & i know there’s shit going on in there, i just cant quite put my weasely little finger on it yet.

i’ve done the ‘body’ check, such as that fucking is, & am taking an educated guess @ hormone fuckery.

whatever the fucks going on it’s lending to an ever increasing anxiety that’s building to a nice little panic fuck … possibly scheduled for … soon … if i cant catch my fucking breath.

yah know, some days are just cunty-er than others.

*rolling with it*


kpm ©


 

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‘mentally ill’

This started as a long ass post … but honestly I can’t be bothered rambling on, let alone making it painful for someone else to read lol. This is a subject I approach with little reverence and question unmerciful-lessly.

I’ve decided that some of it is a ‘cultural’ thing; well perceived from a monocultural perspective. Like a shit tonne of other stuff really.

In our old language, the closest thing to being ‘mentally ill’, was ‘porangi’. We’ve whitened it up since then and given the title a maori name. But in all reality, we didn’t have a word for being mentally ill.

The word Porangi was a verb, and meant “to search for, seek.”

And when someone was in a state of ‘searching and seeking’, they were cared for by those that loved them. This would take as long as it took. Period.

Today we have a shit tonne of titles, like borderline personality disorder, like pts(d), like depression … and they all have levels. The answer for any of these?

Medication. Talking.

Does the medication work? I think it’s designed to ‘normalise’ Us. But again, I ask, who decides what Normal is? Is normal more about being a contributing, tax paying member of society? Or appearances? Or Both.

Because it sure as shit aint about what is best for Us.

I think diagnoses and labels are developed to silence and produce a paying customer.

Slap a label on that bitch. Medicate that bitch. Silence that bitch.

Is any of this really helpful?

In my 40 odd years, I think I may have met (in person) a couple (meaning TWO) of people that this system has worked for. But I’ve met a shit tonne more, that have been ‘searching’ and have ‘come right’ with nothing but love, rest, understanding and time.

To sum up – fuck mental health; fuck diagnoses; fuck professionals who think they’re helping and they’re not; fuck medication; fuck misunderstanding.

Fuck it all.


kpm©


 

whose the diagnoses for?

For them?

For society?

For a category?

For Big Pharma?

Cos its sure as fuck not for Me.


kpm ©


 

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& again, for those in the back

no. this time of the year isn’t pleasurable for me. it’s loud. it’s random. it’s expectations on overload. it’s pressure. did i say, it’s random AF?

& yet i’m managing it.

when do we get a holiday? those that put up with / manage the global expectations thrust up our asses because some cunt has pumped consumerism & now they ‘deserve a little break’? when do we get to tap out?

cos i am way the fuck over it.

JS.


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

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todays discovery & FYI

apparently, when one is annoyed @ moi, for not ‘being there … giving more … participating …’ etc … & when they proceed to not include moi, not invite moi, not speak too moi or not give any type of acknowledgement of moi being a. here, b. alive …

what it actually means is this:

“i don’t like it that you had the balls to follow you’re own path, because i didn’t & i’m stuck & i hate it.

i hate that you have the nerve to believe you are actually worth something & stick to your self care plans even though i believe you should be doing things My way & i don’t give a shit about your health & well being, because your health & well-being makes me fucking uncomfortable.

i also don’t know what to say to you anymore because you won’t do what i want you to do & i haven’t learned to manage myself or take responsibility for my own actions or in-actions & that also makes me incredibly uncomfortable, to the point that i’d prefer to be an asshole to you, than figure out who you are or what your health regime costs you, or how to participate in your life on your terms; because, yeah … i don’t like feeling uncomfortable; & truth be told, i actually don’t really give a shit.”

i’m pleased i’ve had this revelation on the first day of the gregorian calendar year … think it’s gonna save me a whole lot of time & angst!


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

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sectioned.

said in an earlier post that i’d been having quite vivid dreams lately.

another of those awesome (but not so awesome) dreams woke me with a memory. and it is the memory that lingers even now.

as some of you will know, i used to work in a kiddie prison. the government doesn’t call it that of course, but potato potahtoe … it is what it is … a fucking prison as far as i’m concerned.

when i started at this hell hole, i was bright eyed and busy tailed and was ready to take on the world. i wasn’t ignorant but was slightly naive.

realistically though: i was still colonised.

i believed the negative stats that say our people are at the bottom of the heap and the only way we can change that is by assimilating. again, the government cunts won’t state it like this … but it is what it is.

i went into youth justice with the notion that getting them kiddie fuckers early meant that there’d be less damage done. my theory was sound. i hadn’t factored in though, that the powers that be, didn’t and don’t, actually give a shit.

anyway … the memory i had was of a young man that i had sectioned. when i say i, i should be saying the government entity that i worked for. i followed the instructions i was given and did what was required of my position.

what lingered … lingers … in my memory and my gutt though, is how it made me feel and what it did to my body.

it was the first time it like 20 odd years that i had been that sick. true, my health was declining over all at this point … but i got tonsillitis for the first time in like years. so bad, my throat swelled shut and i couldn’t speak.

at the same time my gutt turned and i was vomiting.

little hard to vomit out of a swollen throat. enough said bout that.

and i knew in the pitt of my stomach that i had done something that i neither believed in or wanted to do.

without going into the gory details, sectioning this young man, in my opinion, was about managing him not helping him. it was about getting him out of the way and using the power of the crown to do so.

and i was the instrument that did it.

i had to go to court and back up the statements that were included in the report. and no shit, i could barely speak. not that they gave a fuck.

i remember looking at this kid in the box, thinking: fuck, i don’t even want to be here and i don’t believe any of this shit. and then looking at him and him looking at me like i was betraying him.

i betrayed me really. as well as him.

i didn’t act on my instinct and on my beliefs because they were all up the shit.

honestly, our system was not and is not equipped to deal with young people with mental health issues. aside from the mono cultural bullshit they have to go through that puts them in the position of being misunderstood in the first place – ultimately winding up in a facility like this one … they then have to navigate health issues that this system doesn’t understand and isn’t designed to assist with.

excuses aside, this was one of those moments that had me wanting to head out the door. but i had spent so much time and money studying – i had sacrificed so much to be here, i lamented.

and in the meantime it was destroying me, literally, from the inside out.

what i understood this morning regarding this memory, was i hadn’t just sectioned one of Our kids, one of My kids … i had gone against everything that i believed in … i had silenced myself and done as i was told. i had advocated for the wrong side.

i had silenced my own still small voice for the sake of time, effort, money and sacrifice.

i sacrificed my voice.

literally.

my resolution this morning, after this long-winded realisation …

i’ll never do this again.

figuratively or physically.

no matter the cost, i won’t ever be on the wrong side of my own values ever again.


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

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i did good

before i forget to celebrate the wins:

sunday was the first of the infamous home invasions aka open homes, for the house to be sold.

i had been dreading it slightly … ok, alot.

after the fucked up week and flashbacks and repercussions, i decided to take saturday ‘off’ and recalibrate.

i did my romiromi and was generally ‘kind’ if not kinder, to myself. it was fucken hard i must say. through it all, i managed to let go of alot of the angst i had been feeling and carrying and got back to the basics.

my wellness.

with that done, i made a new plan for future home invasions.

this morning, implementing my new plan – i started my day slow. absolutely no discussions of the week that had been or what i might do next; no thoughts of flashbacks … they can wait. i did my coffee … on purpose lol and sat in the sun for half an hour. had a couple tears for our cat … he would’ve usually been smooching around my legs and then heading off to one of three sunny spots. tears were fine i decided … they were rememberance, and thats ok. must have been, cos i smiled when i was done.

then i did breakfast. slowly and on purpose. no intrusive thoughts just me and my stomach lol.

then i picked out clothing that was comfortable and started packing my little bag of tricks. i included everything i needed and then added what i wanted.

coffee. my favourite sandwiches (banana and brown sugar – ikr), my music.

i had my shower, just abit longer than usual and dressed in my comfy clothing.

i got my coffee ready and put it in the thermos.

i went through happy photos and checked the good stuff on fb lol, it was a short list ;)

half an hour before the home invasion woman was due to come i finished off my last bits for my bag, donned ear phones, sunglasses and a jacket, got my walking stick and headed to the beach. i went the back way cos i didn’t want to run into said bitch face.

i walked slowly and stopped at all the flowers that have started to bloom along the beach walkway. i found me a possy in the dunes and parked up. i left my music going and settled into the sand.

once i’d got rid of my shoes i made my self comfy.

coffee first.

then another.

then a sandwich.

then some photos.

then alot of singing to one of my favourite songs.

then another sandwich followed by another coffee.

and before i knew it,  an hour and a half had passed.

i hadnt thought of the home invasion once and if my clock was correct they’d already have been and gone. i decided not to go straight home away and took a few more photos and then went for a walk along the sand.

it was beautiful and restful. then i made my way home. although calm, i was fucken exhausted, but nothing a nap didn’t fix.

next week im gonna change it up abit – still including coffee of course.

i did good!


kpm ©


 

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updates: management

The week that was, has been fucking awesome! And before I forget (which I do a lot of now …) I thought I’d update how I managed over the week … what was different etc. ‘Cos I’m pretty fucking proud of myself ;)

I had a tonne of anxiety ‘moments’ and a few minor – medium panic attacks – lots of dizzy moments and a shit of tired!

Staying busy (which aint hard with a house full of kids ;) ) helped, but didn’t stop any of those moments from happening, which was interesting cos I thought it might. Most of the time I was able to breath through each thing, or find a quiet spot and do some stretching and breathing and listen to my music. I think I donned my ear plugs a few times when noises got overwhelming and downed a few anti-anxiety meds. Overall though, the meds were few and my other methods of reducing the heart rate and finding my equilibrium seemed to work.

When our baby was born we all went up to the hospital. I had prepared myself for that but still slightly dreaded it … hospitals are not my most favourite of places! What I dreaded really though was the smells and the elevator. Me and small tight, moving spaces, don’t really gel that well ;) I had my earplugs in for the ride there and the entrance and I kept them in for the elevator as well. Lots of deep breathing and a tight grip on the railing got me through that ride lol. Oh, and lots of swearing ;)

I was nervous when I got to hold my moko for the first time – which usually happens – but that dissipated as I breathed deeper and slower than I had been.

And it helped that he was just the most perfect little bundle of cuteness ;)

Overall I think I did fucking well! The differences were my confidence – remembering the simple things that I know work for Me : music, ear plugs, sunglasses, lots of water, oranges, not being to hot, comfortable clothing, enough food … and not giving a fuck about what anyone else thought of how I appeared, spoke, talked, walked ….

And really, I think that is one of the biggest things I learnt this week.

That really … giving a fuck about what others think of how you present yourself, fucks you up. I didn’t think I did that … but it turned out that I wanted to ‘look’ alright for my kids and my mokos, and I don’t like appearing ‘sick’ or upset. But the reality is; those are part of who I am. I manage it all the best way I know how.

That is enough!


kpm ©


 

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my day is nearly done.

photograph was taken the other day, on one of my ‘active meditation’ days: at my beach, of course <3

And what a day it has been!

I was going to shut up shop and move directly on to blobbing with a movie and then decided I should actually celebrate my days victory.

I usually do on here … with all the intricacies and unfoldings that a day does too Me … but this time … well …

I did fan-fucking-tastic today.

Today was moko #5s 1st birthday, and I had been dreading it slightly because of it’s location and because … well because, of the usuals … anxiety, smells, surprises, noises … etc etc.

But I’ve been preparing for Months … literally.

And that prep paid off today.

The morning was stress free … the trip to town was stress free … the stops and starts … the minor hiccups … managed beautifully by Me! Anxiety was at an all time low!!

The event itself was lovely for our little madam! And the stresses I had planned for went smoother than expected. I am pleased to announce, I handled it like an absolute Boss!

Oh. forgot to say … the location was my in-laws, and I haven’t been there for nearly 6 years.

So tonight I have the night to myself and I’ve had my dinner and am about to have a nice hot bath and then an extra large milk and milo lol … living the good life aight ;) And then it’s My movie time.

FYI … its not a typical girlie movie night … I shall be watching my all time favourites: The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo Series.

I know.

You too can be Me ;)

Anyway … love and light to Me as we head down the home straight of the busiest part of my year … one pending birth of moko #6 due any day now xoxox


kpm ©


 

SaveSave

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what helps?

When I google things like ‘how to deal with anxiety’; or look through the ‘anxiety and pts(d)’ tags here on wordpress …  a shittonne of well meaning self help guru sites pop up.

Now no offence directly intended … and I do have a point …

For some people, these are the keys they are looking for in and on their journey.

For people like Me … they are a minefield of alternate questions, advertising, manipulation and alterations.

Self help sites; glorified ‘i had a hard time and now I’m all better’ sites, Do Not work for Me. I wish they would … but they don’t. The same goes for people, occasions, therapists, psychologists … For Me, the disingenuous is not a selling point or a motivational tool … it is a pain in the ass.

So what helps?

Truth.

Plain and simple, raw, tell it like it is: Truth.

#JS


kpm ©


 

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the painting #feels

What I discovered today, was this shit, like the rain … also soothes shit, way faster than anything else can (except the sedatives! … gotta love the sedatives!) …

So I did the do, and enjoyed the hell out of it …

I’ve never used ink before and it turns out ink on house paint makes this marvellous mess. Btw … I re-purposed the ink from an old printer I dismembered ;)


kpm ©


 

Link

Pending thoughts: Ableism and its discontents.

Thoughts on ableism:

Excerpt: “But the fact remains, this is a society for the “able bodied” and the “mentally sound,” and this fact is attributable to thoughtlessness conditioned by a disgusting level of unspoken malice. There are philosophers who argue that the disabled should be treated as a lesser class of persons. Even if we remove sentimentality from the equation, I consider such openly and willfully malicious persons to not only lack a basic sense of humanity, but to lack a basic idea of what it means to be human. Such persons undoubtedly think they are liberating the human species from a “burden” by consigning the disabled to a lower place in the great chain of being. They want to privilege what they see as strength and effectiveness. I would argue, that humanity is not only not held back by prioritizing the dignity of those whose conditions of life give them different needs, but, that the ability to do this is among the highest human vocations.”

Source: Pending thoughts: Ableism and its discontents.

Comments are turned off here. For More, go to https://thenegrosubversive.com


 

reality check of sorts

After this mornings panic fuck, it took most of the day to recover … thanks to the cunts next door who are still renovating, the vibrating of the house meant that the ‘calming’ process was made harder … but I shouldn’t blame them I suppose … but who cares right? They’ll never know … so I’ll blame them ;)

So its 1230 and I’m fucked. And now I’ve got some more decisions to make .. and because I can’t quite get a coherent thought together, I’m gonna bullet point this bitch – so I can get it all out and hopefully make some sense of it all …

And We can call it a poem – just so it seems a little flasher than what it really is …

Righteo.

  • I didn’t take a sedative today.
  • I lived through the panic.
  • I survived the phone call.
  • I didn’t suffocate whilst dripping snot and tears.
  • Bonus.
  • I’m on 1/4 antihistamine now.
  • I’m itchy as a mofo.
  • I know it’ll pass.
  • I’ve got an appointment with the psychologist on Wednesday.
  • Turns out the partner is supposed to take some twat to the airport.
  • It’ll work out he reckons.
  • I don’t do ‘it’ll work out’ as an outcome.
  • Wednesday is payday.
  • Paydays are fucked days.
  • The day before payday is a fucked day.
  • Oh, its not My payday.
  • I feel vulnerable.
  • I feel like a child.
  • I feel like I’m at the whim of someone elses emotions.
  • And I don’t like it.
  • Do I cancel the appointment.
  • Post pone the appointment maybe.
  • Is that weak.
  • Or smart.
  • Cos I know how that day is gonna pan out.
  • And it won’t be pretty.
  • For Me.
  • Unless of course I take a sedative.
  • And then I aint gonna remember much of the day anyway.
  • If I go, I need to get blood taken as well.
  • I wanted it to be a calm day.
  • Had made time to have coffee with my daughter.
  • She’s a newly trained barista.
  • Yum.
  • Then my appointment.
  • Then home.
  • Whilst ignoring the partners mood.
  • I can do that.
  • But new shit thrown in there.
  • Ahhhh.
  • The airport twat would come home with us first.
  • Which means I’d hear her talking for 40 minutes.
  • Not sure that I can do that.
  • Well I can.
  • But it wouldn’t be pretty.
  • For her. Or the partner.
  • I don’t care about that really.
  • So maybe thats the option.
  • Roll with the cluster fuck.
  • Drop a sedative or 2 if need be.
  • Make sure I have a humungous coffee.
  • Oh, and ear muffs.

kpm ©


 

a sniff of …

I had a ‘moment’ last night:

  • I wont call them anything but a ‘moment’ now .. they’ve taken up to much space

A sniff of residue … hint of a flashback … one that’s  probably been waiting for a very long time to make its way to the forefront of my mind’s eye.

Think I wrote a post, or made a comment on someone elses post, awhile ago … about your body, mind … remembering things when its good and ready … that there’s not really any need (for me anyway) to go digging around for ‘memories’ to deal with … I mean, for fucks sakes, who needs more stress???

And I guess I have had a rather long ‘rest’ in terms of pts(d) flashback occurrences. Not that they don’t happen … I just know what to do (for some of them) when they do happen now …

But this …

It’s been floating around on the outskirts of my dreams … my mind … my memories for a while. I haven’t actively ignored it … but I haven’t actively sought it out either!

I’d say I got ‘screen one’. I’m hoping that’s all. But I know it’s not.

But …

I won’t fear it …

It made me cry. But I don’t want to shed anymore tears over it. But I haven’t quite yet harnessed all that anger that is lurking in the back of minds eye as well!

All these years … it’s been silent. My memories. I see pictures. Remember smells. I hear an occasional ‘bump’, but not voices.

Last night … I heard him speak. I had forgotten that he spoke. Questioned. Conversated.

The pedo cunt, ‘engaged’ with his prey.

He lured. Gained trust. Through language. Through conversation.

He tried to gain compliance. He did gain compliance.

And last night, I heard his filthy voice.

Not here. But back then.

What ripped my world though; was it came when I was having a moment with my partner. How fucking cruel is that.

I logically know enough now, to know that it isn’t my partner. That he could have done nothing differently. That because I was having a ‘safe’ moment, that little flashback fucker was able to make its way to the forefront.

That in itself is a good thing. Because its here now … in the here and now … I can deal with it. I have more at my disposal to deal with it than I ever have had before.

Does that make it better? Fuck no.

The whole thing is stewing / coagulating in my insides. I feel like my head is going to explode! But I know it’s already been and gone … this is just the residue. The ‘sniff of’ what was.

I despise that pedo cunt more than I ever have before.

How dare he mess with my world! With Me!

I have no interest in trying to understand the sick fuck anymore. I do hope he dies a slow miserable death though.


kpm ©