so it is ..

Pretty much 44 years of yelling to be heard in one way or another.

guess what.

I got my justice.

I got heard.

Now what.

Cos in one way or another, ‘they’ don’t like the sound of my voice.

Not loud.

Not quiet.

Not mixed.

Not solo.

Preferable to be silent.

.

So does any amount of yelling or breaking silence, work? .. relieve the anxiety?

Or is this a different era we coming into.

.

Where silence is a choice.

How I move is a choice.

How I choose is a choice.

How I scream, how I yell, is a choice.

How I whisper, how I tell or retell , is all a choice.

My choice.

My flavour.

My decision or non decision.

Not anyone else or for anyone else.

Just me.

.

now thats some new shit ..


kpm©


Image

not sure where to start ..

so i just will ..

i’m still roaming around my new whare wondering wtf lol a good wtf though ..

& thats what it all is. its new. i dont have the words to describe what i feel like but i know its ok .. like, good.

i know i feel minimal to nil anxiety. i know i can breathe properly. i know i feel lighter.

but im not sure how to describe that in a positive un-hippified (soz to my hippy mates but y’all know what i mean lol) way.

yet.

but this is what it feels like visually:

it feels new, everyday.

im grateful & i dont think this is ever gonna get old.

guess nature is kinda like that ay.


kpm ©


 

was comfortably uncomfortable.

i got pins and needles … like when colour & feeling comes back into your hands after gripping something for a long ass time.


kpm ©


 

randoms :

thoughts that is.

its been nearly a week since i’ve taken up residence in my new whare. & holy shiet .. its what expected & what i didn’t expect.

for example:

i’m currently sitting in my favourite chair, staring out the window / sliding door, & i can see the sun setting. i can see the clouds moving across the sky & i can hear the roar of the waves & tawhirimatea (wind god) blowing around the house. the house is light .. by sight & by ‘feel’ .. its .. beautiful.

& i can smell, nothing. no damp. no mould. no dust. nothing.

my senses are freaking out (goodly) @ nothing. its kind of hard to explain. but every now & then it feels way overwhelming, but in a good way. & that just doesnt make a bit of sense to me lol.

i’m taking it in. enjoying. mellowing.

every now and then i can feel anxiety reaching for my toes, my legs, my chest .. & then it dissipates. i like that.

whats strangest of all sensations .. is i feel safe here. safer than i think i have ever felt in my entire life. & i know thats not just the environment.

its me.

me.

i’m changing.

& i like it.


kpm ©


 

& its here.

moving day.

& i’m ready.


kpm ©


 

stank.

quick.

easy.

simplified.


kpm ©


 

Image

the final ‘unfuck’, for now.

Karakia:

Atua

Tukua

Homai to Aroha

Ae.

I have this thing for finishing what I start. Actually, the whole fucking world (western world actually) does.

If you don’t finish something then you’re no good; won’t ever amount to anything; aren’t stable etc etc.

I wonder who made that shit up?

Whoever did, did a good job of perpetuating their bullshit onto many a generation of peeps; including mine.

It’s a pain in my ass … in causes anxiety and stress … the thought … thats right, just the thought … of not Finishing something to completion.

My OCD self then increases the angst by having to complete something to ‘my’ standard … which isn’t like everyone elses … it’s a special kind of fuckery lol.

So as you can see by some of my earlier posts today, I’m on a fucking roll lol. And I’m ‘finishing’ shit up.

Why?

So my OCD half can leave it all the fuck alone. So I can listen to my instincts without having this gnawing feeling in the back of my mind, or in the pit of my gutt, telling Me I haven’t completed a certain something, so I can’t do something else.

Geezus.

The picture?

My chisels.

A constant reminder that I didn’t do the 3 years like I said I would. I only did the first year. I did fucking well and yes, I was actually fucking fucked with undiagnosed pts(d) at that stage … but who cares … I didn’t complete what I said I would. Instead I made excuses as to why just the first year was enough.

Fucks sakes ay!

I have learnt today that I am part of my own problem.

Hard pill to swallow but swallowing I am.

When is enough, enough for Me?

What does completed mean? Does it mean what I think it means or am I just another product of mental colonisation?

So here I am, again, against every little bit of my will, finishing up a process I started, before I think I should … because, it turns out, that ‘unfucking myself’ is simply a matter of stopping doing what I’ve always done, or thinking like I’ve always thought … and doing something different. It don’t matter if the new way is right or wrong … it’s just a change in direction.

Peace.


Fin.


kpm ©