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 ..



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.


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.


i’m changing.

& i like it.

kpm ©


& its here.

moving day.

& i’m ready.

kpm ©






kpm ©



the final ‘unfuck’, for now.




Homai to Aroha


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.


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.


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.



kpm ©