i think i was about 8 or 9 when i knew who eva braun was.

i also thought everyone else knew that too. that this was a semi normal conversation piece for the meal table.


it wasnt.



the sidelines.

some annoying twat & their memes, reckons:

“dont sit on the sidelines. get in the game.”

guess what douchebag;

you get to see more of humanity from the sidelines than you do with some cunts shit up in your grill.

put that in a meme & go fuck yourself.




my stars & moon & a realisation.

i’ve been trying to do my first official ‘birthday month’ this month.

it’s something a person i know has done forever & i liked the sound of it, so wanted to give it a go.

tell yah what, it took a whole heap of stress off doing ‘birthday’ ‘day’. not that it was ever really overly stressful … but this year i felt more in control of it.

i’ll post more on the whole thing when this month is done … for now though …

part of my ‘doing what i want’ routine, included spending an evening with my eldest daughter: that in itself is hard for her, in different ways than me. they have 4 of my beautiful mokos & life is busy AF for her! taking 10 minutes to have a shit in peace is no easy thing, let alone spending an evening out of the house, with yah mama lol.

so i appreciated everything she did to make herself available. in my mind, that was her gift to me & i was extremely grateful.

but her & the fams gave me cupcakes too … bonus!!!

they’re those chocolate ones, that have gooey chocolate in the centre … OMG … they were divine!

as part of our evening out, i wanted to go & listen to this dude talk about astronomy & our cosmology surrounding the lunar calendar. now i knew it was a big thing, as in, it was going to be a crowded AF space … like 350+ people in a lecture theatre. but i booked tickets anyway & have worked on getting my shit together to get there.

“the usual routine.”

we had also decided to get this pizza @ a local restaurant & a large dose of coffee from another.

sooooooooo …. it didn’t quite work out as i’d planned … as either of us had planned actually.

both ‘sitters’ were late, which made us late for the astronomy thing.

positive note: i was calm. so was my daughter.

we got there 40 minutes late & when we got to the door we were greeted by 3 beautiful ladies who took us into the auditorium thing.

how-ever: once the door opened & i felt the heat, saw the crowd, smelt the smells & saw that the only seats available were way @ the back, or should i say right @ the top of a mountain of chairs … i knew i couldn’t do it. i backed out & told the last i had an anxiety disorder (short explanation) & that this wasn’t going to work for me.

sooooooo … they looked for an alternative.

now can i just say: that in all the years i’ve been battling & juggling pts(d) & its associated fuckery, i have never had a reception like this. not only were they polite, and curtious … they were caring!

one lady tried to find a back door to the auditorium & seating close to the door. bless her beautiful heart! she waited while i tried to manoeuvre the stairwell to the back door (& waited for over 15 minutes @ least) & finally i realised i wasn’t going to manage that either … well not without falling over anyways. i stood on the second set of steps (steep AF i might add) & had a quick discussion with my girl. i did my apologies & she could see i was struggling … & i decided that if i had a smidge of a chance to enjoy the rest of the evening, then this whole scenario was a no go.

so, again, i backed down the steps, very slowly, & those beautiful ladies got me a seat so i could sit down & get my breath. & then they just carried on as normal.

now, again: something else i’ve noticed throughout my pts(d)-ness, is peeps tend to do all sorts of awkward fuckery when confronted with someone who is clearly struggling. it is super super rare AF, to find someone, let alone 4 someones (1 being my beautiful daughter), who just caringly carried on, whilst making themselves ‘available’ to assist as i needed.

we sat there for about another 10 minutes. in that time, one lady came & sat next to me & says, ‘i get anxiety too, so i get it’; & she smiled. i nearly cried. but in the moment, it did something to my feng shui. something good.

i felt ‘normal’. empowered & normal & fully in control of my situation.

yah know how fucking rare that is too lol!!

my head cleared … & i stopped sweating like a rapist lol … & was able to make some clear decisions.

no, the auditorium wasn’t going to happen tonight. but we learned that this whole astronomy / star roadshow learning thing, would be done again. maybe next year. so we could try again then.

my ‘end goal’ of that part of the evening, was to buy the book this dude had written, & a cup lol. so i asked if i could do that, & they obliged & sold me both items earlier than they usually do. *goal achieved* ;)

i know, i know .. what a groupie lol

then i decided we’d leave. i thanked those those beautiful ladies for being so caring. i dont know that they really realised who much they had done for me.

yah know, a little kindness & not acting like a cunt, goes a very long way!!!

so me & my girl decided to go pizza-ing earlier. we’d chosen this particular place because my girl reckoned it wasn’t usually crowded.

well guess what. it was packed AF!!

by this stage we were both nervous but laughing cos this was just fucking typical really.

but we went in anyway. i did the earplug thang ;)

i managed to start ordering but cos it was so loud & so smelly (loads of people, smelly), i knew, again, sitting & waiting & then eating, was going to be hugely uncomfortable.

me & my girl had a little talk & decided to take away. so we ordered then left for half an hour.

& went to get the coffee we wanted! Yah!

all the while we’re walking & talking & its in the middle of town @ night, & i’m thinking … this is cool!!! this is way fucking better than sitting down in a crowded room & listening to someone talk for 2 hours … & way better than having to yell over everyone else to have a conversation … & as we strolled along … with a fresh coffee … heading back to get our pizza … i realised, that this … right here & now, was what my new lane looked like. & in a similar vein, my darling girl figured the same thing out for herself too.

we got back to the pizza place & i was actually able to sit & wait for another 10 minutes, for our order. no panic fucks to report here, but a few terrible selfies were attempted lol.

once we’d got our pizza, we sat in the park across the road .. which in hindsight, isn’t possibly the safest place for 2 women to be in the middle of the night .. & parked up on a bench seat like 2 lost souls, spread out our pizza, & ate like there was no tomorrow lol.

from left to right … ‘the godfather’ , ‘italian lover’ & the house special ‘dessert’ pizza!

the ‘park’ @ night x

it was an awesome night! 3 hours me & my girl sat there in the dark, watching the stars & the ‘night life’ & talking & laughing & yes, there were a few tears too lol.

my fuck, we needed that! i didn’t realise how much she needed it & this was exactly what i had been craving.

‘my normal’.

i’m actually grateful i couldn’t go into the auditorium & that i missed the stars lecture. i’m grateful the restaurant was packed.

i found something of me in all those ‘fuck-ups’ that i wouldn’t have found otherwise.

& it was a mixture of my old version of beautiful & my new version of ‘mindfulness’.

my beautiful x

kpm © : ig @kpm-artist



to conform.

or not to conform.

no-brainer really.

kpm ©



but they’re just people.

hetero-normative, abled-bodied, big mouth, scary-ass


kpm ©


the thing with dissociation

Whilst the terminology is varied, we can agree that dissociation is detachment, in one form or another; Right?

So the thing would be, that the dissociative state is unhealthy? Right? Because it is an altered sense of reality; or Not reality at all?

Well heres my thing …

  • Dissociation is survival.
  • Dissociation is a very gangstah tool for survival.
  • Dissociation is in it’s completeness, a Reality.
  • Dissociation is key to mental, physical, psychological and spiritual health, at the time it is employed.

But I wish some psychological cunt had’ve pre-warned Me about this:

  • Dissociation has some cunty backlashes when one decides to Not be dissociative anymore.

I think I employed dissociation as a survival mechanism before I could speak. Does that mean my perception of Reality was off?

Hell No.

I knew what was going on around Me was shit. I knew in the pit of my gutt that there was fuckery afoot. Could I do anything about that? No.

I was physically incapable of ‘fighting’ back; of desisting or resisting; or fleeing the situation. I could hardly walk, let alone talk.

But what staggers Me now, is that I knew enough then, to know it was time to ‘leave’. And leave I did. For 30 odd years.

By the time life caught up with Me, and the nagging voices espousing “You’re so cold” “You’re so aloof” “You’re so distant” finally got to Me; it didn’t occur to me then, to tell them all to get fucked. It didn’t occur to Me to ask them Why they hadn’t asked Me Why?

Instead – I tried to feel.

Guess what comes with feeling shit?

Anxiety and Panic. Great buckets full of it … great big shit filled buckets full of it alright.


Because when one is devoid of emotion, one is also devoid of anxiety and its best friend, panic. There is No stress. There is No worry. There is only Nothing. Nuddah. Zilch. Sure it all goes on ‘underneath’ everything, and its the sick feeling you get in your gut or the persistent headache that hasn’t let up for years … but theres pain meds for that shit, and back to soldiering on.

So along comes grief and sorrow … and fucking anxiety about grief and sorrow. The gutts ache of wondering what or if that is actually what it should feel like. The same goes for love, peace, anticipation, excitement, joy, friendliness, waiting, contentment …. etc etc.

Up until recently, I could describe what all those things ‘looked’ like. It is why I understand body language, and the inconsistency of what is spoken versus what is non verbally spoken. I call it cognitive feeling. I know what it should look like, therefore I believe I know what it cognitively should ‘feel’ like.

The problem is, feeling feels very different than thought.

So before you ask someone to be present; to feel; to get a heart or a soul – just remember to ask these things first;

  1. Why don’t you feel anything?
  2. When did you stop feeling anything?
  3. What purpose does it serve you, to feel nothing?

If a person is happy in their dissociative-ness, leave them to it! Who are they hurting? You? Because you want them to be like You? All touchy and feely and shit?

Dissociation serves a purpose. A vital purpose.

And just remember, when dissociation goes, there in its place, is a shit storm of unknown emotion … that We have to learn from scratch.

And that learning may Not look how you would imagine it.

For Me, happy is chocolate, coffee and the mokos. It doesn’t have anything to do with the weather, or my career, or what I bought. It’s the same for sadness and fear. What I fear and what makes Me sad, isn’t the same as my partners. He fears not having eggs and baked beans lol. I fear bright lights and loud noises. He gets sad when he thinks. I get sad when I see someone else sad.

So what does all this bring Me too:

Today I went and got my drivers licence renewed … I’ll update that debacle on another post … but suffice to say, I was nervous as fuck. New place, new sounds, new smells … I felt like throwing up, so downed a 1/4 sedative to take off the edge.

What was I nervous about?

In an ‘aha’ moment … I realised I was nervous about trying to do ‘normal’.

I couldn’t rock up to the counter to get the licence renewed with all my breathing thingees; I couldn’t take my blanky; I couldn’t sniff my orange … Why? Because I’d LOOK mentally ill … and in this country, you can’t drive if your mentally ill (and it effects your driving). I had forgotten how to ‘fake normal’.

Normal is polite … it’s also hurried and rude.

Normal isn’t chatty or truthful … its important looking; like you’ve got somewhere to be and something to do.

Normal doesn’t ask stupid questions.

Normal isn’t assertive.

Normal doesn’t blink a lot … it’s still and quiet … otherwise you look like your dodgy.

Normal is ticking the boxes, including the one that asks if you’re ‘Male’ or ‘Female’; Normal doesn’t ask why thats Normal.

Normal is beige. Not black. Not stripey.

Don’t believe Me?

Try it. Try looking around You at all the things that people do; the way they conduct themselves in public; at the counter waiting for service … people behave in a certain way … there are unwritten, unspoken rules of engagement. And I have been so long out of the game that I had forgotten how to play it.

On any other given day I would high fived the fuck outta myself … but when you need what they’re selling, and you need to appear Normal … it’s not such a cool thing lol.

Any-who … the up shot, is I have my renewed drivers licence, I am thankful as fuck that I managed to fake normal for 15 minutes, and now I am fucking exhausted and I’m going to have a Nanny Nap ;)

kpm ©


main stream.

soooo. i thought i’d give ‘mainstream’ a go. after day 1: this shit is harder than it sounds.





still unfucking thyself.

Also the ‘new normal’: however, this one I’m finding a little harder to embrace.

While being all social and shit is awesome and I absolutely loved hanging out with my girls with zero anxiety and zero ‘fuck this shit …’ …. I am now paying the price for that. I’ve shat out my insides about half a dozen times, my stomach is nauseous as fuck, my feng shui is spinning faster than my fan and I am flat on my back staring at the ceiling and trying to be all positive and mindful and shit about how it’s pristine and white …

“but the seams of the roofing aren’t in alignment with the light fixture … and who the fuck would do that … I bet it was a man that designed that shit … I’d definitely do minimalism a whole lot better … I wonder if I should study design instead of fucking Criminology … fuck it all … ”

Yeah, so thats Me.

Not exactly the ‘mindful’ I was after, but that is also the ‘new normal’ for Me.

I guess this ‘finding myself’ aka unfucking myself – and finding my new groove is going to be a little messy.

Worth it?

I’ll tell you tomorrow.


kpm ©



unfucked? really?

What the?? Why is this the focus of mindfulness I hear someone somewhere asking …

This revolting little drink was left sitting on a side cabinet but my Millenial pre-mixed drinking daughter. At first it absolutely got on my nerves … I’m as fussy as fuck when it comes to my house and cleanliness … as I marched over to pick it, and its undrank contents, I had too smile.

You see, last evening I arranged a ‘girls’ night, My way. At my home at the beach … good food … good drink … good company … plenty of laughs and a shit load of talking. Aside from this filthy little excuse for an alcoholic beverage … all of the above was Most Excellent.

Not a twinge of anxiety; not a twinge of ‘I wish I had fucken cancelled’ LOL … I enjoyed the fuck out of it.

I’m beginning to realise that ‘My New Normal’ is going to take some work and some getting used too, but that it can be whatever, wherever, whenever I need it too be so that I can participate in and / or get what I need, on my terms.


kpm ©


good morning

After my usual expel-lations, ablutions and logging ins, in the morning, I have another little routine.

I do the rounds.

I check to see if my mama is awake to tell her I love her and I hope she has a lovely day.

I check to see if my babies are alright.

I wave to my neighbour Jim.

I check in on Kara to make sure she hasn’t damaged herself or another(s) ;)

I check AJ to make sure her world is alright <3

Then Me and my coffee peruse ‘the news’. I try and make that as balanced as possible, depending on my mood.

Sounds well socialised and friendly doesn’t it – although it’s all done online.

This is my new Normal.

This is my ‘freedom’ and contact with the ‘outside’ world.

In the ‘old normal’ I’d be called a recluse. But I’m aight with that now. In fact I tend to embrace that bitch now.

This is Me doing Me the best way I am able, with what I have.

Does it piss Me off that my partner can jump in the car and take off for a 24 hour catch up with his mates? Does it piss Me off that an event I’d like to go to takes 3 weeks to prepare for and usually ends up more work than its worth; thusly cancelling likeable event? Does it annoy the living fuck out of Me that the eye ball roll I get when I ask if we can go for a drive to get an ice-cream is enough to put Me off going all together? Does it piss my fucking edges that I am A Lone most of the time and that sometimes, just sometimes, I want a friend like Minnie from “The Help”?

No. Not at all.

I am what I am For Now. That may change tomorrow or not at all.

Today I am grateful for the friendships I have, the internet, my coffee supply, my reading glasses, the 2 minutes of rain we had and my pyjamas.

kpm ©


backdrop and current dilemma, of sorts

In a previous post I touched on having to go and get my drivers licence renewed and the ‘art’ of trying desperately to ‘look’ normal.

So heres the back story.

I haven’t driven, properly, or long distance, for years. This is my choice; as in, I haven’t had my licence revoked or anything. But I figured, possible panic attack and driving don’t really go well together …  so better safe than sorry, at least until I can get a handle on everything. And thats not going into the Vertigo scenario and being able to handle movement etc.

So at the end of last year, I was flicking through my extremely empty wallet, hoping to find a lazy $20 I may have tucked away and forgotten about; when I happenstanced upon my drivers licence. Looking longingly at the 30 something year old on the front of it, wondering if she had imagined ‘this’ in her future, I thereby-ist noticed the expiry date … Shit Fuck! June 2017, it read in glaringly obvious torment.

  1. I’ll have to go in to the licensing place.
  2. I’ll have to talk to them.
  3. I’ll have to make eye contact.
  4. I’ll have to fill in forms.
  5. I’ll have to go during the day time.
  6. I’ll have to leave my house.

Now by the end of last year, I was way better than I had been the year before. I had made a few trips into town; I could walk to the local shop by myself and down to the beach by myself. I could even talk on the phone for 10-15 minutes! Yip-fucking-py! Sure, I still needed, and still need, my ‘tool kit’, but I was, and am, slowly gangstah-rizing my process.

So I put my licence back in my wallet and made a note of it on the whiteboard – so I wouldn’t forget and so I wouldn’t dwell on it and freak out even more.

June 2017 rolls round and holy fuck, I’m not ready … but I am … but I’m so not!

Bring on the Thursday just gone; 1 day before my licence is due to expire. I get myself ready and drop and quarter calmer sedative, and we head off. But I have this roaring gnawing sensation in the pit of my gut.

“How the fuck do I do normal?”

Not that I had ever really been ‘practiced’ in the art of ‘normality’ or steadily practiced ‘active normality’ LOL. But i think, without even realising it, we’re all ‘socialised’ into being, or at least acting, normal. And that normality, as despised by those of us who … well … aren’t … really is an awkward farce. And those of us on the fringes, spend a shittonne of time establishing something outside of that norm, to call our own, and the spend the rest of that time screaming at the normal mofos, to notice us and let us be all at the same time.

Wouldn’t it be nice to live in a world where normal was gay and heterosexual was abnormal; where the only access ways were wheelchair ramps and there was only one ‘abled-bodied’ toilet in a restaurant; where atheism was normal and christianity was abnormal; where female was the dominant gender … and normal … and male, was abnormal … and subservient; where my mochachinno was only served to me by white middle aged men in suits ;) Yah get my drift … And whilst we all struggle in our own sections of ‘abnormality’ to find normality of our own … we can acknowledge somewhere, somehow, that the ‘normal’ we all long for – is Not.

This is a straight able-bodied white mid-aged, upper middle class dude world. Anything outside that … isn’t normal. Soz peeps, that actually puts a lot of you into the ‘abnormal’ section by default ;)

So knowing that most of Us are not normal, We still strive to fit. Because there is a ‘look’ that we are after … and that is one of “Yeah, I know what the fuck I’m doing”.

So when all that appeasing and pleasing is stripped away, and You really are left with your A for Authentic self and whoever that may be … could You, would You, go back to faking it? Even for a moment?

Well, it turns out – I can’t without getting sick!

I made it to the counter to get my licence renewed … I managed to fake a smile or two and do ‘banter’ on the bad photos that end up on the front of all licences. And all the while my head was spinning; my gutt was gnawing and I desperately wanted to throw up; my legs wanted to get the fuck out of there! But I stayed – because I Needed what they were providing.

Now some would say that this is the price we have to pay to get what we want. That Complicity is what we have to employ to get things done.

But I’ve never been complicit. I have had complicity forced upon Me and complied because it was the choice between breathing – Or not.

But for these everyday things, I really do wonder, how we got to the point where complicity was the normal. Who made the rules up that we all follow? Who decided what looks and acts normal? Who decided what was abnormal?

Anywho … that gnawing in my gutt went on for over 3 days. No, I didn’t have a panic attack (not a biggie anyway). No, I didn’t freak completely. And that in ‘the big picture’ of things, is what the psychologists would call “Progress”. And don’t get Me wrong; I high fived myself!

But aren’t I just re-learning how to be ‘normal’? How to work the system so I can get what I want?

That leaves a bad after taste in my gutt.

kpm ©


ptsd normal



as in




as in

bad shit.



as in

tear your fuckin hair out.



as in

not normal.


thats what they

call it.

The normal ones.

I wonder how



actually feel

if they’d lived

in hell

and lived

to tell the


kpm ©