and 2 hours before,

before we’re due to attend my brothers exhibition …

the partner decides to be a fuckwit, leaves & goes home. leaving me here to figure the rest out for myself.

the rest?

how to get there.

dealing with the different crowd on my own.

getting back home.

and then getting my shizz together for my mamas exhibition tomorrow night.

what a night to be a cunt.

then i had a little flash back to when he was this type of fucking cunt all.the.time. changing His mind & my plans @ last minute, throwing my shit into a panic …

sooooooo ….

i’m gonna do this.

i’m gonna do it.

fuck him.


kpm©


 

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fcuked day …

To scared to get in the shower

To scared to take a shit

To scared to breathe

To scared to breathe

It’s a motherfucking day

That I haven’t had this bad

In a long fucking while.

My money is on the fucked

Flashback bullshit.

The one where I can’t breathe …

So upside down I go,

Flat on my back …

breathing slowly

taking photos.

thats it.


kpm ©


 

and there was tears and snot, and more snot and tears

I’ve been trying to remain calm about the pending doctors visit today … just calm; nothing spectacular … calm would have sufficed.

I was calm … ish … playing my music, breathing deeply … and then the sour puss which is my partner right now, decided to strike up conversation just as we reached the outskirts of town … just where I hate being … just where the lights are bright and the noises peak … just where I loathe being on the way to somewhere I hate being even more …

“[Moko 1] asked why you don’t come to see them, or come into town.”

“And what did you tell him” was my reply. I shouldn’t have even asked. I should have just ignored the whole pending conversation and continued breathing deeply … but what felt like a slight rage coupled with a deep disappointment overwhelmed my spidey senses …

“Told him you don’t like people … cos thats all it is ay” was his naive and sarcastic reply.

Thats where there tears and snot began.

Now those who have pts(d) … or any other disability, mental and/or physical; and have struggled with educating your families on said ‘disability’ whilst trying to manage your own personal hell … will know the deep sinking feeling that hit my gutt in that moment.

Nearly 14 fucking years its been … him and I … and the last 8 or so have been struggling with the ‘unknown’ ‘disability’ that plagues my being … the last 3 years of actively trying my fucking best to manage that shit. And while he has his most blessed moments … this was not one of them … and I am well fucking over it.

The doctor was late, as usual, even though I was the first appointment of the day. Waiting causes severe fucking anxiety for Me. I got through the appointment, in tears and a large splattering of snot, but was over wiping any of that shit away so I just let it rain!!

Oh ugly ugly … but that shit obviously needed to come out, and come out it did!!

So, I got drugs that I can’t take … I’ll write another post on that fuckery another day arrghh … along with a raft of other shit that is more of the same shit … get my feels.

He filled in the fucking forms and had no idea where to send them so I took them with Me and gave them to the receptionist … she’s gangstah … with strict instructions to make sure some Cunt at ACC got that shit.

I am tired. I am a red faced puffy mess, I’ve just finished sweating like a rapist … my daughter has just walked in the door with chocolate! Fuck I love her!

And after a rather late quarter of a sedative, I have found my calm.

The positive: I fucking survived. I didn’t assault the doctor.

I live to tell the tale and to survive for another day.

Fuck pts(d).


kpm ©


 

yesterdays fuckery and todays recovery

When they happen they happen viciously. Of course there’s the build-up  that can be managed a lot of the time. But then there’s the seemingly out-of-no-where bitches, that leave you gasping for breath and pretty much floored for the rest of the day.

I had one of those bastards yesterday.

Oh … Panic attack, is what I’m referring too. A good old pts(d), kick you in the vag and leave you winded, panic attack.

And what bought this one on?

Maybe a week or twos worth of ‘unknown’ anxieties?

Maybe the weather?

Maybe being tired?

Fuck Knows!

What triggered the hair raiser though?

A digger being moved up the neighbours driveway ffs!

I’m pretty attuned to the noises around Me, and I’ve spoken about my super sensitive spidey hearing and sense of smell before … which btw seems to go into ultra super sensitive mode whilst in panic mode. I know … awesome alright!

So what does that mean?

It means everything becomes incredibly loud and extremely pitchy (imagine finger nails on a chalk board type pitchy). Then comes the sensitivity to movement and then my eyes start squinting and doing weird criss-crossy things … oh, and throw in an accelerated heart rate, sweaty palms, pits and other bits, and you have yourself a good old-fashioned panic fuck.

The digger doing its thing next door was a surprise attack (literally) which meant I was not prepared. I scrambled for my ear phones and music and couldn’t get it all fast enough … I scoffed a half a tab but it was too late. I ended up doing what I havent done in a while, which is dropping tabs till I feel ok, forgetting that they don’t work like a shot of tequila! Not Cool!

I was in tears within 15 minutes.

It was at this point I realised something pertinent … for Me anyways.

I realised that I was scared.

Not a little ‘fearful’; or over excited from the noises … No. I was, hide-under-the-bed, kiddy-type, scared shitless … and I couldn’t shake it. No amount of self soothing music of self talk was working. And the drugs weren’t kicking in fast enough.

Just as well .. (in hindsight) in realising that I was scared as opposed to the adult version aka ‘panicked’ … I knew what to do … because I had done it for my mokos.

I grabbed my fluffy pillow and howled like a scared child, into that pillow, for about 10 minutes!!! It was fucking exhausting!!

But it took the edge off …

Then I made Me a cup of tea and was able to gather my senses after that. The twats next door didn’t stop – but as the anxiety gods would have it, their digger broke down! Hah!

I rang my mama later and told her my sordid tale and she came and had a cuppa with Me … which was lovely … and distracting :)

Today the digger twats started up again and I got my partner to stay home with Me. I’ve been fucked most of the day and am only just coming right. We figured out the vibration of the digger isn’t so bad when I’m outside … and I watched them doing some of their shizz so I could get a visual of what the haps were. It all helped.

Tonight we’re going ‘out’ for dinner … down to our Beach <3

And then it’s an early night for Me.

I hate panic attacks and I hate feeling scared but I’m kind of pleased I had this one though. Because, now I know it’s ‘fear’: and that requires a cuddle and chocolate … not freaking meditation ;)

Fears a bitch. But fear is also god dam Normal <3


kpm ©


 

seemed like a good idea @ the time

Beating the PTSD that is…giving it a good kick in the balls and trying to conquer everything in one day…that’s what seemed like a good idea a few hours ago.

I was feeling pretty fucking awesome then.

So I decided to try another item on the ‘exposure therapy’ custom made, itemised ‘to do’ list…its been stuck to the fridge for a while. There’s lots of joyous little ticks in all the right boxes…and they’ve been 6 or so months in the making.

I thought to try the ‘go out for dinner, on a quiet night…stay there’.

I ignored my entire preparation routine…because, I’m awesome. And I figured, hell, why the fuck not…just give it a whirl. Was it a quiet night, No.

We puttered off anyway…half way down the road I realised I didn’t have my meds or my water or my little breather thingy or my sensory things to help with the ‘come down’. But fuck it I thought…I want to tick that box on the fridge…I can do this! Yes, because I’m awesome!

We got into the restaurant…and that’s an over statement really…its kind of like a large café thing…but with really dated, really bad décor.

I immediately felt the walls close in on me…but I ignored it…soldier on mother fucker, I thought.

We tried to find a ‘table’. Who thought it was a good idea to place 8 or 9 tables within inches of each wasn’t thinking of those who like S P A C E! I ended up sitting about 2 mms away from some old guy. So close I could smell him!

And apart from the crappy décor there was an awful old bleach smell everywhere…you know that cheap cleaning product that’s been used once in the last month to spruce up a couple of dumped hot dogs off the floor…yeah, that smell. I could feel my senses heightening double time…the smells…the lights…the squiggly lines everywhere.

I knew pretty much as soon as we had sat down that I needed to go.

The partner was looking as awkward as fuck and was trying to calm everything down by telling me I had food stuck between my teeth whilst jabbering on about…something. Bless his anxiety ridden little heart…he was trying to  make light of my paling complexion.

By the time the food got to us I was seeing double and starting to tilt slightly.

I haven’t had a panic attack of this ferocity for fucking ages…which in hindsight, is a good thing. High five me!

But the whole awkward social situation…new smells…new place…lots of strangers…

And as I thought I was going to lose it completely…

I did something slightly unexpected for me…and a slight victory in some kind of strange way.

I hailed the waitress over to us with a ‘come here right now’ tone. She came too. I told her I just received an urgent txt and we needed our food bagged up and ready to go ASAP. And guess what…she did it!

Yes I lied. I hate to say it…I lied.

But you know what I was more impressed with…I got myself out. I didn’t wait for the partner to rescue me (I would’ve been in a small ball waiting for him to get his shit together – he was more fluster fucked than me!)…or for the endurance to kick in…or for the sun and the moon to align…

I knew without a shadow of a fucking doubt that this was not the time to prove a point…the partner was freaking out…and it was time to bail…to live to tell the tale and conquer the quest another day.

So that’s what I’m holding onto as I sit here listening to Ed Sheeran on repeat and breathing to my breath pacer thingy and typing another awesome post.

Yes I had a fucking panic attack.

Yes I survived it.

Yes I didn’t die from it.

Yes its taking a while to come down.

And yes, by fuck, I’ll try that again another day!

My awesomeness feels slightly dented…but I will I will I will give it another go…

later.


kpm ©


 

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trapped aversion

Well this was an interesting re-read (as @ august 2018) … and kinda pertinent right at this moment … cos today is a fucker!

As I read and type and re-type, our house is vibrating to fuckery as a large digger is in our front yard, digging up the road to install a footpath. We were warned about it yesterday.

I don’t like diggers. I don’t like surprises. I don’t like my house shaking. I don’t like feeling trapped inside my house whilst my surroundings shake!!

So its been a tense fucking morning and theres been a couple panic attacks, hyperventilation and a shittonne of tears!! I rang my mama to get her to help me calm down .. and she did xo

And now I’m sitting on my bed, reading and writing and looking straight out my window at the road works fuckers lol … I think Me staring at them is making them a little uncomfortable and them seem to have sped up their digging lol.

Anywho … my point is … anxiety is a cunt!


I have a huge aversion to being put into a position a feel I have no control over. I’m working on figuring out what happens when I can feel it happening. But most of the time it’s here before I get whats happening. It’s anxiety and it’s not. It’s an overwhelming revoltion; a searing seething anger and a pounding headache…usually followed by a flood of tears…then more anger…so on and so forth.

It can be anything that I feel has taken away or seeks to take away my freedom…or freedom of choice. Or something like that. Anything or body that has the intent to manipulate for their own gain; my loss. Loss of anything…but mainly my will, free will.

Favours…I don’t like those. Technically speaking, I’m then indebted to someone or something. Just a straight forward transaction is fine. But a lingering…not so sure…possibly may come and collected on said favour anytime they please…not straight forward transaction…well the bites. Hard. I can’t do it.

I start feeling tight and suffocated.

Anything that starts to back me into a corner…I don’t like it.

Anything that makes me feel like I can’t get out…I don’t like it.

It doesn’t have to be actions…it can be words…or intent. Usually intent. Most people hide their true intentions. I think that’s why I like Autistic, Asperger’s, general mentally supposedly disabled peeps…and children…they don’t hide their intentions….they’re not able too. They are what they are. Beautiful and transparent…completely. Others, who have the capacity for bullshit…utilize it to their advantage…all the time. Their intentions are never quite what they seem. And I don’t like it.

I get that its PTSD and all that shit. I just don’t like it…being trapped.

I had my tubes tied just after I’d given birth to my second daughter. This was partially due to the preceding issue I have with not having a choice. The thing with pregnancy and child rearing is…if the other half decides to re-neg on the agreement, the load gets left with the child bearer. And I get that’s there’s always the exception to the god dam rule…but I didn’t want to be that woman with 50 kids, by herself…because the impregnator decided they…had other stuff to do…someone else came along…they had to help the guy down the road…and get left holding the baby so to speak.

I made a decision based on what I thought was the likelihood of a marriage failing; the history that I had lived and the possible future I was in for. For the now…not 50 kids later. I based that decision of what I knew at the time.

The choice gave me freedom…sort of.

I aborted, so I wouldn’t be trapped. I gave my kids up, so I wouldn’t be trapped. And for all the other prissy reasons…

I can’t be trapped.

When I feel trapped, I feel like what a caged animal looks like.

Pacing. I’ll rip your throat out if I can get out from behind these bars…kind of look.

The psychologist says it’s just a thought, a state of mind…that I need to realize it isn’t real anymore. I’m not trapped anymore.

Easy for her to say…shes not feeling trapped.

I get it though.

I just don’t like being or feeling fucking trapped.


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

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bright moon insomnia.

sometimes when i can’t sleep, i spend ages getting annoyed about trying to get to sleep then more annoyed because i’m not asleep.

but i’m learning slowly, that its ok to be as i am.

awake or trying to sleep.

it doesn’t really matter.

the other night i went outside, after waking up in a sweaty, shaking mess. i sat there for awhile, trying to ‘re-ground’, or re-orientate myself.

then i noticed the light. it was so bright for such a late hour. finally, looking up, i saw the biggest, brightest moon i think i’ve ever seen, or at least, noticed. and it was beautiful!

then it occurred to my brilliant self, that if i had’ve been asleep -or pissed cos i couldn’t go to sleep – i never would have seen this!

today i am grateful for not being able to sleep.


ig @kpm-artist