touchy subject

I don’t think I’ve written about this before … but feel the slight-ish need to now, due to recent events in my most fabulous life lol.

It’s the subject of intimacy.

I write and talk quite freely about all things awkward, painful and controversial – with the ease of a dissociative twat. But that s how I do’s it; it works for me. And instead of fighting that now, I roll with it.

But the intimacy thing … well that’s all 3 – all kinds of awkward, painful and controversial.

When I say ‘intimacy’ I don’t just mean sex.

I think the cruel ‘irony’ of PTSD by sexual assault as an infant, is that unless you are going to become a hermit, or hermit-tess, you have to be intimate in one way or another, sometime throughout your life.

PTSD comes with flashbacks … sight, smell … intrusive reminders of something you’d rather forget. Sexual assault, at its core, permeates through every little part of you, that is you … that is yours.

Your physical being, that should only be yours … to share when you want … to offer when you want … is invaded long before it should be … in a way that should never be experienced.

And if you believe that your physical being is connected to your spiritual being, as I do, then sexual assault permeates that as well.

And then when someone touches you; stands in your space; comes in for a cuddle; shakes your hand … what do you imagine happens in those few moments?

Thats right, you re-live everything.


You see, I don’t have to be asleep to have nightmares. It happens all the time.

And in those moments, I have to assess what the danger ratio is, before I involuntarily dissociate or have a huge ass panic attack. Fight – Freeze – Flight.

“All she wants is a cuddle” “All they want is to say hello” “All they want is to be close to me”

That is my living nightmare.

And a nightmare I can see the results of everyday, on the faces of the people I care about … and who care about me.

Thats enough now.

I don’t like talking about this.


First Published on: May 26, 2016 @ 12:14 … and is still a subject I don’t do well.


sideways motion ,
a drop and a descent
a scream,
and a movement
as I waited

to seek assist
you would think
is not to much
but as you
like a retarded
it would seem
you are more
than, I.

I does not care
of your busy
of your thursday
of your transport mode
I does not care
of your feline
your fellow ship
your a point
your busy
I, cares about I
not lame
ass wiping
cunty excuse s

day job
or night job
your job
is to provide
assist – ance


First Published on: Apr 29, 2016 @ 00:50 #medical&mentalhealth


it seems to me

that if conforming

was easier

my types

of peeps


wouldn’t do it


First Published on: Mar 13, 2016 @ 12:22 😉

I went out…

Now, as a woman, I believe it is a god given right to go clothes shopping at least once or twice a month. And online shopping doesn’t count.

I haven’t been clothes shopping for nearly 3 years. Until today!

Now I’m definitely not saying the ‘shop’ itself was successful…but the attempt at…the browsing…the experience…well that was!

I did the car ride…tentatively. And I stayed in the back seat this time too. The traffic was horrid, but I managed…I breathed. And I think I closed my eyes maybe, three times. I did it without my headphones too!

The shop itself was huge with those horrible fluorescent light things. But I took my time and made sure I breathed…and stopped when I needed too. There were foreign smells and noises that usually cause me to run a mile…but I stayed with it and breathed.

I think we were in that place for about an hour!

I felt pretty depleted after we came out…but not completely overwhelmed! And I managed to purchase 2 items!

I miss doing that! And I’m going to do it again…not sure when…but I will.

To top off my outing…I went to the vege shop. Now I haven’t done that for about 4 years. My daughter or my partner have done all the shopping for all this time. Some of me sees it as natural paybacks for having done that shit for god knows how many years. But going back into the ‘war zone’ was intriguing, triumphant and unpleasant.

I’d forgotten how fast our society is. How unnecessarily busy and rude it is. And I can’t say I’ve missed that.

I was ‘tsked’ and ‘humffed’ a couple of times. Once, for the tattoos…yes, I saw you, you crinkled up old bastard. The second, was for not moving along fast enough.

But you know what…I breathed! I didn’t speed up…I didn’t run away…and I didn’t knock that old bastard out!

That was a successful outing I think!! 🙂

First Published on: Sep 11, 2015 @ 00:05 ❤

first session was…well, I’ve got issues with it

I did my first session of EMDR on Saturday. Good old shrink comes to me instead of me going to her…its not worth the stress, for me…don’t know about her though…oh well, she gets paid well.

EMDR – Eye Movement Desensitisation Reprocessing, as I’ve said before, seems to be the ‘new’ kid on the block at the moment, for those fucked enough to receive it. I’d asked for Exposure Therapy, but apparently I was to fucked (my words) for that, for intense shit anyway. So I got the shortened version of it.

Our tiny little country sports about a dozen EMDR therapists with about a dozen more in training. It’s all a bit of a stab in the dark by the sounds of it…but I listened to her, and then complied with the process…or processing.

Before commencement though, I filled in four sheets of forms…to assess whether I was currently in a dissociative state and whether this therapy could send me into a tail spin and tip-off a top off! Apparently you can’t be in any way disassociated, medical or mental…mmm she realises dissociation is my norm ay??

Anyway, first we bring up, or remember a distressing memory…my question was, ‘which one do you want first?’. Apparently the earliest I can remember. So wah-lah, I dished up the first and then the questions began.

The questioning bit reminds me of CBT and honestly, I question myself harder than this. But I rolled with it. The idea was to describe the memory, then the feeling associated with the memory. Cool.

My question to her was ‘how am I supposed to attach a feeling to a memory for that age?’ (age being 3). She had prompts.

My beef with prompts and trying to attach a feeling to a memory from that age bracket is…you don’t really have the ability, or language to describe a feeling at that age. Remembering my girls at that age, and my mokos, they fell to the floor and had a tantrum if they were upset or pissed off. They screamed if they were in pain, they cringed and hid behind one of us if they were scared.

They didn’t sit up and say ‘excuse me peeps, I’m feeling a deep sense of sadness and loss associated with you taking the fork off me and telling me in a slightly too stern tone, that I am unable to place it in the electricity socket’.

Yep, it doesn’t make sense. So to add prompts to an event; language to an event, I believe is dodgy.

So, I told her what my body did at the time of the event, because I can remember that. I told her she could interpret that how ever she sees fit, but I wasn’t going to add-on something that I could not have verbalised at the time.

This continued through 5 other memories. She wanted the ‘big one’ but I’m not going there yet. I don’t really want her mincing through my memories if I’m unsure she actually knows what the fuck she’s doing.

So after number 6 memory, all of them varying degrees of horrific and fucked up, she moves into the next phase.

She sits next to me, waves her fingers strategically in front of my face and asks me to follow them. I do. I’m asked to remember something good or ‘safe’. You know, the old ‘safe place’.

Now let me digress or divert or whatever.

Here’s where I have another problem with this whole therapy thing related to infant sexual assault recipients. (Yes, you may have noticed I don’t do the title or the label like the text-book. Say it as it is I reckon. I’m not a victim, or a survivor as such. I’m the recipient of some one else’s fucked up-ness. Does that make me a victim and then survivor thereafter…probably…but don’t dress up the title with something a bit more palatable…it is what it is.)

My supposed ‘safe place’ is non-existent. I have a safe feeling-ish…sometimes. And quite frankly, if I had a safe place, don’t you think I’d be there? And if I had a sense of safety and security, don’t you think I’d take that with me everywhere and probably wouldn’t be having panic attacks and shit? There is no safe place. Reality. Fact. I have safe moments as memories…and I’m trying to remember more of them to balance the other stuff out. But the world is a desperately shitty, violent and fucked up place. Period.

So, I told her this, and she persisted. So the best I could come up with, was a person that I had spent about 2 hours with, a few years ago, that had made me feel quite safe and protected in the environment that I was in.

That was the ‘safe place’.

So she’s waving her fingers, I’m following with my eyes, trying to ‘feel’ the safe place; and then she asks me to recollect the distressing memory, all the while watching her fingers; and then the safe place.

Hey presto – how do I feel now.

Dizzy was my response. So she did it again. How did I feel after that…tired was my response.

And apparently that’s what I should feel. And as the distressing memory makes its way from the front of my brain somewhere, to the back…the re-processing bit…I should be okey dokey after that. As I re-process the memory ‘properly’ and trade in the distressing for the safe…I should be good.


My next session is next Tuesday.


First Publish on: Aug 4, 2015 @ 13:46 ❤


note to self

Re: self care for Me

Being therapeutic, cathartic, soul searchy and shit….is fucken draining.

Take the day off tomorrow,  eat chocolate, drink your favourite coffee and go hang out with your family.

That is an order.


Published on: Jul 7, 2015 @ 19:34 … and still completely relevant today 😉

ahhhh not quite the ha moment

As I was posting my umpteenth photograph…i had a thought…a train tram of thoughts…

I started taking photographs as an interest, not just for documentation, while i was following my brothers lyrical career…

Partially to document the different gigs he played,  partially to escape the awkwardness of talking to new people…to ease the anxiety…

The anxiety came from new situations…feeling alone…familiarity of vulnerability…

Vulnerability creates anxiety for me…similar to feeling out of control or trapped…

Trapped is vulnerability.

Vulnerability is trapped.

Photography eventually helped me capture, or put into focus, what I see when I see something. I see its nitty grittys…that’s why I like Macro shots especially. It’s a close up view of what’s not usually seen.

Macros don’t create anxiety. Photography doesn’t create anxiety…

It helps me deal with it.

My art is similar. Painting helped me to be able to express something I couldn’t with words. Or it helped me with the canvas or back drop to create words and express what I was feeling.

Most of, no, actually all of my paintings, have been described as dark.

And dark is what I have felt for a large portion of my life.

And even when I don’t feel dark, I still see dark. Everywhere.

I’ve been dealing with anxiety for a lot longer than I thought.

*First Published on: Jul 28, 2015 @ 01:01 ❤

Interestingly enough, photography still makes Me feel at ease ❤

ptsd treatment…this thing of ours

We have an uneven relationship

I’ve felt safe in your haze

Its been years

Of dependence

Dreamless nights

But I’ve slowly pulled away

Waited longer and longer

To take in a little bit less of you

This thing of ours

It’s nearly over

First Published on: Jun 10, 2015 @ 18:50 🙂

but it was soooooo worth it

I had the most amazing and slightly frustrating day yesterday. And I’m stilling processing it…but I live to tell the tale…

I attended my Grandsons school talent quest performance. He plays the drums, and he’s dam good!

For me though, getting there is always a mission, a mish that is harder on some days, easier others. So once again, I gathered up all my beepy bits, as I like to call then; my ‘sensory bag’ (it was originally going to be a box, but has turned into more of an overnight luggage bag lol), which contains things that are intended to ‘reconnect’ myself with the present…so if I disassociate whilst having the all glorious panic attack, I am, in theory, able to bring myself back to the here and now via touch, smell, sight and/or sound. Well that’s the theory anyway.

So with my sensory luggage bag in tow, and after a bit of deep breathing, I donned my dark glasses, got my ‘pillow and blanky’ and tentatively headed for the front seat of the car. I managed about 7 minutes before my sight started blurring and my heart rate started to increase. Once I had got a decent sweat on and felt like vomiting I decided to move to the backseat. It’s not as ‘in your face’ as the front. Anyways, I gave myself a high-five, felt a little defeated because I hadn’t done longer, but oh well.

In the back seat now, my heart was still racing and I was still feeling nauseous and dizzy and sweaty…lovely combination lol. But I breathed…tried listening to something soothing…then a comedy track (comedy…laughter usually gets my coherence in balance again) …. but this wasn’t really working either. I ended up blocking my ears and closing my eyes, and breathing deeper. By the time Id pretty much levelled out, we were at our destination…yah!

We had about an hour to pass before the performance, so I breathed a bit more and tried to distract myself with conversation and enjoying my other Grand-babies. They are very beautiful.

Then came the school. We walked a couple of  minutes….and walked into a large enclosed hall with about 200 children and 100 adults. OMG. I realised immediately this was possibly a wee bit too much lol. But I really really wanted to see my Grandson perform. I was looking in my bag for the ear plugs I had…I had figured it would be quite loud and the ear plugs, in theory would diminish a bit of that noise. Lessen the anxiety. Well I couldn’t find those bastards and had to gather myself before I shot off into a panic about not finding them to lessen the noise to lessen the panic! For fucks sakes!

So breathing deeply, I watched a couple of kids do their performances first. Bad singing and dancing. Completely rottenly judgemental I know….but oh well. But as I started to get a sense of the room and what was happening around me…I became more uncomfortable. [Btw…I was with my partner, grown children and their babies…one of my girls has an amazing way of lightening every moment and being herself…completely. She makes me laugh…they both do actually…and laughter is good for the soul and the coherence 😉 ]

Anyway…the room…it was really quiet. The room/school was pre-dominantly ‘white’ and ‘uptight’. That’s a bit of a generalisation I know….but my girls were educated in an ‘all brown’ school…spot the palangi type place. And while that had its hurdles, it was open…comforting…peaceful…like home. This place was…awkward…like a church or a courtroom; the kind of place that you couldn’t fart in just in case it was louder than was intended. And that’s what everyone looked like! Like they hadn’t farted in years…or desperately needed too but couldn’t or wouldn’t.

I had to try to keep my focus on why I was there and that I wanted to see moko perform. He’s so lovely…my first Grandbaby, (7 years old btw), and an absolute beautiful creation. He has such a wise old soul; big brown knowing all eyes. And as he’s gotten older, he manages to challenge everyone and everything; their values, their theories, their realities. He’s gorgeous…he actually reminds me of how I used to be lol and what I’m trying to return too.

So when he gets up to perform, everything’s quiet…uptight quiet…and we are waiting for his music to come on. And it didn’t – turns out the teacher thought his musical choice was ‘inappropriate’ pfft. So the silence extended slightly…then he started anyway…on the fly, he pulled a piece out of his musical repertoire and smashed those drums like there was a full on Metallica concert happening…and he was the only one invited! He rocked! And I was so excited…I felt so proud and in love with my awesome moko!

And guess what…in that moment…not a hint of any type of anxiousness happened…no increased heart rate nonsense…no, ‘I think I’m gonna pass out’ bullshit…Just sheer joy and pleasure!!!

I’m still recovering from my expedition…but it was soooooo worth it!

Love you moko xoxo

First Published on: May 24, 2015 @ 12:49 ❤

+ As I read over these old posts, I am reminded how far I’ve come and how fucking gangstah I actually am 😉

July 22nd 2017, @1236 ❤


artivism ~ abstracting pts(d)

abstracting pts(d)

#art #artivism #painting #acrylic #hardboard #shadows #print #panic #anxiety #darkness #breathing #trapped #expression #pts(d) #kpm©