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the struggle is on…

In my scrolling and deleting and chopping photos (yes, I’m still doing that …), I found this … and what a on point fucking post to find right at this time … so, I decided to repost.

A #throwback from Sep 25, 2015 @ 15:46, when we were due to move from our first house out here at our beach, to the current small hovel we live in and have successfully cleaned up and made into a liveable and loveable situation.

Whats interesting, is we are on the verge of moving again because the owners have told us they are going to sell the property. The cheek however, is that we have just been served with a notice of rent increase even though they intend on selling this property.

We’ve come to understand that this is the norm for a beach ‘town’. There are those that own and those that don’t own. And we are of the latter. Whats sad, is this place don’t have any regard for those that rent the properties that the others own. The turn over here is about 18 months to 2 years and then the owners are selling, making a profit or putting up their rents and re-renting.

We – or I should say ‘I’ – have processed the technicalities of it all and this seems like a douchebag move on the part of the property owners and real estate place; a. cos they got butt hurt we wouldn’t comply with their bullshit and b. because they want more money. Simple.

We have to decide whether we want to comply with the next move or end up homeless. Right now I’m leaning toward the homeless route. I’m a tad stubborn like that though and absolutely hate being told, manipulated or forced into doing what I don’t want to do.

But I’ve learnt a little over the past 3 years …

  1. I don’t have to respond verbally to respond.
  2. I still don’t have to comply.
  3. I need to do what suits Me.

And thats it really.

Thats fucking life. Well the life of one who is constantly non-conforming and trying to re-shape the way they respond.


We’re counting down the days now; 5 more sleeps…but it’d be nice if we were counting down to Christmas or a birthday or something…else, rather than moving.

But I try to remain positive…we both are.

I went to see where we are moving to yesterday. It is a shit hole…for reals. But we can clean it up…sort of. And we’ll put our stuff in there and it’ll feel a bit better…I spose.

And as we clean up this place ready for the move…I can feel myself unravelling. I think it’s a good thing…and not really what I’m used too. Grieving as I go I think. So I don’t take it with me.

And as I clean the mokos fingerprints off the windows and pack up their pictures and the little things that the partner has collected over the past year…sea shells and bits of wood lol…I can feel tears…and again, I think that’s how it’s supposed to be. Sad because of loss…but then you focus on the new? Fuck knows…but that’s what I’m holding onto at the moment…

So it doesn’t feel like I’m being forced to do something I don’t want to do…cos that just opens a big fat can of ptsd shit storm…

But the body is feeling it…strange, because it usually doesn’t feel anything. But I guess, that’s what got me into this bundled up ptsd, panicky mess in the first place…not facing it…not processing it as it happens…holding on when it really needs to be let go of…

The bod is collapsing slightly…feeling sick and sore…shaky and slightly panicy…and swinging from, trying to take it as it comes and wanting to smash everything in sight to wanting to bawl my crusty eyes out. Geez…I’m not even due for my period yet! Lol.

I feel like I’m taking the ‘mauri’, that we’ve put into this place…taking it back. We’re probably leaving a bit of bad vibes for the fuckwits that come after us…but oh well…that’s what they get for being racist bastards. But the good stuff…our mauri…we’ll take that.

So…I’ll get back to cleaning and swinging and packing up and processing and singing. Tomorrow the mokos come to say goodbye to the house and see where we are going…they’re neat like that…they want to know everything, so they can make peace with it…and design themselves a little picture in their heads of what is taking place…

I should probably take a leaf out of their little books :) … they are way ahead of me!


#throwback shitter photo of my beautiful beach taken on my shitter phone ;) : Apr 6, 2016

kpm ©


 

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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 ©


 

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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 ©


 

beer and burgers and the weekend that was

A bit overdue I know … but I’ve been processing. Gotta love the processing part lol.

As Friday night closed and Saturday morning rolled around, I ended up more stressed than anxious I think. To most, they may seem like the same thing – To Me they are distinctly different. Stress, of the mundane kind, I can deal with but it makes Me butt ugly angry. So if anything, I call it being pissed off; those looking on, call it ‘over dramatised stress’. So really thats got more to do with them, than Me. And anxiety, for Me, is the pre requisite for a panic attack. The distinct difference, is the latter is a debilitating ass wipe that leaves Me feeling vulnerable, not angry.

Angry gets shit done.

Vulnerable leaves you debilitated.

So, rolling with stressed on Saturday morning, I’m asking the partner (because this is his soirée) …

‘so, what time is everyone coming?’ … ‘dunno’ …

‘what time did you tell people to come?’ … ‘saturday’ …

Oh my fuck! And thats how most of the day rolled out.

Now I’ve come to grips with the partner being as he is. A man. He doesn’t plan like Me; he doesn’t organise, anything – and he definitely doesn’t do time frames. He actually adds to the anxiety that is Me, but I’ve also learnt a lot from him … I’ve had too otherwise I’d be fucking insaner than I already am!

So 12 o’clock rolls by, as does 1 … and I’m hungry as fuck lol.

‘Dear … can we make some food?’ … ‘Um … I haven’t got any buns … they’re coming’

WTF? LOL.

So peeps start arriving at this point and there isn’t any food.

“Learning Moment” … I pulled the partner aside and ever so gently said to him …

“Do you have a Plan B sweetheart?” … ‘Nope’ … “So this is where, as anal as I am, I would have a Plan B”. He looks at Me a little astounded and says, “Ok, so if I was to have a Plan B, what do you suggest that should be?” …

Oh my fuck, is all I’m thinking.

“Plan B would have been purchasing some spare buns and having them in the cupboard. It would be buying more than 1 lettuce to feed 25 people … so maybe 4 or 5 … and then the rest of the salad ingredients … Plan B would be ensuring I had all the meat patties here and ready to go.”

“Ohhhhh” … says Partner … “That sounds good”.

*groan*

And while that conversation right there pretty much sums up the whole day: I must say, I coped pretty fucking gangstah-ly with the whole thing!

The family came – landed – caused chaos – and departed. And I watched, slightly interacted, and felt reasonably unaffected.

The friends came – landed – settled in – caused abit of chaos – and departed. And again, I watched, slightly interacted where I wanted too, and felt reasonably unaffected.

What I found super duper interesting, is whilst I was ‘Managing Myself’, quite a few of those around Me found that -how would you put it – threatening?!. They wanted Me to engage in their incessant grizzling; they wanted Me to ‘put shoes on’; they wanted Me to drink; the wanted Me to eat more. And as I said No, or thank you – No thank you … they squirmed something awful. It made them feel enormously uncomfortable. And usually that discomfort effects Me, as in it makes Me feel anxious. But not this time.

I was able to see what was happening, and more importantly, see that it wasn’t my problem at all :)

So as the night wore on I ended up being one of the last ones awake. There were a few hard cores that stayed up and drank themselves into a stupor. But all in all, I enjoyed my night. And so did my partner!

What I was mostest proudest of for him and Me, is we both managed ourselves; did our thang, separately and individually … but we both allowed each other to do Us. It was quite liberating for the both of Us ;) I think he enjoyed not having to ‘babysit’ Me. He’s figured out that I am capable of managing myself, its just other people that don’t like how I do that, but thats not his problem – Or Mine.

So, all in all, a good weekend … many burgers consumed (finally), and many beers had … and for Me, survival skills employed succinctly! I think I’m looking forward to the next event, which is fucking amazing for Me !


kpm ©


 

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fuck you panic.

& as I was re-reading (2018), I realised just how long this feeling has been present … nearly 19 months, and I’m only just starting to get a slight grip on it.

I think that somewhere in here, it got too overwhelming and I did the ‘shut down’, and have possibly been slightly … actually abit more than slightly … devoid of emotion.

It’s been a hard fight to even stay slightly balanced. But I think the more I’ve ignored whatevers going on, the worse I’ve gotten.

I’ve taken to listening a bit more intently to my feng shui of late, and even though its fucking uncomfortable, it aint nothing compared to this fuckery.


Not sure whats going on in head … body … world … I feel anxious, but don’t really understand why. Theres no apparent reason … oh other than feeling like crap. And thats been going on for awhile now … my body is doing funky things I mean. My head hurts … my guts hurts … my body hurts … my whole personage feels dizzy and uneasy … and I feel like I’m moaning my ass off for no apparent reason … other than everything hurts … and I don’t know why.

And the ‘whys’ … is thats whats causing this overwhelming anxious nauseating feeling? Is that dread? Good old fear again?

Whatever it is, its starting to fuck me off cos its messing with my feng shui again. I went to our local shop the other day, just for something small … and panicked when I got to the counter. Now that hasn’t happened for bloody ages! I ended up gaping it and leaving my partner to do the rest. I took off outside and tried breathing deeply etc but by that time everything was starting to spin and everything got loud … it freaked me out … like I said, it hasn’t happened like that, for a long time … not here anyway … not in my own backyard! I get the car … in the city etc … but here has felt kinda safe for along while now and I don’t like it being fucked with … This took me 2 days to ‘come down’ from. Fark … not cool.

Whats going on Me? ….


kpm ©


 

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my.ptsd … is

A thousand butterflies in your chest
A tsunami in your tummy

It’s every fear,

all
At once
.


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

in-dependence

if I am dependent on another

where is in-dependence.

.

at birth I am dependent on another

for food, shelter, clothing

touch, security and safety.

.

as I grow, am I to become

more in-dependent.

.

able to tie my shoes.

learn how to interact with others.

learn responsibility.

.

is that in-dependence.

.

what if I am not taught anything

and I fumble around alone.

am I still in-dependent.

.

what if I am not the given tools and skills

to lead off, to learn.

does that make me in-dependent;

yet dependent.

.

dependent on another to do for me.

if they are not willing to teach, support

in-dependence.

if they are threatened by it.

.

do I run away

fight away

drive away.

.

are they dependent on me

to be dependent on them.

.

does in-dependence from them

hurt them.

does it hurt me more

to be dependent.


kpm©


 

emdr follow up and exposure therapy

We were booked in for another round of good old emdr today. It was supposed to be the 2nd half of the last session; as that one was painful and apparently not quite ‘complete’.

I prepped myself this time!

And what do you know…we didn’t do it! Instead the shrink decided to try a bit of exposure therapy instead. Yah.

So the reasoning for not completing the emdr was the state my mind is in at the moment. And here I was thinking I was not in a too shabby state!

Second reason was this…

Because of the particular memory, and what we have been ‘tackling’ as the crux of it – lack of control…we did a little re hash and came up with ‘another’, possibly more accurate, crux.

We’d been looking at this as me being out of control of the situation. The shrink had said previously that to get a handle on being in control, I needed to focus on what I could, or could have controlled. Me.

Now I had beef with that…because how much control does a 3-year-old have, really? And do they even understand the entire concept of control or controlling themselves. I don’t think so.

I get that in certain situations, I only have control of me; my attitude, perception etc of what is going on around me or to me. But pretending I was in some way ‘in control’ of me or the situation, is shit, to say the least.

So, new theory…its not so much about being in control…its more about what the lack of control, or how the lack of control was perceived…then…and how it reflects or is interpreted…now.

When I am in a situation that makes me feel trapped, I start to panic. As we unpacked that thought process, we came upon the awesome realisation that ‘being trapped’, or having the perception of being trapped, somehow makes me feel like I am a sitting target…vulnerable.

And its the vulnerability that scares the living shit out of me. That’s what sets me into a panic. And all I want to do…all I say to myself…is…I want to get out!

Out…is anywhere but here and now in whatever situation is giving me discomfort.

It can be at the traffic lights…the front seat of the car…the toilet…new surroundings…a surprise…

Anything that makes me feel like I don’t have an option…or a have to wait for something.

I feel like a sitting duck!

And it is THAT feeling that we will tackle with exuberant enthusiasm, next time!

Oh great.

But the exposure therapy…was good.

I drove the car…with the shrink in the front seat lol. Breathing and breathing. I did good :), and she did more breathing than me I think.


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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nightmares … four

 

I move along, through a place…space. I stop and can feel someone /something watching…moving with…miminking, me. I turn and theres noone there. I keep doing what i was doing…washing my hands…folding…picking something up…and it moves with me. Just short of me. Like a stutter or movie thats not quite in time with the talking. I turn again and there’s no one there but i can feel them/it breathing. Breathing on me, on my face; and i can feel it moving. I start to cry and i can hear a snigger. Not loud, low. I stop crying. It stops sniggering. I move, it moves. Im scared. Pressure tightens on my neck. It sniggers. I cant breath.

I wake up.

I think i was about 6-7 when these started.


dreams are just plain old bitches mate.


kpm ©


 

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nightmares. 2

These always start with something different, as in, I’m at the shop, or doing the washing, or talking to a friend…and they end up here…I’d be running away, trying to find a place to hide. I’d end up on stairs that seemed to go on forever and I feel like I can’t get to the top, or I’m going to fall off. I eventually get to the top and come out on a sky scraper type building. I hit the ground and the building starts swinging sideways and like a tree, it starts bending.

I always wake up when they swing to far and I am about to fall off.

I wake disorientated, sweating and usually gasping for breath. These take quite awhile to physically recover from. When I stand up, I still feel like I’m swaying.


did i mention dreams are assholes? i did?


kpm ©


 

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nightmares. 1

I can feel myself breathing and tensing. Tight. Rage. In my gutt, my head, my chest. In my limbs, shoulders, through my neck to my teeth. A searing sort of pain, dark, with shadows.
I look for something, to touch me. Kindly.
They would walk past…mother, boyfriend, husband…whoever i was close too. They don’t see me. I talk. They don’t hear. I get louder. They don’t hear, or react.
I scream in their face – im here, look, im here!
They smirk, turn but don’t acknowledge. They take their fist and jam something up into my uterus.
Then pull my insides out. Smirk at me. Walk away.

I’d wake sweating and shaking and with the smell of blood in my nostrils. The first time I remember this dream, i was about 6 i think, we lived in the big house.


dreams can be assholes. JS.


kpm ©


 

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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


kpm ©


 

a sore day

I forget sometimes…then my heart starts racing…at what…the lights are too bright…the walls are too close…there are too many people…too much sound…could be any fucken thing…and if I don’t catch it in time….

my breathing speeds up….my heart starts racing more…my palms start sweating…I try to concentrate on breathing…slowly…and end up fucken crying….I cry more…and stop breathing…I remember to breath….and my insides hurt….I think to remember to stop…and take note of whats going on…for me…but my heart is still racing…my head is racing….and I want to crawl out of my skin…and run…run…run away. I want to scream….I catch my breath…and its stuck…my stomach aches….I want to be numb….but I want to crawl out of my insides even more…scale the walls by the fingernails…but there doesn’t feel like theres enough wall to scale…I remember to breath…but feel the ache….I feel trapped….there’s no place to run away from or too…breath….I hate being trapped….breath….no air…breath….chest feels crushed…head feels dizzy…eyes hurt…breath…headphones on…breath…cant find a god dam song…breath…ed sheeran, yup abit better….breath….still sweating…breath…goodie mob…strange but its working….heart rate lessening…breath….ears and brain hurts…tech 9, pharohe…yup, slowing down…breathing getting steady….heart rate almost normal…keep listening…lenny kravitz now….muscles slowly untightening

still listening….fuck you I wont do what you tell me…rage…sore. tired. 2 hours later. blank.


kpm ©