If you’ve read my story then you’ll know that my normal is a PTSD normal. That comes with its own set of interesting hurdles. That, you would think, would be enough. The label and the box, should be enough.

But it appears that its not always.

The issue with being ME, is other people’s view and expectations of what ME should be. Generally, I deal with it, because your average joe blow’s opinion of ME doesn’t really phase my world.

However, the average joe blow’s opinion of ME does phase the partners world. He’s a bit lame like that. But it goes in ebbs and flows and he hasn’t known me all my life, so occasionally I excuse his ignorance. I deal with it. Because I love him; after I’ve resisted the urge to throttle him.

And then there’s ‘family’.

I don’t really have to explain ME to my mother anymore. Her understanding of who I am has grown. And I love that.

My wider family – well I don’t let them in.

My daughters; well, they are my closest and most vulnerable spot.

I put up with more from them because of my love for them. And unlike the rest of the mothers in the world, I’m not perfect ;) therefore I made mistakes. So when they come to me with a wound, about my parenting or who I was, or who I am … I listen.

But sometimes, it makes my heart hurt.

I’ve had a few days of ‘You should be’ … ‘I Wish You Were More Like…’, with my youngest daughter. To be fair, she’s a late bloomer, so her ‘issues’ with me haven’t really presented themselves until now. And I listened as she vented about how she wished I was ‘like other mothers’; ‘like other nans’ … how she wanted me to be more supportive and hands on; more affectionate and caring; visibly. And I listened.

I understand the need to vent and let go. She looked hurt and relieved all at the same time, so I was pleased with that. Sort of.

And usually I would leave it at that and go away and lick my wounds.

But I cringe when everything goes to this place again. I have dealt with others view of me and what they think I should be doing, ALL my life. If it wasn’t a religious view, it was a theoretical view; then an ‘older’ view and an educated view. All in all, it’s always everyone elses view, and a misconstrued view at that.

I can count the occasions, on one hand, where someone has ‘got it’ and accepted it, instantly. Those that have, have also been ‘outsiders’.

So I licked my wounds for a day and then sat down to talk to my daughter again. I apologised for any harm I may have caused her when she was younger.


She was wanting me to be different from what I am. And I couldn’t do or be what she was expecting from me. That at times, I would ‘be more’, but that would be because I wanted to be that way. That what was done, was done. I couldn’t change or reverse it. And at the end of the day, she shouldn’t let what I wasn’t or what I am not, eat her up. She needed to find a way to let it go.

I also went into something I don’t usually.

Her father.

I asked why; although it was ok and justified to be annoyed or disappointed with me; she didn’t expect the same of her father – who had virtually nothing to do with my girls after they came back to live with me. I asked her why it was ok to have me up on my mistakes, but not him.

She was surprised but understood.

I love my daughters no end …

But I am tired of not being understood … well having to explain who and what I am. I am tired of the expectations that are constantly hurled my way.

I think I dealt with it all better this time than others.

But it does make my heart hurt.

And then my eldest daughter rang. She had been talking with her sister.

‘Mum’ she says; ‘I did say to her, that she needs to find a way to accept you as you are. That what you have been through effected you in certain ways. And that’s not going to change. But that if she loves you, she’ll accept you’.

‘And she will Mum, because she loves you. And I love you. Just as you are.’

‘You are really a good mother Mum.’

And then I cried.

I love my babies.

kpm ©




when you send the partner to the shop cos the chick on the counter thinks he’s awesome, and gives him free stuff.

“utilising the resources”

no photograph here. the words are enough. roll on.




Not my forte really. Emotions. They’re something I recognise when they’re being ‘expelled’ in someone else, and the ‘acting out’ of them I can see, but I’m extremely unsure of what they ‘are’.

Sheldon. Thats what my partner calls Me.

But emotions are intangible ‘things’ that seem more like an expression that can be mimicked and therefore are not reliable … to my reasoning.

So this morning, as my gutt turned … again … I thought to ask it what the fuck was going on with it … again.

Without over analysing the situation to badly, I back tracked to when it first made it’s annoying little surge.

It had happened whilst speaking to my partner on the phone. Now thats nothing new .. he annoys Me more than most, which I have heard, is fairly ‘normal’.

The partner has been away for nearly a week and I’ve been enjoying the middle of the bed, the peace and quiet, the small amounts of washing … and of course, watching all the movies I like :) So when my tummy surged this morning whilst speaking with him, I didn’t recognise it as an ’emotion’ … ewww dirty word!

I miss him.

Which means somewhere in Me, I’m ‘attached’ to him, or am ‘fond’ of him.

Yes, I know this sounds a little weird … but attachment and fondness are words I’d use to describe ‘actions’ not emotions.

To be attached to ‘someone’ is, in my ‘world’, a vulnerability.

I don’t like vulnerability.

Hence the tummy lurch and the awkward feeling.

Which, by the way, went away when I rang him back later and informed him that ‘I do believe I miss you’. Which of course he found amusing and it went straight to his head lol. But I could ‘hear’ the ’emotion’ in his voice. He was pleased.

Now this is not a dance I do very well or very often.

With my kids … Yes.

With my mokos … Yes.

Anyone else … No.

It’s also possibly why I don’t have any ‘Flossy Posse’ type girlfriends. Because as much as I would like to have friends that I believe ‘have my back’, I am incapable of letting anyone ‘have my back’, or becoming ‘fond’ of them enough to see that as important.

Friendship has always been a type of negotiation for Me.

One of my very good friends, is very similar to Me. It’s a strange thing really. We negotiate our conversations and I can understand what she’s on about and vice versa. I get her. She gets Me. Would I ‘have her back’ in any situation? Probably … but that would be a negotiable situation, depending on the variables at the time … and vice versa.


When my partner hears Me and this friend speaking to each other he reckons its like having 2 Sheldons in the room discussing quantum physics or something … it is completely void of what we’d deem ’emotion’, but for Us, it is the closest we have of what ‘tight friendship’ is.

So is the ‘non-emotion’ thing wrong? Or just different?

Is my way of attachment and feeling a surge of ‘missing someone’ normal? Or just my normal?

Either way … I felt better when I told him … which indicates to Me it’s more about speaking my truth.

Something I had become good at, and got it slightly fucked up over the last year or so.

Maybe thats because My Truth is changing <3

kpm ©


point of difference?

Me and the partner are like chalk and cheese … light and dark … sunshine and rain … black and white … up and down …

You get my drift ay.

And that’s not just in opinion or taste or dislikes or food … it’s in virtually everything. We have some common ground, but even there we tend to sit at completely different ends of that spectrum.

We’ve learnt a lot from each other as the years have transpired and tend to think of ourselves as a yin and yang rather than complete opposites. You can’t have a yin without a yang, if you get my meaning …

But sometimes … just sometimes …

I got rid of most of the time wasters and hanger-on-ers that milled around my existence, a very long time ago. When they do ring and want something my go-to is a big fat NO. My partner isn’t like that at all. I’ve learnt a bit of balance and perspective from him I guess, and won’t cut a niggah off as quick as I used too. However, I’m a perceptive wee thing and can usually tell when someone be yanking my chain. Thats a tool the partner doesn’t possess. Yet. He’s working on it, slowly … but pretty much, if someone asked for the shirt off’ve his back, he’d give it.

Now I don’t have a problem with that part of his character at all. It’s part of the reason I love him. But …

Yes there’s a But …

When said chain yanker already has a custom-made shirt from Italy on, and they’re asking for his because they left their other handmade shirt from France, at home, and they’re sweaty and uncomfortable … and my partners shirt looks more comfy …

Then I have a problem with him giving the shirt off his back and I also have a problem with the Italian / French shirt wearing douchebag.

But he is surrounded by them. Literally. Nearly every person he knows is to one degree or another, like this.

I know this because I’ve witnessed it, obviously … but even more annoying is this:

The partner has had a back injury for nearly 10 years. He injured it on the job and hasn’t worked full-time since then. Now this kills him. He’s a worker. He loves doing physical stuff and he’s damn good at it. So to lose the ability to do this has messed with him mentally and physically. Now he can’t sit without cringing in pain.

And then there’s the chain yanking tossers …

They’ll ring … ‘hey bro, can you give us a hand to build … construct … move … hey bro, can we borrow some money … hey bro can you look after our kids … hey bro … you’re not doing anything, can you pick us up … drop us off …’

On and on it goes. And they have no fucking shame either! They don’t think … Ahhh this man is injured, maybe we should ask someone else … Or, ahh this man is injured, how about We help him out!!

It pisses Me no end.

Theres no telling him though and the extent of my lectures now only involve a mild … ‘oh well …’, when he complains about his back hurting because he’s helped a ‘friend’ move house.

I also don’t concede anymore. Meaning, when I ask for a hand and he complains, I remind him that he can do way more for every other cunt so he can do it for the cunt that has put up with his bullshit for the last god knows how long.

He gets my point.

But sometimes, just sometimes …

I think there’s going to come a day when I make a little Facebook post, so they can all see it, and it’ll read a little something like this:

“Hey … all you fuckers that have bled [partner] dry … have rung in the middle of the night for a drunken pity party … have borrowed our last dollar … have promised to be here, but don’t ever come … have suggested [partner] needs to get over it and get a job … that we have it easy … that have asked for everything and given nothing … Yes, you lot … Don’t bother ringing here … I’ll hang up on your bludging assess … Don’t bother borrowing money … I will come and get it back, with fucking interest … In fact, fuck off completely.” Kindest fucking regards from the Missus!

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’


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”.


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 ©




Me: “Um, my camera isn’t working … have you been using it?”

Partner: “No”

Me: “Really? Cos theres sand all over it …”

Partner: “I said No … geez”

Me: “Are you sure? Because theres photos of you on the SD card … looks like your … cleaning the lens??”

Partner: “Ahhhhh … Ok, I may have dropped it … but it was an accident … ”

Me: “Your worse than the bloody kids yah know that … ”

Last pic, is the distorted, sand encumbered look of Guilt!

Humbug ;)




kpm ©


a. the flashback


Points A and C from the previous post are related … and a relationship I hadn’t recognised till me and the partner got talking / arguing.


When I had the bitch ass flashback … because that was what it was … a filthy fucking flashback … I consciously made a decision NOT to tell the partner. There was a moment after our intimate moment, where the partner asked if everything was alright … he didn’t expand on his question, but I knew he knew there was something off in my universe.

He’s pretty sensitive to that sort of shit …

But instead of being honest … I consciously chose to not tell him what had happened … that I had had a flashback and was reeling from it. Instead I pretended like it was OK and that I was being positive … and that I didn’t need to talk about it.

And maybe that was true.

But I didn’t take into account how that would make Mr Sensitivity feel.

He clammed up.

Hence the co-relation between A and C that I also didn’t pick up on because I was too busy with my head in the sand.

I’m not completely dissing myself … I get I couldn’t deal with it … but what i didn’t want to do was cry. That’s it. I didn’t want to be upset. And that’s what I should have said. But instead I lied and said I was OK.

And that right there is what I cannot do.

Most peeps do this in some form or another … whether we dismiss our bodily warning signs or the dreaded anxiety indicators … there’s always … always a payback. And for Me … when I ignore ‘my truth’, I get nothing but trouble.

But somehow I still forgot my most basic rule … Be True To My Dam Self.

So when we finally got to talking … through my snot and tears … I told the partner about the flashback … that in one of our most intimate moments I had heard the voice of the pedo cunt and had relived one of the most shittiest forgotten experiences ever … that my body had frozen … my mind had left the building so to speak … but the smell and pictures and sounds of that moment resounded in my being for days after.

Through his snot and tears, the partner got it. He empathised. And said something interesting … that if I had’ve told him at the time, he would have taken offence and been disturbed … so even though it had taken all this time to spit out, he understood why I hadn’t, even if I didn’t realise at the time.

It brought up shitloads of other things … that I have never told him exactly what had happened to me all those years ago but that he could see it all over Me … all over my paintings and pictures … all over my writings … and that hurt him; but he still hadn’t been open to knowing … that like everyone else in my life … He Hadn’t Wanted To Hear It … Or Feel It … They all just wanted me to forget it and ‘move on’; not because it was better for me but because it made them feel uncomfortable.

Imagine how it made Me feel!

And that is the essence of pts(d)ness … there is no getting away from it … the cruelty is in the kick of teeth that comes with intimacy … that sexual assault assaults more than your body … it assaults your memories; your soul.

So we cried and talked and snotted all over the place for a large portion of the day and finally came to some kind of understanding and agreement.

If at anytime the partner feels Me switching off … he will stop, wait and ask. That if I can’t answer or he feels that the answer isn’t true, then he is to gently keep on probing for an honest answer … whether that be a ‘i can’t talk now’ or ‘i don’t know whats happening’ … whatever …

And I am to do the same … to the best of my ability …

That whatever is going on or happening … we both need to use that instinct we have and roll with it.

For Me and Him, this is huge. It’s a turning point. And it’s a place I didn’t think we’d ever come to really. And a place we needed to get to as well.

It’s what I have been scared of, ever since the bitch ass flashback happened.

At it’s worst, it is nothing but a memory now … something that happened to Me. That I can’t undo. I’m not sure what else I can do. And I’m not sure what I’ll do when another one happens.

But I think we’ll be more prepared.

It’s a very cruel thing … but at least I know what I’m dealing with now … and as much as it frightens Me … as Nan used to say … ‘It’s better Out than In’ … and thats all that I can hold onto really.

kpm ©



the ‘lessen anxiety’ slash ‘reintegrate’ list …

… that’s gathering dust on the fridge …

Well, I managed to tick something off’ve it!          …. it’s not that I’ve been completely avoiding it, but since finishing with the shrink I think I’ve slowed down with the whole tackling shit weekly … I’ve kinda moved into more of a plod through a couple of things a fortnight … maybe … kind of scenario … and without the ‘guilt’ that comes from NOT doing it …

I think the thing I miss the most since this whole PTS(D) diagnosis – anxiety – panic – the story of my life – bullshit … is my freedom.

I’ve redefined what that is in some respects. As in … just because I am ‘stuck’ at home … or feel trapped because I can’t handle being around people … I swap that round so it becomes … I’m ‘working on me’ … I’m chilling the fuck out … I’m enjoying my own company …

And for the most part, that’s true.

But …

I miss being able to get in the car and fucking off for the day / the weekend, whatever; rolling up to some poofed out cafe and buying the biggest, fattest caffeine boosted coffee *to go*, I can find; I miss roaming around parts of the country and stopping in on peeps I haven’t seen in ages; I miss trolling op shops and buying whatever the fuck I want; I miss choosing to go to some freaky little joint for a meal I can’t pronounce; I miss hitting the bottle store at 3pm, drinking till 12pm and hitting a banging club and dancing my ass off till 5am … I miss all of that!!! I miss that freedom … the freedom to choose to do what ever the fuck I want, when I want … without wondering …

… whose there … where are the exits … what if I can’t breathe … what if I panic … have I got all my things I need … what if the floors are dirty … or it’s too bright … what if I smell something that sends me off into fucked land … what if, what if, what if …

Full blowen anxiety slash PTS fucking (D) and all the trimmings that go with it … as much as I can embrace some aspects of it and integrate it / work with it … that freedom that I once had … no matter how ‘illusionary’ it may have been … well, I miss that!!

Part of the ‘lessening anxiety’ list, was to help me get back that freedom. And don’t get me wrong, I am hell’ah grateful and stoked with what I have managed to achieve thus far.

I just miss those things …

But, I managed to do something I haven’t done for fucking eons, it feels like … and every time I think about it I want to cry. I wanted to cry while I was doing it. As fucking lame as that sounds … I think I am slightly overwhelmed but excited but scared but stoked but … fuck knows …

“Me and my partner went out for dinner. A real dinner. A sit down and order and eat that bastard, dinner. With drinks. LOL and dessert. And I stayed. And I fucking enjoyed!!! And I’m still crying LOL …”

It took me all morning to ‘get over’ the night .. but it was worth it … and I’m still crying LOL … fucks-sakes ..

I think it’s just that it’s been so long … and when we moved here it was one of the things that I wanted me and the partner to be able to do again. And we finally, got to do it !!!!

Heres the proof … of sorts …



Yes, that’s a burger LOL and a brownie … I decided, for now, I’ll stick with what my gutt knows … one thing at a time :)

kpm ©


42 degrees temp & pts(d)

What I thought was the flu and feeling bit ‘off’, turned out to be tonsillitis.

‘But I’ve had tonsillitis before and it wasn’t like this’, was my lame, slightly munted retort.

I remember the eyes on the ambulance lady .. she looked a little confused with a touch of sympathy in there. LOL.

‘And how long has this been going on?’ she asked politely. I’m waving my hands around like an octopus, snot coming out of my nose along with some water, trying hard to swallow and answer like a ‘normal’ person.

‘Since yesterday, but she didn’t want to go to the doctors’ says partner.

I tried squinting at him … you know that … wait till I’m all together and I’ll jab you, squint. But I think I ended up looking more delirious than threatening.

I kept trying to ‘sign’ to him … P T S D … meaning, tell them that’s who they’re dealing with … and give me a fucking sedative, like, NOW. But he squinted in return. He finally told them when my temperature had hit 42 and my heart was struggling, and they gave me 3 choices … stay and die … go in the ambulance and get treated at the hospital … go with the partner to the hospital and get treated. Hmmmmm. I wonder ….

Once they realised though that they were dealing with a delicate human being of great proportions, they changed their tactic. And it worked. I took my own sedative on their recommendation and we were off.

A nice lady named Meg (I think, sorry if I got that completely wrong, I blame it on the hot flush I was experiencing ;) ), sat with me in the back of the ambulance. She didn’t talk too much. Or panic. Or touch me too much. Or fuss. She was calm. But I could see her concern.

Thank fuck for the sedative, it calmed the farm slightly and made the ambulance bearable.

Now I don’t know anyone that likes ambulances or the hospital … except for maybe the freak back in the day who was always trying to top herself, but not quite cos she never took enough cough mixture … duh … she enjoyed the attention, but she said she enjoyed the company!?? I thought maybe it would have been easier if she just joined a club or something … she joined a church instead, go figure!

Anywho, besides her, I don’t think anyone likes either of those things. Both mean ‘fatality’. Eeeekkk.

For me, it sits in the grey area, the unknowns. The waiting. It’s distorted smells, sounds, lights, people … its buzzing and beeping … poking and prodding. It’s all the things I detest, times 100!

Strangely enough though, when I was deep-frying in my own bacteria, I did’t notice a lot of those things LOL. I knew, with the sensible part of my spider senses, that this was the place I absolutely needed to be. It had gone beyond a lemon drink and an extra shot of vitamin C … waaayyyy beyond.

So, they poked and prodded and took blood and hooked me up to fluids and a penicillin drip thingy. They were impressed with my breathing ;) Point to me for all that deep breathing shit I’ve been doing over the last year … knew it’d pay off somewhere!

Usually A&E is a 10 plus hour wait, but I think they’d packed me off to the ward within a couple of hours. Cheers guys :) And as much as I hate to admit, the hospital gods were smiling on me that day. I had the nicest doctors and nurses I think I’ve ever come across … ever. Not one of them was a sour puss! I couldn’t have dealt with a sour puss! They have renewed my faith in medical peeps. (I’m still a skeptic … but with slightly renewed faith ;) ).

The first 24 hours in there were a tidy blur. A lot of poking and prodding and changing drips and pain killers and shit. The only thing I remember clearly is trying to apologise, but not being able to speak properly, for not having a shower before I got sick … ‘I stink’, was all I kept saying LOL.

Ahhh the priorities of PTSD ay.

I got to shower the next day when I could stand properly. My partner helped me but I don’t think it’s an occasion he’ll remember fondly somehow. He kept looking at my legs, going, ‘when did you last shave those bastards?’. Me … ‘its winter cover, fuck up and wash my ass’ … in a grunty not quite coherent voice. He got the gist though.

I thought I’d get to go home that day but apparently my tonsils were still ‘angry’ so I got to book in for another night … yah. They wanted me to drink more .. a little hard when every swallow felt like I was gargling glass! But I persisted.

I was in a room with 5 beds. Not exactly a great place for relaxing therapeutic wholistic repair … but oh well. The first day I didn’t notice and didn’t care really. By the second day though, I could hear all the chattering. And as I sort of came round, I discovered it wasn’t coming from our room … it was the old guys from next door!! Who ever said women gossip never heard these dudes! They had an opinion on everything and anything … they started talking at 430am and didn’t stop til 1230pm! Oh My Fuck! Who has that much to say??? Them, apparently!

By 1130 the 2nd night I started having a panic attack. Not really what I needed … and the more I tried to calm down the more I thought about being stuck somewhere I didn’t want to be and I couldn’t leave and there was nowhere to go and I couldn’t walk properly and I couldn’t get out …. On and On it went ….

The lady in the bed next to me, with the broken foot in two places … Ouch … turned out to be an old school nurse. She could hear me freaking out and breathing erratically. She knew my name, (she’d be listening lol), and told me to breath deeply. She said to me … ‘Now breath deep and slow. You have something you can take for that don’t you. Do you know where it is? Get one out, take it, and breath’. She had overheard my partner telling the doctor about the PTSD and that if it got bad to give me a sedative otherwise I’d end up having a panic attack and crawling for the nearest exit. God bless her flappy ears! It was enough to settle me slightly, get me focused on taking the sedative and calming the fuck down. I ended up taking 2 sedatives just to block out all the noises and lights and panic. It worked.

Next day I felt heaps better and wanted to get the fuck out of there! Tonsils were still a little angry but would come right according to the lovely doc. I packed my shit and was ready to go by 930am. Unfortunately my not so organised partner took 3 hours to pick me up! Grrrrr. I was annoyed but pleased to be ‘leaving’ … yippie!

I came home to what the partner considered a ‘clean house’, he looked pretty pleased with himself. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it looked like shit … smiled and said thank you instead. I sat outside for an hour listening to the ocean :)

A couplely days on and my throat is still recovering, but is nowhere near as sore as it was. Drugs are flowing freely through my veins at present and I’m all good with that. I’ve been kind of anti antibiotic / chemical drugs / pharmaceuticals for so long now … but over the last week, I am finally appreciative of what they can do when the need arises. I still prefer the natural stuff if I can, but I think this whole experience has brought a little bit of balance back into the equation.

So here I am. I have survived tonsillitis on top of PTSD and have lived to regale the tale. It’s not something I want to do again in a hurry, but I am no worse off. Besides, I had a few spare days to kill ;)

kpm ©


1 year on …

It definitely doesn’t feel like a year since starting this particular ‘chapter’ of my awesome existence …. feels like yesterday when i was whining about not being able to get to the front gate let alone the shop without freaking out and having a meltdown of seismic proportions … ahhh the good old days.

Now, its the front seat of the car all the way to town…and back {hollah!} … and whining is usually only limited to something truly awful … like hanging out with the partner for faaarrrr to long … or having a particularly shit EMDR session … but even then … i’ve learned enough to know that if its been a rough EMDR, give it a couple weeks and there will be some kind of mindless improvement … weird, but true.

I’m still battling … and i haven’t completed figured out my reconciliation with this whole ptsd bullshit … but I am thoroughly pleased with myself (today) … and my progress (today) … and I can say that I look forward to seeing whats going to happen next ;)

kpm ©



The partner left yesterday afternoon and went in for the removal of the ‘unwanted mass’ this afternoon. According to ‘Libby’ of Ward 6, the partner is nauseous and in pain, but the surgery itself, was reasonably quick and straight forward; thanks for that Libby.

It’s been a head fucking day, but I remained positive and active…to remain positive and active pfft.

It’s a daunting thought thinking the person you’ve grown to love and hate at the same time, might not be alright…might not be around to argue with; or take the piss out of; to laugh with; to eat with;…I think that’s what ‘attachment’ is all about???? Not one of my stronger points…

I actually thought I’d be crawling the walls more than I was…possibly all the training from moving out of one place into another; lumps in the breasts; hair falling out, you know, just all that run of the mill shit…this time though, I just kind of tried to go with the flow…seemed to work. I might try more in future.


And then the shrink came this afternoon, for our final session of the year – Yah … not.


I made a breakthrough…of sorts.

It was a really uncomfortable EMDR session…physically and mentally. I went dizzy and then numb; butterflies and headaches; sore throat and tired. And finally…bucket loads of tears that freakishly came out of nowhere…well, not out of nowhere; the bastards came from my eyes…you know what I mean…anyway…

My breakthrough came as we were doing the, ‘I am safe now’ routine…the crux of the whole fucking thing…and the panic attacks and anxiety and PTSD bullshit. The shrink asked me on the scale of 1-7; 7 being very true, how much do I believe that ‘I am safe now’ statement. I went from 6, to 6 1/2, then 6 3/4…just couldn’t quite hit the 7.

Then the tears came…

When I realised that ‘I am big now’…

I might not ever completely believe that I am 100% safe anywhere, with anyone…but ‘I am big now’, and I can deal with it!

It’s been a long day.

And I’m tired…good…sore…and tired.

kpm ©


oh hell no…

Deep thought day…along with random funky and slightly manky thought processes; I think its stress ah duh…

Anyway, yesterday afternoon me and the partner finally had a deep conversation regarding the up and coming events. Now when I say deep, our, as a couple, version of ‘deep’, goes a little something like the following:

Me: ‘dear, I’m worried about the surgery’

Him: ‘don’t worry, it’ll be sweet’

Me: ‘please don’t fucken tell me not to worry and flick off my concern like it doesn’t matter…cos I’m trying, have been trying really really really really fucken hard not to worry, but I’m telling you, I’m worried…I’m worried not like boo hoo worry, I’m worried cos I love you yah cunt’

Him: ‘Oooohhh Kay’

Me: ‘so, I’m worried’

Him: ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be sweet’

Fucken muppet!

But we ended up laughing and from there he described in great butchering detail (he used to work in the meat works), what the surgeon, or what he thought, the surgeon would be doing with his back. And although I felt like vomiting and passing out, I was impressed that somewhere in that fuzzy little male mind of his, he had processed the proceedings…just not like my fuzzy little female mind would have. I had to laugh.

Our convo carried on like that for a long while…taking the piss out of the whole thing…me telling him to make sure he’d washed his ass before he goes in, and not to eat anything to ‘gassy’ the night before lol. And to ask pertinent questions of the surgeons/nurses beforehand like: ‘no-ones been on the piss last night?’; ‘everyone ok with their home life? Need to make apology phone calls or anything?’, ‘everyone at peace with themselves and focussed on what your doing??’. We thought we might make up a little questionnaire and pin it to his butt, just to be on the safe side lol.

But, it was good to talk…I’m still worried…but I guess that’s normal and comes with caring about someone else, goddammit!

kpm ©



many.many.thoughts. the good, bad & ugly.

a re-read @ august 2018, &  I remembered the claustrophobic, intense feelings that came with this time. Fuck that shit … I am so freaking glad shit don’t really feel like this anymore … in these areas I have slowly learnt to juggle that shit alot better!!!

Its been a hell of a long week…standard 7 days sure, but they felt like 14+! And if it wasn’t for the little date thingy on my screen, I’m not sure I’d actually, definitively know what the day and date was!

There’s been some awesome moments…and I hold onto those by my ultra long fingernails because they are what make this hellish feeling silently bearable.

So I’ll start with those moments…the good…

We looked after the mokos for the night…ahhh the other day I think. It was intense! Lovely intense; but I’m so past having a 2-year-old running around and a 6-year-old asking questions constantly lol. Don’t get me wrong, they were such a pleasure. I’m just…getting old lol. We were both absolutely wrecked by the time the next day rolled around, and when we finally got home, we hung out the washing and then collapsed in a small heap and slept for about 3 hours! OMG, I’m so soft now. I have a new-found appreciation for my daughter and her partner and their 3 beautiful children!

So, on this night, my daughter and her partner came home from their well deserved dining experience and my girl was slightly tipsy…and she started talking. We haven’t talked, talked, for along time…child restraints, time, distance etc etc. It was so nice…nice to hear her heart again. Shes my girl who has that great big heart; the deep deep soul. I heard her aches and her triumphs and the things she’s struggling with and wishes for. I heard her regrets and questions and ambitions and longings. I haven’t had the privilege of that for a long while now.

She talked about the things from her childhood that had hurt her. Things that I remembered but had a different perspective on. I got to tell her how I felt too. And she actually said, “You know; you’re a good Mum”. That was the best coming from her! I love her to bits…shes just an amazing soul…

Well we stayed up and talked like that for about 5 hours! It felt like when she was a little girl…we’d talk for hours! It’s how I got to know her :)

Her older daughter is also a deep wee soul. She has my sense, and her mamas sense, of the ‘unseen’…intuition, but with the senses. She has an intense sense of smell and can smell where you have been, what you ‘feel’ like, whats bothering you. But this little darling isn’t all hung up on what others think of her gift yet…it just is what it is, and she just rolls with it. It’s so nice to watch her, uninhibited.

Anyway, she had a game of hockey that she wanted me to go too. I said I couldn’t, and she started to cry. I felt bad but I knew I still couldn’t go. Then she stops crying and looks at me, and asks; “Why can’t you come?”…so I told her…”There’s to many people there for me darling, and I get scared. When I’m not scared, I’ll come to one of your games.”….Ohhh, she says…beautiful girl; just like she all of a sudden got it. Then she says to me, “and you can’t bring your pillow and blanky to the game ay”…no, sweetheart, I can’t…

She’s such a beautiful soul. All the mokos are. They have a deep sense, in differing ways, of understanding who and what is going on around them. And as long as you answer their questions brutally honestly, they are able to process all that is happening…the seen and the unseen. I don’t mean ‘ghostly’ unseen…but the vibes, body language, emotion; that is exuded by those around them. They are miles ahead of me, and their parents…all of humanity really. And it’s so beautiful to see.

It’s that subject that got me and my girl talking again later…about how each generation thinks they have a monopoly on ‘being right’; that they have all the answers to the previous generations mistakes and instead of learning from them, they are on a mission to rectify and rub their noses in it. We agreed that this is utter shit and there was a need to be able to transition from one ‘generation’ or era to the next, leaving behind what you need to, giving or passing on what you need to, and getting on with the present. Easier said than done…but a beautiful concept that we are all going to try.


It’s fucken intense times here.

You see…as much as shit frightens me or I panic or have a miniature nervous break down…I know that I know that I know, that there is no rolling over and dying…I can’t…it’s just not in my DNA. I may freak the fuck out etc but I will, will, will get back up and kick your ass eventually. ~ present situation has been a longer ‘pause’ or ‘eventually’ moment than most…but it is still just an interlude ~

And the partner…well he deals with things a little different from I. I find that hard to deal with. I can see that he’s scared and feeling stressed and vulnerable…but he won’t talk…in fact he’s being a bit of a cunt actually. I’m trying to be supportive and helpful and blending-ish (I know what I mean lol)…but he’s angry one minute, sore and sad the next, pissed off then quiet. He’s doing his thing, processing…I get it…It’s just really really really hard to watch!

And the conversations we have include blame laying in my direction…I get this defence mechanism too…but really? Gonna shit on the only person that genuinely gives a shit?? Hmmm. Not cool.

And I wonder how long I’ll put up with being the brunt of the frustration and anxiety? Not too much longer…

I wish I could wave a magic wand and make every bad thing go away…

AND then I went to see the shrink – (who by the way, I called ‘the shrink’ in her office, and she was slightly offended lol…she said she isn’t a psychiatrist…to which I said, ‘so what? Shrink is easier to say than ‘the psychologist’…she got it. BTW, she is a forensic psychologist which I think is rather cool lol)….so back to the shrink…It was really hard to get in to her this time. I had about 3 size 5 panic attacks on the way there and so by the time I hit her office I was a bit of a quivering mess. But I did it! There’s that! We did the breather thingy…and talked a bit. Turns out all the things that are happening with the partner are weighing heavier on the mind and body than I thought. I’m not sleeping very well…6 hours has dropped back to 2…and I can feel my heart beating most of the time and it takes all my energy and concentration to try to relax my shoulders. So I breathed and breathed and rebooked my next appointment.

The next appointment is EMDR, – first and worst memory. Apparently they’re usually separate…but mine are one in the same. I have no recollection of some things, I only know they happen because of what has been pieced together from other people’s versions of events. I only remember one incident…I’m not sure of my age, and I’m not sure whether I’ve actually meshed about 3 incidences together as one. Either way, I have no interest anymore, in trying to ‘remember’ more. I figure if my ‘being’ could deal with it then it would remember…what I do remember is way more than enough.

Needless to say I’m not really looking forward to the next session. I said to the shrink…that I don’t mind talking about this sort of shit, I know its necessary and I’m willing…very willing…however, it’s easier to talk about what causes panic or nightmares etc and how to deal with those…that feels like I’m talking about the 2nd cousin of it, twice removed…she got it. But when we start talking or referring to the actual event…my insides start to shake and then they go numb. It frightens me.

But, I’ll do it…I have too. When my girl and me were talking, she asked me something interesting. Both girls know what happened to me; I’ve always been pretty open and up front with them. But my girl, she asks…”who helped you to understand what happened to you when you were a kid Mum?”. Sweet girl…I told her that there wasn’t anyone and that’s what I’m trying to do now. She cried for me.

Hey, to add a little bit more shit icing to the rather intense cake…on the way to the shrinks office…the partner got a phone call to say that his surgery had been booked in for the 14th…of this month. O M fucken G. It’s a good thing I think…but, but…but…

kpm ©


and then the argument started

So I cried like a bitch through the emdr…all cathartic and stuff…and draining…

And when the shrink left I made a cuppa and headed straight outside for a ciggy.

And, apparently the shrink had shooed away my partner during our session…I was in the middle of the finger waving and earth trembling break through shit…and…

that had pissed the partner off something terrible!

“Waved away in my own fucken house…I was looking for my fucken keys…how dare she…she’s just upsetting you anyway…your still miserable…and you’re not getting any better…and I still haven’t found my fucken keys…and why does she come here anyway…ahh that’s right, you can’t drive…fuck…and I still haven’t found the keys…”

Yeah…so we’ve had 24 hours, post emdr, arguing the fuck out of car keys…

But actually…

after all my insecurities dissipated slightly, and I refocused…

not before I had hurled the old…”I told you I had a fucken appointment today…one fucken hour and you couldn’t wait to find the fucken car keys till after…fuck you”

Yeah, that was a winner.

But back to the refocusing…

This man does not process like…well, like me…because, he isn’t me. He verbalises and attacks with his big mouth…I write. His mind is what I call a huge fucken shambles and I don’t understand why he can’t analyse stuff and connect the dots…but he’s not me; he calls me an anal fucker! That’s how he sees how I see things…


Refocusing –

  • We’re about to move out of our house…to…fuck knows where
  • You have just been told you have a tumor in/on your spine
  • You are used to working…hard…now you can hardly walk
  • You are tired
  • You worry about me and get frustrated with me
  • Your generally taken for granted by your peers and your family

How do you not join those dots together my dear? Ah, that’s right…your a man…a man who thinks old school…that he should provide and take care of and be everything to everyone and talk and laugh and make everyone happy…and when you lose your car keys…

everything falls apart.

We’re tired now…but I’m not leaving your ass today and your not leaving my ass today.

We live to fight another day…pun intended.

kpm ©