done and done

I had my big ass assessment this morning … holy hell, what a mission. I was nervous … so nervous, my tummy has been in knots for days.

But now its over, thank fuck!

Aside from the obvious, which I survived to tell the tale, I gleaned a few tidbits I am ruminating on.

  1. Our health, particularly our mental health, system, is fucked. As per usual, my descriptions are ‘layman-womans’ terms. Now this news is nothing new; however today I got another awakening to just how stitched up everything is. After wading my nervous, semi sedated self through the myriad of questions relating to ‘permanent impairment’, I discovered that our health system rates permanent impairment in levels. Under 30% permanent impairment means – whilst you may not be able to hold down a job, or drive, or socialise, or talk on the phone, or be alone, or leave the house – if you are not in an institution and on medication, you are fine. Another words, 30% is the cap before they haul you off to the nut house and jab you with drool inducing meds. As this reality dawned on me during the assessment, 2 things happened.
  2. I became very aware that I didn’t want to rate over 30%.
  3. I became very aware that the likely-hood of receiving anymore than $35 a week for ‘permanent impairment’ was nil.
  4. Which brings me back to point 1.

I left that office slightly grateful that I hadn’t been institutionalised at any time. It would have killed me if I had. I shit you not. Me – Caged? Fuck No. It can’t happen.

But I was also very aware that my dance with ACC is grinding to a rather unproductive halt. It has been an exercise in asserting and flexing my rights, for sure. As far as having a productive outcome … well, apparently I am entitled to a life times worth of counselling slash psychologist intervention. Oh and mind bending medication if I so wish to be mind bent.

What struck me whilst answering all those rather intrusive questions, was that interacting with ‘the health system’ makes me feel more unhealthy. How is that possible? I’m unsure. Maybe because with every question about concentration or socialisation, I am trying to figure out what is deemed as normal. No I don’t interact with many people. But on a whole I don’t find people very interact-able. When I tried to explain this, I actually ended up sounding reasonably mad – even to myself lol.

You see (and I’ve talked about this before), when I go somewhere – meet people -just enter a place really – theres a shit tonne of things that happen. I was trying to relay this reality today.

When I arrived for my appointment, this is what I noted:

  • There are two large slow moving sliding glass doors to get into before you enter.
  • Not an easy exit.
  • 2 ladies sat at the front desk.
  • Mellow, low, horrid music in the background. It’s source was in the corner of the foyer.
  • 1st woman recked of cheap perfume.
  • 2nd was more interested in her lunch. It was 8.50am.
  • The lights were seedy. Lots of them. Meaning it was bright.
  • No open windows.
  • 1 door open, to files room, to the left of me.
  • Waiting room – large, hospital set up.
  • 2 large ugly pictures on far wall.
  • 2 framed ‘signs’. 1 about phones and photos.
  • 1 large ugly picture behind me.
  • toy box to the right in the corner.
  • water cooler far left.
  • it smelt dusty but cleaned.

And thats not the office. And this is me on an unobservant day.

So hows my concentration?

I don’t know how to answer that.

What I know is, it’s all fucking tiring.

Anyways … I am here … I survived. I still hate the system and I’m still unsocial lol.

On a lighter and nicer note: We are now waiting for the impending birth of moko #5 🙂

My partners daughter went into labour this morning and this is her first baby. If she’s anything like her mother, her labour and birth should be quite short. But bubbys have a way of doing what they please 🙂 It was moko #4s 3rd birthday yesterday, so we will end up with 2 birthdays close together which is kinda cool.

Right, I’m going to find some chocolate and make a cup of tea.

Peace Out 😉

and last, but not least …

My ACC assessment is on Tuesday morning at 9 fucking am.

I am nervous as fuck. And have only been waiting for like, over 5 years.

This is Me versus the System … again.

This is Me trying to act normal – but not too normal – to get what I need.

This is Me being bent over and fucked up the proverbial asshole.

This is Me hating, with every little fibre of my being, being controlled.

This is Me hating on the medical system big time.

This is Me trying to be Me and knowing that that will Not cut it here.

This is Me, hating them determining what and who I am.

This is Me detesting that to get an extra few dollars, I need to figurative spread my legs and let them do what ever the fuck they want.

This is Me hating everything that they are.

This is Me hating everything they stand for.

This is Me continuing to a hate a system that is nothing more than a fucking farce.

This Is Me.

ruminating on the demise of the pedo cunt

this has been swirling around the grey matter for a few days. since the conversation with my girl.

i haven’t let it effect me too much. so thats either progress, or dissociation or both lol.

i found out the pedo cunt has yet another victim. not surprising really.

there is a strange thing that happens though, in the psyche of the victim(s) of pedo cunts generally. we tend to believe, or come to believe, that we are the only ones. i think this is in part due to the disbelief that their sickness is indeed a sickness … like a disease, it spreads. we tend to believe that (maybe thats for preservation of our own sanity, I’m unsure) their deeds must have been a one off; that they couldn’t have possibly gone around fiddling with everything in sight and no-one notice it.

through my studies though, i gleaned that the average offender will have racked up a cool 20+ victims in the course of an average lifetime. these are minimal stats. the true representation is far higher, given that the average offender may have started in their teens and die in their 60s. most of these are unreported.

but these stats alone are revolting.

so back to the pedo cunt at hand.

turns out a neighbours son had quite a bit to do with him. enough time spent for the pedo cunt to introduce this child (7 at the time) to sadistic pornography. if anything else was done to the child, this has yet to be disclosed.

if anything was done to his siblings; this is also unknowen.

the likelihood of the pedo cunt having only picked 1 of the siblings for his loathsome pleasures is unlikely.

this leaves me wondering – how the fuck does the universe let this revolting human live on? why?

on a more realistic note however; it makes the idea of outing him completely and utterly, a likely scenario, to commence very soon.

i won’t dwell on it to much here. at the moment.

i can’t.

i just needed to get it out of my head.

please

Be patient, if you can
I don’t mean to be slow
I’m not trying to annoy
Or irritate your world
I just don’t always understand
As you do
Just as you didn’t understand
When you didn’t understand.
Please don’t hang up
Or take that tone,
You know that one
That presumes stupidity
Just as I didn’t do with you
When you were too small
To understand,
That you didn’t understand.
Because when you sigh,
When you roll your eyes,
When you chide and chastise,
When you berate and belittle –
You hurt my heart.
You hurt my head.
Your insensitivity
Makes me wonder
What on earth I actually taught you.
But most of all you forget
That you were once unable
And I enabled.
That once you didn’t understand
And I taught.
I’m not asking for any extra
Than I deserve.
Please
Be patient.
Or don’t speak to me at all.
That would be easier,
For now.

***

First Published on: Jun 11, 2016 @ 18:14 ❤

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.

Every-thing.

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.

that day

there comes a day

in everyones life

when rubber meets the road

when push comes to shove

when the ice is cracked

when the birds take flight

when the wind blows through your hair

when you let loose

fly free.

When your all

outta

quotes

and

memes

and

you

just

gotta

make

your

own

shit

up

!

***

First Published on: May 3, 2016 @ 10:07 😉

I

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

to seek assist
-ance
you would think
is not to much
but as you
chortle
like a retarded
budgie
it would seem
you are more
impaired
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

conforming

it seems to me

that if conforming

was easier

my types

of peeps

still

wouldn’t do it

***

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

that said

all I ever

ever

wanted

wanted

was the same

same

as you

you

the freedom

freedom

to choose

choose

make a choice

choice

like you do

do

###

First Published on: Mar 2, 2016 @ 00:09 ❤

doors

behind my door, the sunshine shines

its gleamy and bright

and looks like blankys and pillows

beyond my door, the darkness darks

its gloomy and grey

and looks like thunder and earthquakes

 

through my door you can see

and touch my world

through my door you can hear

and smell my world

 

a closed door

only opens

to a

certain knock

 

while you wait, you’ll hear

elevator music

screechy and annoying

but if you wait, you’ll hear

 

you’ll hear me

 

First Published on: Dec 10, 2015 @ 18:26 ❤