a remembering.

i been looking over old photos … not mine … just stuff from my past.

& i had a deep realisation that i am barely attached to anything or anyone. i have limited memories of people that were in my life … that i co-existed with on a daily basis.

i don’t remember their faces or their names … every now and then i get a glimpse of a smile or a phrase … but as a journey or event … i can feel my detachment from all of it.

like floating above or around it, seeing it but not actually being there.

its a strange sensation & a strange realisation.

that lack of attachment. of memories.

.

i had believed that i wasnt really real. not a real maori in a maori world. even though it wasn’t really real. it was a perception.

& not a real white person because i had a tainted brown skin. & its a cruel irony to not fit on either shore line when both are yours.

but both these thoughts are just perceptions, or lies, that i believed in my half state of traumatised consciousness.

but today, instead of being mortified, horrified, traumatised or even regretful .. i honour the person i was, whether she seemed like a half person or not.

she was what she was & she survived. she survived without permanent attachments.

thats not sad.

thats fucking awesome.


kpm©


 

flashback: *how exciting* :

It’s been a hard few hours, days … weeks … as I try to re-cap. I think I’m still recovering from the doctors fuckery last wednesday … I can be a bit of a slow processor when it comes to that sort of shit … Yah know, when the senses and feels and emotions have been assaulted … inadvertently; and no cunt gives a shit really.

Wah wah wah …

But since then … I had a process and an un-fold but that tight knot is still in the pitt of my gutt …

After Wednesday, besides the obvious, I still have this gnawing feeling in my gutt. Close to anxiety (which I’ve been sedating with the medication I use; not the shit the fuckwit doctor thinks ‘is the miracle cure’), but tighter … like the verge of a panic attack, but not quite.

It’s sucked.

I’m trying … good lord I’ma trying.

But you know that feeling like your missing something quite obvious?

Yeah, well thats been lingering around the fringes too.

Everything feels Unsafe. And I guess for Me thats one of the responses to being assaulted. It’s a reality. Some would say it’s not a reality anymore and is just a pts(d) glitch that needs some serious meditation to remedy. Maybe they’re right … fuck knows really.

But this Unsafe feeling has been escalating of late.

And I thought it should be getting better.

My house is ‘logically’ safe: I am ‘logically’ safe: But everything in Me is still screaming: “Run Bitch … Run”.

Of course, I don’t run, well not literally anyways.

So a couple of things enlightened my fuckery:

We watched a random movie the other night … mainly cos I couldn’t find anything else to watch … it was called “Rebel in the Rye”.

Long story short, dude was a writer; goes to War and comes back with pts(d), of course. It completely changed him, of course. But the movie goes through his writings, rejections, struggle with the ‘unknown’ sickness at that time, the attitudes of those around him, his reclusiveness, his flashbacks … his struggles to balance the entire fuckery.

I got it.

What astounded Me the most was the lack of ‘listening’ those around him did. He fought hard to remain true to himself … but they didn’t listen. I could see the damage it was having on his family and his relationships: but I could completely and utterly dig what he was trying to do: SURVIVE.

So this whole thing knotted my gutt a bit more … I didn’t ponder too hard about it, figuring: I gotta be ok for Christmas day and we’ll figure this shit out later.

Entrance: A few weeks of partner silence as he does what he does. My beef being: I don’t like being touched. Don’t touch Me randomly. Ever.

I get that this hurts his feelings. I get that he is affectionate. I get all that. But I can’t do it. I can’t do random touching. It completely throws Me into a mind and body fuck that can last for days.

The Present:

Christmas morning and I’m trying to get on with it … chirpy and trying to remain positive. I’ve done my slightly sarcastic but witty posts: I’ve done our food: I’ve enjoyed those simple things:

Partner is sulking cos I’m ‘Un-affectionate”, and today, Christmas morning, seems like the appropriate time to bring it all up:

Result:

I had a big ass, slightly drawn out Flashback, that still hasn’t quite dissipated.

And all I could muster through my heaves of tears was:

“I hate fucking christmas. I’m trying: but I hate fucking

Christmas”

And heres what I had forgotten: well not entirely forgotten; but hadn’t ‘felt’ at all.

Christmas day: and the days before hand and at least a week after. But Christmas day mainly. Sitting in the same room as the pedo cunt: ‘feeling’ him making a menace of himself and physiologically torture everyone in his presence. He was usually high as a kite: erratic: abusive: explosive.

And I had to watch it unfold, every year. Never quite knowing what ‘exactly’ was going to happen … but hoping he’d eventually piss off and go fuck with someone elses feng shui.

Now this is ‘normal’ for families all over the world.

The pedo cunt was a torturous cunt. A self professed ‘bad bastard’ and I never met a person who wasn’t afraid of him. Imagine freddy kruger mixed with IT and that fear that happens when the music is getting all suspenseful … yeah well that was the tension he could produce in Everyone. I’ve seen Police look afraid; strangers, big bastards that could knock yah teeth out with one blow … they ALL looked as if they were quietly pissing their panties in the presence of said pedo cunt.

So imagine that around small children and a family that thought ‘loving’ him no matter what, would be the solution to all his ‘issues’.

But he was a pure and utter cunt. Not sure if that is biological; psychological; a random act of nature or a large helping of nurture. Who knows.

But his cunt plagued every single christmas. And every single christmas, I dreaded …un-knowingly really …

But that tight feeling in my gutt … came with the flashback.

The flashback came with a ‘feeling’ or thought:

No-one listens.

No-one was ‘un-scared’ enough … had enough fortitude … or fight … or resistance … or foresight … to realise, that this cunt was not the type of cunt that should be in the company of anyone let alone the company of a child.

The christmas morning flashback was that: split scenes of dumb founded silence as everyone ‘pretended’ that his behaviour was ‘normal’ and if we just smile and get on with it it’ll all ‘come out in the wash’.

Guess what: It may have ‘come out in the wash’ for others, but for Me, that fear of not being heard – Ever; not being considered – Ever; not being put first – Ever; not being protected – Ever … when it came to that cunt, is still prevalent in my being.

I’m not sure of how to exorcise it.

And I’m not blaming those that were around Me at that time, anymore. Been there, done that, and I get it now. They were all afraid of him, just as much as I was.

But how do I get rid of that feeling … the ‘not being heard’ feeling? The feeling ‘un-safe’ feeling – anywhere, any time, especially with fake ass bitches that are too self absorbed with themselves and pleasing everyone else … to even notice the simple things – like a frightened child.

I’m unsure.

I hope it doesn’t take to long to process this one … cos it hurts like fuck and it’s fucking with Me feng shui, Hard!


kpm ©


 

looking back…

I know I’m making personal progress even though most of the time I’m second guessing myself. I guess it’s one of those ‘flaws’ that I’ll figure how to make into something spectacular one day.

But just so I remember…how far it is that I have actually come…

March 2014 we moved to my beach heaven – the 3 years previous had been filled with unexplained anxiety, sickness, increased weight, depression, increasing medication, pain, emotional distress, very little sleep, nightmares, sensory overload, not driving, decreased travel in a car, not working and eventually not leaving the house.

The car ride to our beach was the first ‘long’ trip I had taken in a very long time. For the first 4 weeks I think it was, I didn’t leave the house at all. I freaked out when the neighbours tried to be neighbourly. I’d have a panic attack in the backyard because it was too far from the actual house and I didn’t venture past the mailbox without medication.

It took about 3 months to feel some kind of relaxed feeling. I started feeling more familiar with my surroundings and not so on edge. There is something quite peaceful about hearing the ocean roar all the time. It was soothing. For the mind and the soul. It still is.

I eventually got past the mailbox and tried to walk to the beach. I failed, lots; and freaked myself out numerous times. It was plenty discouraging!

I finally got a diagnosis of PTSD about 6 months after moving out here. While it was painful to hear; it made sense. Everything made more sense. But it pissed me off. I waited about another 6 months for any type of treatment…the wheels of ‘health’ move way to slowly in this country.

The first session with the psychologist was awful…for her and me. She ended up coming to me instead. We’ve had about 6 months of her coming to me.

Anything I did…the shop, the beach, family celebrations, family coming to visit…were hard work. It’d take days to recover.

I struggled with sleeping and the more I became anxious about it the harder it was to sleep. The nightmares were hell-a-scary for ages, and waking up sweating and shaking and crying, were pretty horribly normal.

We are now in November 2015…and I am not where I was five years ago; a couple years ago or even a few months ago. I have made progress.

More than anything, I’ve learnt…well learning, to accept my little quirks as just me. Not necessarily a part of PTSD…but just the way I’m wired. And as long as it’s not hurting me, then its OK.

I can socialise now…not like the partner does; but in my own funky way :)

I can talk on the phone now…I still don’t like it; but it doesn’t freak me out :)

I can walk to the shop…by myself…making sure I always return home with a brownie :)

I can do family…I love doing family…I love having the kids here; the mokos here…I don’t find them draining like I used too :)

I’ve figured size is just a number and don’t really give a shit about my weight…it’ll decrease when its ready I reckon…and I’m OK with it…so much so, I’m going to buy a bikini for summer :)

I can sleep up to 6 hours on a quarter sleeping tablet…there are less nightmares…and I know what to do when I do wake up from them :)

I have made progress…I need to remember that, and congratulate myself regularly. I know I’ve forgotten some of my mean achievements, but these will do for now :)

Rock on you funky thing you ;) Let’s tick some more stuff off that list of yours…


kpm ©


 

Image

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 ©