i do love my grandfather. but.

today i heard my grandfather

in your voice.

not in a nostalgic way.

but a cringe, a recoil.

he spoke to my nan like she was a piece of shit.

a waste of space.

an annoyance.

he rolled his eyes @ her.

grimaced when she spoke.

if you weren’t a child with child eyes

if you weren’t a child with child ears

one would wonder:

why on earth he stayed around.

why on earth she stayed around.

is there a pain more stinging

than being in a place, you are clearly not wanted

or required.


kpm©


 

sad news.

my eldest daughter is 30. i had her just after i turned 16. our lives were hard; slightly tormented, but i did the best i could & loved her like no other.

she has her own family now. a beautiful growing family.

today she messaged me to let me know that a friend of hers had died. he’s a friend of mine too, but not like her. i’m the mother of lol. i’m the one that got called ‘…. her mum’. i remember him from my girls school days & caught up with him in later years via facebook, as you do.

he took his own life.

he left behind  a little boy whose just turned one.

i don’t think i’m sad because he died this way … i get it … he had a tormented life too. i don’t think i’m sad because he left behind his son … he’ll be loved & cared for.

i think i’m sad because as i get older & as i watch my kids grow up & have kids of their own; i can see their pain as their lives unfold & as they make their decisions. as they lose their friends & make new friends. & it hurts me.

i guess that’s the mother in me.

the part of me that always wanted to keep them safe knowing that they’d have to grow up & make their own decisions: live their own lives. but still somewhere in me is that basic instinct that wants them to be safe from all harm.

& it sucks when it doesn’t work.

my girl is sad but realistic. she has regrets & wishes. i guess that’s all part of life.

but today: it sucks shit.


kpm ©


 

; /

it feels quite surreal.

being just, not quite.

good enough. just,

on the outside.

the outskirts.

seeing it with my eyes.

trying not to feel it with my insides.

not quite, good enough.

not quite, the cut.

just, not quite.

i thought it was my imagination.

but it’s not.

pretending to be loved is actually better,

than not being loved at all.

& knowing it.


kpm©


 

and it’s all alright ay

Don’t really know where to start … so just going to start … another unedited ramble … and see what comes out …

I never wanted to be High, or on some kind of adrenaline rush. It was, and still isn’t my thing. I’m not interested in the latest buzz or glittery bullshit … which FYI is why advertisements don’t work on Me. I couldn’t give a shit about the latest style, craze or ‘stuff’ that is supposed to make my life happier and healthier. Cos ya’ll know, next week there’ll be another one to debunk the last one …

All I ever really wanted was this – – – – – – – – – –

You know what that is ay? It’s Not Up, and Not Down, its straight up the shizz.

I get now that there are ups and downs in everything … that just cos its a shit day doesn’t mean that it’ll last forever. That being in a shit ass mood doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing … blah blah blah …

But I still don’t like what I call ‘Big’ emotions. Laughter or happiness that feels like hysterics. Sadness or a little down that feels like the whole world is caving in the side of your head. In those emotions I feel lost. Not because they’re mine, but because I can feel them on someone else and I feel like I’m drowning or flying right along with them.

That – – – – – – feeling, means I am Me and am not moved by what they are going through.

But apparently that makes Me an un-empathetic bitch face mole lol.

– – –

slight digression :

had one of those heart to heart convos with my mama awhile ago … she ‘admitted’ quite tearfully, that she felt like she hadn’t really connected with Me as a child; that I was left to do Me pretty much from the get-go.

Maybe thats why I feel quite safe in that place.

Ditched and completely unloved … but safe and comfortable.

I know what to do here.

– – –

end of digression lol.

I know i’ve written about these ebbs and flows of mine, before. But today they feel glaringly fucken painful. I want so much to just feel even … actually to just feel numb. It’s days like this I wish I could drink like I used to. While other people were so stoked that I gave up drinking (years ago now) and ‘forged a new more positive life for myself’ … how little did they know what that actually meant … or was going to mean! And how little They were going to be around for the aftermath!

You know, you can take away someones means of existence because You think it’d be better for Them and just quietly, for You. But really … all you’re doing is taking away their means for coping. I mean, who really gives a shit if they’re hurting no-one but themselves, in your opinion. Does their drunkeness make them smile … sing … sleep?

Then leave them the fuck alone.

Reality bites. We all fucken know that. Why would you want them to suffer that ay?

I aint talking about peeps with kids or peeps that spend all the dollars on drunken antics instead of food etc. But the homeless dude down the road wants to drink his liver into a state of shock … why shouldn’t he? But No, we want him to sober up, get a job, a house aka stress and bills … and be Just Like Us Productive Peeps.

Fuck that.

Again … leave them alone if they’re happily drunk.

Anywho ….

Back to Me … days like today, I’d drink myself into happy oblivion if I could. But I can’t cos that shit don’t agree with Me anymore.

Fuck it all.

Instead, I’ll sit here and type this shit.

Looking for this – – – – – through my words, my writing, my guessing, my unfolding.

Sometimes, just sometimes, shit absolutely fucken sucks ass; and it’s all alright ay.


kpm ©


 

another one bites the dust

I wonder some days, if I’m hitting that age that my Nan used to talk about … where those that you’ve known throughout your ‘energetic’ years, start to drop off. Somehow in my granddaughter brain though, I thought that was like, 70 or 80 years of age. Not that I was paying much attention I guess.

So, I’m nearly 45 – half of 90, so I figure (calculating my gene pool etc), I’m just over half way there ;) In which case, finding out another peep has been found swinging by the neck, is not really surprising.

Maybe?

I get that taking ones own life seems like a shit deal. I guess, I don’t view it that way.

Don’t get me wrong; I grieve … I feel slightly ripped and somewhat annoyed … mainly annoyed that yet again, I find myself staring down the mysteries of life and death and wondering; WT actual F?? This time the departed leaves behind 5 children and a wife and no ‘this is why i did it’ … which is also pretty ‘normal’.

So is the act of hara-kiri an act of cowardice? Of self-pity maybe? Of ill-health? A tip of the mental health balance? Or is it really the ultimate act of control over ones own destiny … demise?

I’m going with the latter.

We all die at some point and to think otherwise is just over zealous positive thinking. It’s a given. We don’t live in these vessels for ever. I believe ‘we’, as in our mauri / our spirits, live on, always … that we are forever in the minds and hearts of those we love … and those we pissed off ;) And that belief sort of helps me let go of the ‘person’ we knew here. ‘Cos theres so much more to people than what we can physically see isn’t there … and that’s the bit I usually can see without them saying a word.

So when they leave this world I believe they linger … their essence and our memories of them, live on.

I hope this newest statistic isn’t remembered as a statistic … I know their family doesn’t view them that way. I hope when we speak of them, their ending isn’t all that is spoken of.

For all of the family …

Tehei Mauri Ora.


kpm ©