other stuff ..

suicide anniversary’s & weird ass shit is in the air.

the hidden stuff. the shit that needs to get out.

feels like the universe is groaning.


kpm ©


 

yup, had to have my say:

twas World Suicide Prevention Day on Tuesday, 10 September 2019 🙄. 

here’s a typical ‘me-take’ on the ‘situation’ : you cant ‘prevent’ suicide. period.

having a friendly little chat isn’t going to change a decision that has taken more than a moment to get too.

suicide isn’t an ‘alternative’ option. its, the option that comes after you’ve tried a tonne of other options. its what you ‘get’ too. 

‘eww how do you know you know-it-all-cunt’ 🙄 my perspective / opinion is weighted in my 40 something year struggle with undiagnosed pts(d). you know some cunts top themselves after a few years of that shit? & dont feel sorry for this twot or get me wrong, i dont blame them, at all & im not interested in sympathies. its just an fyi, that suicide is an option. sometimes the only option. the only CHOICE you get left with that is fully in your hands.
the time of ‘helping’ someone is waaaay before the actual event.

1. listen. listen to everybody without mouthing off out of your own insecurities first.
2. listen.
3. listen & ask what they need.
4. listen. assess whether you can assist or whether you can provide resources or a phone call or a smile … whatever. LISTEN.
& finally … before you judge how someone is living, just know that there is a story behind how they got there. 


kpm©


 

natural cull?

misdiagnosis.


kpm ©


 

its a suicide related poem

i was seven

and he was 30 something, i think.

well, he seemed old.

but everything seems old when you’re little.

he was a whirlwind

tumultuous

but passionate

& safe.

but angry.

he was the funny one.

the loved one.

the crawl up into his lap one.

the one that should have stayed.

but his demons caught him

and his out was permanent.

and his body still, lifeless, asleep.

wanting to touch his hand

his face

to wake him up.

to take the bandage off

his face.

to wake him up.

and as their tears flowed

and i turned my head round, to take notice

it was grief, i saw.

but didn’t understand.

he would never wake up, ever again.

his life he took, his life was his.

his act of defiance and self determination,

it was his.

and the grief i felt

then, but not knowing

was in-compared

to the grief

that came later.

when i

understood.

that he wasn’t coming back.

or waking up.

or building.

or yelling.

or singing.

or being.

he was.

is.

dead.

he wasn’t before, but

now is free.

and we are sad.


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 ©


 

13 reasons why

So, I might be behind the times … dunno really …

But I did a binge watch of ’13 Reasons Why’ over the past couplely days. I guess it’s not for the faint hearted … but …

Oooosh.

Now wheres that conversation at??

I’m guessing it’ll rattle a few cages … but the gutts I got out of it was this:

  • Be Your Truth, and respect the fact that it won’t look or sound like someone elses truth.
  • Don’t take whats Not Yours or you feel Entitled too. Period.
  • No matter the shit that hits You … Never stop fighting.
  • But if you should stop fighting … Make Your Final Punch, a fucking memorable one!
  • And bottom line … Stop being cunts to one another.

It’s not nice to be a cunt.  And unless you’re Trump, there’s no amount of money being paid out for being a cunt, that makes being a cunt, worth it!

Or worth someones life.


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 ©


 

 

and the dead dude is still here…literally

As we pack up…well actually I pack up, and the partner moves around the house making it look like he’s packing up…yes, I know your steez! lol…we came across ‘the bro’s’ “box”. Well, not really ‘came across’ either…we know exactly where he has been…in our house! We’ve had him here with us for nearly 2 years. And he’s been dead, nearly 3; and me  and the partner got to talking, as we do.

‘the bro’ is one of the partners very bestest friends…I call them BFFs, but that’s apparently not very manly…so ‘bros’ it is. There were 3 of them in their ‘pack’ and they’ve been friends nearly all his life. Each one of them make up a very quirky whole. And whenever they got together it was beyond funny to watch…but quite a mesmerizing blessing to be part of.

Anyways, the bro in the box, topped himself nearly 3 years ago. I’ve written about him before, and generally try not to delve into his story…as its his story, and he can’t tell it anymore. But as it pertains to me…well, that’s different. And as it pertains to my relationship with his ‘bro’, my partner, that’s a different thing too.

When the partners bro topped himself there was the disbelief phase, the tears, the grief, the anger…all in circles and roundabouts they came. He left behind 4 beautiful children; then nearly 3 all the way up to nearly 17. The kids had their dad for a year…and is the ‘custom’ (loosely said…), he was supposed to be put in the ground after that year had passed.

There was disagreement about where he should lay…whose urupa (family cemetery) he should be at. But these disagreements were just the tip of the ice berg(s) really. Some of the family said he shouldn’t be buried anywhere because of what he had done to himself. Some said he shouldn’t be cremated and left in the box to be sitting on a shelf somewhere (that somewhere is our house btw!).

But what prevails really…is denial, grief and anger.

And me. My point of view. For the family…I get it. Both sides. His and theirs. But he’s dead now. And he’s gathering dust on our shelf. How respectful is that to anyone?

Then theres the ‘my’ opinion pertaining to ‘the partner’.

I watch him wrangling with denial and disbelief…and then swinging into anger and grief and disbelief. He asks himself ‘why’ and ‘wtf’ in the most manly of ways lol. And that hurts me. Seeing him hurt.

And then theres the ‘mine and the partners’ view of the whole thing.

When the bro arrived here, I blessed his box and gave him the rules (yes I believe the dead can still hear us). I told him if he played up he’d have to go to the shed. Then we made room for him on the shelf in our lounge. The partner put his bros photo up and a few mementos. A miniature shrine is what we ended up with. But it was only going to be for a year…while the daughters decided where their dad should be laid to rest.

We deal with the grief differently than most I suppose. Don’t get me wrong…we’ve done our fair share of ‘why would he do that to himself…to his family…to his BFFs’. And then we talk to the bro…usually call him an asshole or a fuckwit followed by generally taking the piss out of the whole situation…we’ll tell him he can pick his task for the week…door stop…or foot rest…or cup holder…then we say to him, ‘hey if you’re gonna stay here, you need to pull your weight…’, all with a bit of a tear and a laugh. But under all that jest…it hurts the partner…more than me. I hurt, because he hurts. And laughter helps him to process all that stuff that he can’t explain sometimes…

But now, nearly 2 years have gone by and the bro has gathered dust on the shelf…and I wonder why they haven’t asked for him?

And that’s what me and the partner got to talking about.

For all the family’s disagreements about where their son, father, uncle, nephew…should lay to rest…none of them have actually faced that he is still here. That this dude topped himself. He thought to do that…because he was sad, because he couldn’t see a way out, because…we don’t know. Yes they may feel that it was a self fish act of violence against himself and against them…but we will never know…

And leaving him to gather dust on the shelf…

Well, now that’s sad.

For whatever his reasons were, he was a loved friend of the partner. And I get the family’s grief…but I think we get a say now…

So my real opinion, as it pertains to me…and my experience with suicide and death and love and depression and feeling sad and being trapped and…

I think its cruel to leave him locked up in that box for this long…when what he was looking for to begin with was…freedom.

Who are we to keep it from him now?


kpm ©