how u like them apples ….

a capital A. for Arrogance (which is actually dripping from the pores of NZ atm).

after waiting over 2 years & multiple requests to see a specific type of psychologist through ACC & then Me finally finding & engaging with one – the cunts send Me a letter to say they have found a psychologist & have approved planning sessions & how important it is for me to feel supported in my motherfucking wellness, ‘please do not miss your appointment & if we can help further, don’t hesitate to contact us’.
#getfuckedcunts

i fucken hate bureaucracy.

*breathing out … & letting it go grrrrr*


kpm ©


 

Image

the day that was, is, and thank fuck is nearly over.

A cunt of a day is nearly done and dusted … thank fuck for that!

After my discussion with the shrink last week, this was my first appointment back. And it was productive :) We went over our ‘misunderstanding’ in more depth and I got to hear a bit about her line of work ~ with the kiddy fuckers. She didn’t go into details ~ but explained that her talk of cynicism, that I had taken on board, was actually a reference to her and her line of work. Somewhere between her accent and ‘cultural’ difference, and my heightened anxiety, I had taken on board something that she was referring to, in the first person. She explained it today.

That because of the ‘type’ of person she works with; there is a line where your ‘distaste’ for them, can move into cynicism that means you can’t be effective in the work you do with them. That while a sense of humour between her and her colleagues was necessary, it was a thin line between moving from humour to distaste to cynicism.

I got that; From working in Youth Justice. There was an extremely thin line between ‘helping’ them and disliking them ~ especially when some of their crimes were heinous and they were so young. Sometimes compassion wasn’t enough and humour was necessary – but sometimes, that wasn’t appropriate.

Anyway ~ I got what she was saying. And appreciated her apology. Which was more based on, that she shouldn’t have said anything … I didn’t need anything else to fuel my fire or to process.

So we will be doing more EMDR next session; around the waiting thing … the anticipation of things … that shit does me in!

We finish in July now, and that makes me nervous … so I’m going to have to work on that too.

The ‘cunty’ part of the day was prior to the shrink though. And it did me in for the remainder of the day.

My doctor is hell’a slow. He’s efficient-ish, but slow. And I think I’ve talked about this shit before … but … there is a serious lack of available doctors here, and I’ve tried changing my doctor. But the waiting lists are long (like years long) and the emergency ones are fresh out of doctor college (so I’m not keen!)… and a couple of years ago, all I wanted was my meds, so I have put up with my current doctor…for far too long!

Alongside that, ACC, who assist with my ‘accident’ rehabilitation ~ yes that’s right, Sexual Assault of a Minor, according to them, is an ‘accident’ (but that’s another story!) ~ are also SLOWER THAN A SLOTH when it comes to helpful rehabilitation (of sorts)!

Add these things to a PTSD mix and it’s not a cocktail for holistic health.

And I’ve put up with it for so long, because I didn’t have the stamina to deal with either of these assholes.

But today, I got into the doctors…which is always hard; PTSD hard (travel, smells, lights, people blah blah), and while I have progressed and can handle my shit abit better … it’s still hard. So I get in there, to get my ACC papers that I have been waiting for nearly a month for, and he tells me he can’t do them in that short space of time.

Well, I lost my shit.

‘Why haven’t you done them’ ‘I pay for my appointments, I want my shit done’ ‘If you couldn’t do them, why bring me in?’ ‘You understand how fucking hard it is to get in here ay?’ ‘And how long am I supposed to wait for them now??? Fucks sake’

In amongst all that, the tears and snot started flowing and he was trying to tell me how busy he had been and I’m saying I couldn’t give two fucks … the panic attack set in and i started hyperventilating and he ushers me out of the room into another …

My fuck I was angry!!

I sobbed and snotted and breathed and did that so loudly the nurse next door came in to see if I was alright to which I abruptly said HELL NO.

The partner arrived and the doctor tried to explain to the partner what had happened and he took one look at me and clenched his fists … to his credit, he didn’t deck the doctor; he just got me out. The lady at the front desk apologised profusely as she had been reprimanded … and all the while I’m still sobbing and snotting everywhere.

L M F A O

I was angry at me for not being as capable as I ‘used’ to be … for being a PTSD fuckwit … for feeling weak … I was angry at the doctor for being a slow fucker … an incompetent fucktard who was laying the blame on his slow ass on everyone but himself … I was angry at ACC for requiring so many pieces of paper to be ticked and flicked and signed that a small forest was probably harmed during the making of said paper … and that is just to get a process started! … I was just filthy angry!

And still am.

But what was good, was because I had snotted and sobbed and hyperventilated a shitload before I got back into the car … the panic attack lasted about 10 minutes as opposed to a half hour or so … it reminded me of when I went to the dentist.

Because I had ‘vented’ what was actually going on in me, instead of holding onto it … no matter ‘how’ it came out … I felt a shitload better. Exhausted, but relieved.

What I do about the rest of this is to be decided when I’ve rested and gathered my thoughts properly.

In the meantime … all I know is …

PTSD sucks ass.

Our medical system sucks ass.

Our ACC system sucks ass.

On a way lighter and more pleasant note … we picked up our oldest Moko for a couple of days … and he is just delightful :)

I Love Him.

xoxo


kpm ©


 

SaveSave

SaveSave

Image

dear:

Dear * insert – name / corporation / government entity / ‘health-care’ professionals *

Fuck your opinion, professional or otherwise.

& stick your kindest regards up your ass.


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

yesterdays stuff: progress

The shrinks appointments aren’t as frequent as last year…think that’s called progress ;)

But we kicked off the sesh with the usual catch up, and I got to tell her I’ve dropped the ‘walking stick’; dropped the benzos; and dropped taking the pillow and blanky everywhere with me :) … it’s all progress…

And that I’d done the front seat of the car and 4 shops in the neighboring town. She was pretty pleased. She can tick the boxes for ACC so they don’t cut my shit off just yet.

We also got into the, how to maintain myself during and after the dreaded panic attacks…cos they still happen, and can be hugely debilitating. While I’m not as freaked for as long and try hard to not let them put me off going places I want too…they are fucking horrible as they happen.

So we did the old EMDR on my waiting room ordeal and figured out that that same feeling translates to every other thing that sets off a panic attack. I’ve always known this really, it’s just hard to put it into words / frame it up.

When I feel trapped…which can be waiting; … I feel vulnerable … I start to feel anxious … the longer it takes to get a grip on it … the more heightened I feel … and then its over grover. I go dizzy, shaky, blurry … I can tell myself that I am alright; safe; not vulnerable etc. … but my body doesn’t give a shit about what I’m telling it … it wants OUT! Out, Out, Out … and that out feeling translates into a panic attack of seismic proportions.

The EMDR seemed to help a little a bit… but I won’t really know until I’m in that situation again…which in itself is fucked … it’s why I have avoided all situations that have produced this type of reaction … seemed pretty wise to me!

But, yes, it got so debilitating that I couldn’t go anywhere, at all. Not even to the god dam letterbox … and that is even more fucking annoying than the panic attack itself.

I get why I do this … why my body does this. But I am over it … I want to be able to do what I want to do when I want to do it. I’ve become trapped by the trapped feeling. Hate that shit…

Anyway…progress. Here’s to it!!!!!


kpm ©


 

 

Image

1st one for 2016

I’ve had a break from the shrink and all the shrink things that go along with therapy, for about a month…Christmas, New Years stuff and all. I enjoyed Christmas and New Years in my own little, ‘coming into my own well-being’, way! I lessened the breather thingy and the use of my walking stick…I’m still rocking the headphones and music and sunglasses and small bag of tricks, for most outings. But on a whole, its been steady progress, without having to check in with the shrink.

So all I’ve been soaking up really is the goodness that is beach life…the sun, sand, birds chirping, the occasional passer-by, good food, the garden, the ocean, the sound of the ocean, bright stars at night, warm fires…beach life!

And yesterday we floated off for my first 2016 appointment with the shrink; garbed in sandals and shorts and t shirts…feeling like we had just got off the plane from the tropics…we rounded the corner, heading for the city; and got met with dark and gloomy rainclouds…not the nice kind. I tried to remain positive…whilst sitting in the front seat! Yah Me! I tried remaining, in spirit, in the sunshine, we had just come from.

Then we entered the city.

Now on any given day…PTSD day that is… the city is a head fuck. But I was prepared yesterday, I thought. But the anxiety hit me as soon as I got to the outskirts…its hard to explain….

But it kind of looks like this….

THERESPEOPLEANDWALLSANDSOUNDSANDHOUSESANDFLASHINGLIGHTSANDSPARKLYLIGHTSANDMOREWALLSANDMOREPEOPLETHERESNOROOMTOBREATHNOBIRDSNOSUNJUSTCRASHINGANDBANGINGANDNOISETHATMAKESNOSENSEANDMOREPEOPLERUSHINGANDRUNNINGANDBUSYANDBLANKANDPALEANDLOUDANDLAUGHINGATNOTHINGITSMELLSFUNNYANDTHERESNOSWEETNESSORAIRORROOM……………….ANDITJUSTDOESNTMAKESENSE……………………………………………

Yeah, that’s what it feels like!

So we get to the office and I said to the partner; who is a whole lot better by the way (and that is another post!); ‘it’ll be an hour, please be back by 11’.

The shrink did all the ‘touch base’ stuff and we didn’t do EMDR, thank fuck. 11 o’clock rolls around and we’re finished…and I’m feeling pretty ok. Until I realised the partner wasn’t there to pick me up yet. So, I had to wait in the waiting room. Now this is the first time I’ve sat in the waiting room…for reasons that make sense to me…the receptionists voice is god awful; its shrieky and shrill; the phone rings, people come through, its suffocating…blah blah.

I sat in that waiting room for 20 minutes and had myself a delightful 8.9 on the panic attack Richter scale! I tried the music and headphones and colouring in book and breathing…..and it got worse….I tried to think clearly and reasonably and it got worse!

BUT…I rode it out; I got through it; and the partner got to me eventually! I’ve definitely still got issues with waiting…and that’s something I’ll take up with the shrink next week.

But, coming away from  the office and navigating traffic and collapsing at the daughters house for an hours nap…I got to reassessing a few things….

There’s a huge push to reintegrate back into the work force…be productive…be ‘better’…get busy…get going…move somewhere that will provide ‘opportunities for meaningful employment’….blah blah fucking blah.

Well, I don’t think that whole routine gels with a well being that is centred on well being! Not for me anyway! I don’t want a bar of it! And when I talked to the partner…after ripping shreds off him for being late and leaving me to wait and feel vulnerable…blah blah!!!…It turns out he was having a similar wave of thought! He had gone off, after dropping me at my appointment, to see a guy about paint.

Now here, where we live, when you go to see a guy about paint, it takes about 3 hours and involves discussion about where you all come from, the garden, the weather, the fishing, the guy down the road that fixes cars, the house that’s up for sale across the road…and finally, paint. Then you get a tin of paint from the guy and you walk home. But the partner…he sat in traffic for 15 minutes, got 2 minutes down the road and waited for the road works for another 15 minutes…rounded the corner and sat in traffic for another 10 mintes before heading off to see the guy about paint! When he got there…the guy was out! So he headed back…through all the traffic…hense being late by 20 minutes!!! The partner was surprisingly calm….but…he wanted to go home…back to the beach! He said, he couldn’t understand why everyone was in such a hurry…what was so god dam important that you had to be cutting someone off in traffic, speeding on by and tooting aggressively at everything! I have to agree! It’s no wonder there’s so many head fucked people around….im pretty sure there is no need for all that rushing about…and from what I know about adrenalin and cortisol now…its definitely not good for us!!!!

So, in a nutshell….the shrink session was abit blah…everything after was enlightening but fucked!

Shrink next week….the art of WAITING???!!!!


kpm ©


 

completed

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.

Oooohhh

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

But

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 ©


 

the dreaded emdr…done

I had the session of EMDR yesterday, which I must say, I prepared pretty well for. It’s taken all day today though, to recover from my well-prepared-ness!

So, the shrink moves offices every week, and this week we were in a ‘child friendly’ zone; which I thought was pretty spooky actually. Lots of books and kids toys and affirmation cards…you know, “I am special”, “I am loved”, “I am safe”, type things. Gave me chills lol.

Anyway, I breathed through the first and worst…focusing on the memory…rating it from 1 to 10 on the disturbance scale…then we were off with the finger waving thing…which is rather disorientating and hard to focus on…but I breathed, and breathed.

This time, my head hurt like fuckery…the front and sides and after a couple rounds, the back of my head. Then my face, sinuses to be more specific; then my shoulder blades. Throughout the whole thing too, I had this horrible butterflies feeling throughout my tummy and chest. I didn’t like that. After about 20 minutes, I went numb and really, really tired.

I don’t really get it all…in theory I sort of get it…we’re replicating sleep, dreaming and the processing that happens. I get too, that the body holds onto memory, or trauma, even long after the event has been and gone. But this…the finger waving, non talking, headachy shit that happens…I don’t really get it.

What I do know though, is that because I don’t get it, it’ll probably work. I have this fucked up sense of trying to make sense out of everything I come across. And I’ve probably worked myself into this state of having to ‘get it’ before I participate in it, so much so, that I don’t participate in anything. And I’ve gotten so bundled up with anxiety and fear that I’ve gotten to the point where I’ll try virtually anything just to get some relief…well I’m sure there’s some shit I wouldn’t try…

But, when we finished this session I felt like I’d been run over by a train. And we haven’t finished processing this one completely apparently. The shrinks gonna come out to me next week…It’s gonna be a busy week.

I went and hung out with my youngest daughter and moko after the shrink …that was cool. They’re both beautiful for the wairua (spirit). I tried to have a nap but that didn’t work…moko wanted to ‘chat’ ;).

So, another sesh down. ..and I survived 😉


kpm ©


 

SaveSave

Image

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.

xx


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 ©


 

the shrink today

She says it’s all improvement, after regaling the ‘restaurant’ feasco.  That 6 months ago I wouldn’t have gone there at all. So well done me.

She’s talking about a sensory deprivation tank?! Never heard of it before, but apparently it blots out sensory input so you can…chill. The idea for me i guess, is to lessen the time it takes to come ‘down’ from a freak out episode. But this shit is ex – pensive and isn’t really in the ACC budget. ..go figure…but copious amounts of brain fucking medications are grrr.

Anyway….now we are going to work on getting ready to go in to her office for my appointments instead of her coming to me. …all part of her master plan of ‘re intergration’ pfft. But I’ll roll with it for now…I want my bloody life back….well actually,  no I don’t…I want a re modeled one!…so rolling with it.


kpm ©


 

emdr again.

I finally did the next session of the (in)famous emdr, after having the last 2 sessions postponed…due to…me.

And while I wasn’t too apprehensive…I should of been. The first couple seemed sort of ho-hum…tiring…but…yeah, ho-hum. And it wasn’t till a couple of weeks later that I actually noticed a change in my ‘thinking’ or feeling. But each session was not particularly painful…possibly due to the wonderful art of dissociation.

But this time…it hurt like a bitch.

I hadn’t really prepared for tears and hurt and shit. Just the waving of the finger. I should’ve prepared for tears and hurt and shit. I guess I’ll be better prepped next round.

The memory tackled involved the pedo cunt so I’m guessing that’s probably why it was a tad more painful. Genius!

This time round, I did the finger following sweet, apparently (yah, super successful me blah). But this time it felt like…numb…sweet…breathing increase…panic…numb…tired…panic…tears…I want to run away…more panic…numb…more tears…headache…chest sore…throat stuck…

all in a matter of moments!

It was freaky and dare I say it again…freaking tiring. Emotional…grrr don’t like emotions.

Anyway, we got back to the ‘happy place’ and then the shrink asks me if I feel alright…ah, no. So she does a bit more waving of the finger and gets me down to a 3 – on the scale of 1 to 10, 1 being awesome – 10 being shit. Then informs me that this stuff isn’t completely resolved…processed…whatever…and we’ll have to pick it up again next session.

Oh Yippie. Can’t wait…NOT.

But next time, that’s right, I’m prepping for it…for tears and hurt and all that shit!


kpm ©


 

first session & i’ve got issues with it

did my first session of EMDR on Saturday. good old shrink comes to me instead of me going to her…its not worth the stress, for me…don’t know about her though…oh well, she gets paid well.

EMDR – Eye Movement Desensitisation Reprocessing, seems to be the ‘new kid on the block’ at the moment; for those fucked enough to receive it anyways. i’d asked for Exposure Therapy, but apparently I was too fucked (my words) for that – for the intense shit anyway. so I got the shortened version of it.

our tiny little country sports about a dozen EMDR therapists with about a dozen more in training. it’s all a bit of a stab in the dark by the sounds of it…but i listened to her, and then complied with the process…or processing.

before commencement though, i filled in four sheets of forms…to assess whether i was currently in a dissociative state and whether this therapy could send me into a tail spin and tip-off a top off aka suicide! apparently one can’t be in any way disassociated, medical or mental…hmmm she realises disassociation is my norm ay??

anyway, first we bring up, or remember, a distressing memory…my question was, ‘which one do you want first?’. apparently the earliest i can remember. So wah-lah, i dished up the first and then the questions began.

the questioning bit reminds me of CBT and honestly, i question myself harder than this. but i rolled with it. the idea was to describe the memory, then the feeling associated with the memory. cool.

my question to her was ‘how am I supposed to attach a feeling to a memory for that age?’ (age being 3).

she had prompts.

my beef with prompts and trying to attach a feeling to a memory from that age bracket is…you don’t really have the ability, or language to describe a feeling at that age. remembering my girls at that age, and my mokos, they fell to the floor and had a tantrum if they were upset or pissed off. they screamed if they were in pain, they cringed and hid behind one of us if they were scared.

they didn’t sit up and say ‘excuse me peeps, I’m feeling a deep sense of sadness and loss associated with you taking the fork off me and telling me in a slightly too stern tone, that i am unable to place it in the electricity socket’.

yep, it doesn’t make sense. so to add prompts to an event; or language to an event, when there wouldn’t really have been one … is dodgy to say the least.

so, i told her what my body did at the time of the event, because I can remember that. i told her she could interpret that how ever she sees fit, but i wasn’t going to add-on something that i could not have verbalised at the time.

this continued through 5 other memories. she wanted the ‘big one’ but i’m not going there yet. i don’t really want her mincing through my memories if i’m unsure she actually knows what the fuck she’s doing.

so after number 6 memory, all of them, varying degrees of horrific and fucked up, she moves into the next phase.

she sits next to me, waves her fingers strategically in front of my face and asks me to follow them. i do. i’m then asked to remember something good or ‘safe’. you know, the old ‘safe place’.

now let me digress or divert or whatever.

here’s where I have another problem with this whole therapy thing related to infant sexual assault recipients. (yes, you may have noticed I don’t do the title or the label like the text-book. say it as it is i reckon. i’m not a victim, or a survivor as such. i’m the recipient of some one else’s fucked up-ness. does that make me a victim and then survivor thereafter…probably…but don’t dress up the title with something a bit more palatable…it is what it is.)

my supposed ‘safe place’ is non-existent. i have a safe-ish feeling…sometimes. and quite frankly, if i had a safe place, don’t you think i’d be there? and if i had a sense of safety and security, don’t you think i’d take that with me everywhere and probably wouldn’t be having panic attacks and shit? there is no safe place. reality. fact. i have safe moments as memories…and i’m trying to remember more of them to balance the other stuff out. but the world is a desperately shitty, violent and fucked up place. period.

so, i told her this, and she persisted. so the best i could come up with, was a person that i had spent about 2 hours with, a few years ago, that had made me feel quite safe and protected in the environment that i was in.

that became the ‘safe place’.

so she’s waving her fingers, i’m following with my eyes, trying to ‘feel’ the safe place; and then she asks me to recollect the distressing memory, all the while watching her fingers; and then the safe place.

hey presto – ‘how do I feel now’.

dizzy was my response. so she did it again. how did I feel after that? …tired was my response.

and apparently that’s what I should feel.

and as the distressing memory makes its way from the front of my brain somewhere, to the back…the re-processing bit…i should be okey dokey after that. as I re-process the memory ‘properly’ and trade in the distressing for the safe…i ‘should’ be good.

and thats what i have issue with. the ‘shoulds’. i feel like a guinea pig.


kpm©


 

I don’t want to close my eyes

 

Sometimes I don’t want to turn the lights off…and I don’t want to close my eyes.

Sometimes I don’t want to sleep…just in case I can see what I do when my eyes are closed.

That sometimes moment…is now.

She says, the psychologist, that even though I don’t want to do something, I need to just do it anyway. It’s all part of the new theory of not letting your thoughts rule you. Just because I think something doesn’t mean that its real. Or that it should stop me.

But she’s never been in my dreams. And she’s never been there when my eyes are closed.

She says that it will get better. And she’s right in part.  It is better. Sometimes.

She says to get my ‘bag’ of sensory things when I feel like I don’t want to be present. To find the thing that helps ground me.

But I don’t know that I need grounding at the moment. I just don’t want to close my eyes. And I don’t want to be present.

I haven’t told her yet, that the thing she says I should do…the, just do it anyway…is what I’ve always said. Just do it anyway. It hurts but just do it anyway. You don’t like it but just do it anyway. It’s been the survival theme song.

And now it’s supposed to help me let go of everything that I see when my eyes are closed.

It’s some fucked up shit alright. Times like this, I wish I wasn’t giving up the pills.

But I am…and I won’t give up fighting…cos I don’t…and I will be alright…and I will close my eyes…and I will sleep…and I will be alright.


kpm ©