#ptsd

is perpetual panic.

period.


kpm©

a narrative ..

they said i wanted to grow up too fast.

but that was the wrong narrative.

i was forced to be grown. & at the time y’all did nothing to stop that from happening or to ensure my childhood was preserved.

now i am grown completely, raging even, & the accurate is being told & still y’all dont like it.

but thats too fucking bad.

.


kpm©


 

just some thoughts ..

It’s strange times atm.

What I’m noticing is the reluctance for reality.

.

Had a convo that led to the topic of sexual assault and I made an offer for this person to peruse the evidence I had given for the ACC review. So that could see for themselves the reality that is, me.

I was accused of trying to traumatise them.

.

So .. this brings up a tonne of questions for me.

One – why is it so hard to discuss the facts of an ordeal such as sexual assault? What doesn’t the world want to hear? Or an individual? Why are they so hell bent on believing lies rather than seeking truth?

I get it’s strange times, but this depth of denial is not new.

It’s what keeps children being repeatedly offended against.

Also how is speaking truth about someone else’s truth traumatising to another?

I’m beginning to believe the world is full of pussies.

.


kpm©


 

art & analysis

analysis is art.

an analyst, is an artist.

.

its telling a story by dissection & uncovering.

.

its truth finding.

.

#thatsme

.


kpm ©


 

the truth.

or someone else’s version of it –

its a kick ass reality check, if you let it be.


kpm ©


 

.

just cos someone else says its correct, does not maketh it correct.


kpm ©


 

& go.

no nonsense, clear as fucken fuck.

i’m ready.

are you?


kpm ©


 

to speak

forgot, that speaking,

or more specifically,

espousing a desire, want,

need,

brings silence.

not of the golden variety.

but the punishment variety.

the variety that silences, You.

that silences Your World.

Your truth.


kpm ©


 

fierce ~

for too long

I have listened

remaining silent

to the ignorant

uncompassionate discourse

espousing their taunts:

 

“Get over it all ready …

Stop using it as an excuse …

That was years ago …

You need to forgive …

You need to move on”.

 

And as I have fought my own

demons

of a pervert cunt

getting into

my tiny panties;

defending myself from an

impending assault that

exists only in my senses and dreams now;

I am loathed to

plead

with you to understand my position;

to educate yourselves;

to show some empathy

and compassion.

Not realizing however,

that you,

the ignorant

do not wish to understand.

But,

as I raised my own daughters,

I learned what

being 3 looks like.

.

It has grazed knees and tantrums.

It picks its nose and flicks it.

It imagines fairies and candy.

It rolls around on the floor with its cat.

It chases butterflies.

It draws pictures and bakes cakes with its Nan.

.

and what it doesn’t look like.

.

It doesn’t have nightmares.

It doesn’t hide under the bed.

It doesn’t hold its head because it hurts.

It doesn’t slice its arms.

It doesn’t piss its pants in fear.

And it deserves

Fierce, fierce

Protection.

So now I defend my being;

my position.

And I refuse to listen to any more

uneducated bullshit

or let ignorance be an excuse

or an answer.

.

And for her,

for me;

.

for all those little people

that didn’t make it

out of that dark room

with prying fingers

and filthy deeds;

for all those little people

who never got the chance

to get out

and grow up

and live a life worth fucking living;

for all those little people,

just like me,

who grew up

into big people,

who are still battling their demons

and healing their scars;

who have rocked in the corner

holding their head in their hands,

for far too fucking long;

I will keep speaking the unwelcome truths

and the

mundane horrors,

so we will be heard,

our stories told.

So we can change

the future for all

Our Babies.

.

Haumi e! Hui e! Tāiki e!


kpm©


 

Link

I am Racist, and You Probably are Too

A realistic, refreshing and informative read on Racism and what I essentially call, white privilege and a reality check.

Comments are turned off here. Please visit Peas and Hominy for more.

 

Peas and Hominy

“Hate and ignorance have not driven the history of racist ideas in America. Racist policies have driven the history of racist ideas in America.”

– Ibram X. Kendi

It is quite disheartening to realize that the people that need to read this will not. I assume that if you are reading this, you probably already have an open mind and are willing to engage. I think I have come to terms with this because we have to begin somewhere. We cannot keep sitting on the sidelines waiting for the world to change.

Now, you may think that racism is not truly an issue, or at least not an issue in your immediate context. You may claim that you are not a racist because you avoid hating others because of their skin color. I have believed both of these things, and I was wrong on both accounts.

I can only really…

View original post 780 more words

unity? collective?

Just ‘adult’ words for:

do it my fucking way.


kpm ©


 

Link

My Pledge

#throwback Nov 13, 2016 @ 11:24

Written by my friend: Johanna <3


In all my readings over the last few days, no-one has responded better, in my opinion, than this self proclaimed “old woman who happens to be white” and is “not proud of what other members of” her “race (and the electoral college) have done in electing Trump. What can I do?” <3

All Things Chronic

As an old woman who happens to be white, I’m not proud of what other members of my race (and the electoral college) have done in electing Trump. What can I do?

I pledge to stand up with every group that Trump has denigrated. I pledge to be vocal about my support for the LGBTQ community, people of color, women, veterans, the disabled, those who suffer from mental health conditions, the homeless, and of course, pain patients.

If you want to be a racist or a bigot, you cannot do so if I’m around. This has nothing to do with political correctness. This is about being a human being.

On the internet or out in public, at Walmart or in Walgreens, if you behave like a racist, sexist, or homophobe, be warned that I will call you out on it. I’m not afraid of you. You think Trump has given…

View original post 27 more words

what helps?

When I google things like ‘how to deal with anxiety’; or look through the ‘anxiety and pts(d)’ tags here on wordpress …  a shittonne of well meaning self help guru sites pop up.

Now no offence directly intended … and I do have a point …

For some people, these are the keys they are looking for in and on their journey.

For people like Me … they are a minefield of alternate questions, advertising, manipulation and alterations.

Self help sites; glorified ‘i had a hard time and now I’m all better’ sites, Do Not work for Me. I wish they would … but they don’t. The same goes for people, occasions, therapists, psychologists … For Me, the disingenuous is not a selling point or a motivational tool … it is a pain in the ass.

So what helps?

Truth.

Plain and simple, raw, tell it like it is: Truth.

#JS


kpm ©


 

Link

Donald Trump’s racism is a White American value.

#racism #reality #history and #truth from “The Negro Subversive”.

The Negro Subversive

I’ve long since lost track of when I first heard it. In all likelihood, it was during the primaries, maybe it was after Trump said that Mexico was dumping rapists and murderers across its northern border. Maybe it was after he attacked the parents of a dead Muslim soldier, implying that his grieving father had beaten his grieving mother into silent submission. Maybe it came earlier: Maybe after it became common knowledge that Trump took out full paged ads calling for a return of the death penalty, just so the state of New York could kill five Black teenagers falsely convicted of raping a White jogger. I could have first heard it in a thousand places, but, I can never ignore it when I hear it. It grates. It twists itself into my abdomen, it triggers a mild but unmistakable bullshit induced stress response. Trump says something hateful: pundits respond:…

View original post 1,703 more words

to be, to do

I Resist.
I don’t conform.
Even when I do.
My heart with Never conform.
Not to the quo.
Not to the ‘musts’.
Its part of my nature.
Part of the non-conformist dialogue.
And when I snap my pics
it’s also to explain.
To explain my view,
Share my perspective …
the intricate. the narrative. the story within the story.
I was a child.
I still am a child.
I was a frightened child.
Who survived an extraordinary experience.
Who choked on a dick too large for her
tiny throat.
And she’s been choking ever since.
They named it pts(d) and said I was super sad.
So sad that I may harm myself.
But I didn’t.
Not on purpose anyway.
Instead I died, just a little, as the shit got kicked
The head got beat
The heart got broke
The bottle got empty.
And all she could do was cower.
So cowering became the sport.
The sport for healing.
The transport for unfolding.
To build a bubble that could expel the fear
and protect the good.
the good being, Me,
So, so serious has been my pain.
So so serious has been my tone
that even the lights are angry
the brightness is broken.
So she went and flipped the switch off.
Off. Till another could be found.
Not a replacement.
An entirely new form of light and dark.
Where the script is written in the dark
And the sleep takes place under the sun.
A place where an opposite is another.
Another option.
Another alternative.

kpm ©


 

Image

once upon a fucking time

once upon a fucking time.

yep.

once upon that motherfucking time.

I thought the grass was

green.

and the fucking sky was

blue.

I thought growing up.

meant growing better.

I thought being better meant.

being safer.

I thought, once upon a fucking time.

that when I got there,

and the grass was actually

gold.

and the sky was actually

silver.

all the little motherfucking things.

that little people have to do.

wouldn’t be any fucking more.

but as it turns out.

the grass isn’t green, or gold.

its burnt fucking amber.

the sky isn’t fucking blue, or silver.

its blood red.

and big people are full

of shit.

cos they knew it was

like that all along.

and pretended that it wasn’t.

they, you see.

wear rose tinted fucking glasses.

and didn’t want to say that

the glass isn’t just fucking half empty.

is fully fucking cracked.


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

uncomfortable shift…

i watch

the uncomfortable

squirm in their seats.

their skins.

when the mention

of

sexual assault.

.

the uncomfortable shift.

the awkward silence.

when said sexual assault

is, a child.

or me.

.

not like it comes up over lunch,

or anything.

it’s just conversation

i don’t hide.

 no longer apologize

or explain.

.

it is interesting though

that such a subject

as this.

causes an uncomfortable shift.

but not enough to do something

about it.


kpm ©


 

reality check, self

I’m a 3 shower a day person. If I can’t do that, then 2 at the minimum. I scrubbed myself in the shower, from head to toe, with a pot scrub type thing, for as long as I can remember. I stopped using that when my hair started falling out…pot scrubber on balding head…hurts! According to the sexual abuse therapists, this ‘excessive’ showering thing is pretty normal for someone with ‘my issues’. Pfft.

Ensuing conversation with self:

Do I believe this?

Well aside from the pot scrubber, I don’t think it hurts to be clean.

Am I hurting myself by showering ‘excessively’?

No, I don’t think so.

If I don’t shower 3 times a day, can I function?

Yes.

What about 2 showers?

Ummm.

What about no shower?

No. Definitely not.

So what would happen if I don’t shower in a day?

I’d feel dirty. Unfinished. Unclean.

Ok, so the first and third answers are pretty much the same. Are you really dirty though? Physically?

Yes. It feels like it.

Really?

Ok, probably not. Ok, not.

So what is dirty then?

Me. Ok, not physical me. But, me.

Me, where?

My head. My insides. I don’t know…just, Me.

Logically, is your head and insides really dirty?

Well…no. I get what your doing…and I don’t fucken like it.

Really?

I feel dirty alright. ‘I’…’Me’…I feel dirty…wretchedly filthy.

Do you think that is why you dream of open sores and puss?

Of course it fucken is.

So that’s how you see yourself? Puss filled and contaminated.

YES. And your line of questioning is starting to piss me off.

But, do you see a flaw in your reasoning and the belief that you need to shower not twice bit thrice a bloody day to remain clean?

Yes of course I fucken do. But I like being clean.

But you’re not getting clean. Do you understand that?

Yes. I understand that.

So why do you believe that all those showers will actually get you clean?

Because it makes sense to me. If it’s dirty, then clean it. Like the fucken house and the laundry and anything else that is dirty.

It makes sense that if it was physically dirty, it needs to be cleaned. But you’re describing your insides…your feelings…your being. Why do you think that is dirty?

Because it fucken is.

Why?

It’s filth.

So your filth?

I suppose.

Why do you suppose you are filth then?

You ask a lot of fucking questions you know that.

Yes. So why?

Because…my fucking history tells me fucking so.

Have you ever thought about the fact that your history may be inaccurate?

What is that supposed to mean?

Inaccurate, as in, just because that’s the experience you experienced, doesn’t mean that is YOU.

Hah?

Would I be right is surmising that those who harmed you did so because they were wrong?

I suppose.

Do you believe you did something to bring about that harm?

Ahhh…yes. Yes I do.

How do you suppose you managed that?

I…was to small. To quiet. To vulnerable.

Those aren’t reasons enough to harm someone.

And, what is your fucken point.

They harmed you, not due to anything you did, or are. They harmed you because they could. Because they felt like it and they did.

And that’s supposed to make me feel better is it.

For whatever reasons they had that made them how they were, and do what they did…it wasn’t because of who you are as a person. It wasn’t because of your being.

Really.

And just as showering 3 times a day won’t get you any cleaner than 2 or 1 times a day, so believing that you are filth and brought about the events that occurred to you, are also inaccurate.

Really.

You know this. You could not have changed the event. Nothing you did brought it about. Nothing you did or said during could have changed the outcome. You did not do anything wrong. Nor did you bring about by the essence of your being, the things that happened.

Really.

But there’s more to it than that. Why you can’t let it go.

Really?

You can’t let it go because you would be leaving her there, for a second time.

What?

You heard. You left her there. You didn’t save her. You left her there, frozen and silent while you fucked off to never-never land.

AY

You disassociated fool, and you’ve been doing it ever since. Half of you is in the past, the rest of you is trying to control your future, and you are left here excessively showering and cleaning shit up. Your doing the do. But you’re not here.

I am here.

No you’re not. Your trying to be, but you’re not. Your anxious when your required to be present.

So.

So? That’s not an answer.

So.

You left her for a reason. You want to hear that reason?

Well your on a fucken roll so fire away.

You left to survive. Can you imagine being present for that? Don’t answer. You can’t, you can’t physically be enduring that and be present. Your psyche, your adrenaline, your powers of fucken brilliant insight, told you to remain still and not resist. You survived. But now its time to stop surviving and live for fucks sake.

I’m trying.

Your blogging. Your blogging in your safe little house, with your safe little safe things going on around you.

Yeah, but I am trying.

And yippie to you. Yes it’s all progress its all helping. But no ones going to tell you what I’m telling you. Your fucken alright. You are OK. You haven’t done anything wrong. Your not filthy. You don’t need to shower 3 times a day. You DO need to be on your side. You DO need to use all that intellect of yours again, and figure it out. You didn’t do anything wrong. You think you believe that, but you don’t really. Your actions say otherwise. You are incongruent.

No.

Yes you are. You love congruence. Where the in matches the out. But you are not that.

Ouch.

You believe one thing, really. But say and do another.

I don’t like this.

The point is really, you used to self analyse, properly. But you know your just scratching around the surface and hiding from the truth. Everything you’re doing is positive and it’s helping, but your shrinking away from the core of it. The point of it.

I don’t want to talk anymore.

That’s fine. You shut down. Like you do. Go and nurse your puku.

I will.

But tomorrow, at 1.30pm, you WILL get over it.

Why 1.30?

I can make it 10.30am if you like.

1.30s good.

You will go for a walk, do your breathing, do your raw food and plan your weekend. You will move. You will get up and keep going. You will. Tomorrow at 1.30pm. Alright?

Alright.

And this conversation isn’t over.

Alright.


kpm ©