ruminating on the demise of the pedo cunt

this has been swirling around the grey matter for a few days. since the conversation with my girl.

i haven’t let it effect me too much. so thats either progress, or dissociation or both lol.

i found out the pedo cunt has yet another victim. not surprising really.

there is a strange thing that happens though, in the psyche of the victim(s) of pedo cunts generally. we tend to believe, or come to believe, that we are the only ones. i think this is in part due to the disbelief that their sickness is indeed a sickness … like a disease, it spreads. we tend to believe that (maybe thats for preservation of our own sanity, I’m unsure) their deeds must have been a one off; that they couldn’t have possibly gone around fiddling with everything in sight and no-one notice it.

through my studies though, i gleaned that the average offender will have racked up a cool 20+ victims in the course of an average lifetime. these are minimal stats. the true representation is far higher, given that the average offender may have started in their teens and die in their 60s. most of these are unreported.

but these stats alone are revolting.

so back to the pedo cunt at hand.

turns out a neighbours son had quite a bit to do with him. enough time spent for the pedo cunt to introduce this child (7 at the time) to sadistic pornography. if anything else was done to the child, this has yet to be disclosed.

if anything was done to his siblings; this is also unknowen.

the likelihood of the pedo cunt having only picked 1 of the siblings for his loathsome pleasures is unlikely.

this leaves me wondering – how the fuck does the universe let this revolting human live on? why?

on a more realistic note however; it makes the idea of outing him completely and utterly, a likely scenario, to commence very soon.

i won’t dwell on it to much here. at the moment.

i can’t.

i just needed to get it out of my head.

me and my mama

My relationship with my Mama has been tentative and sometimes extremely volatile over the years.

When I was little I wanted a Mother that was like all the others appeared to be. I wanted love like everyone else seemed to get. I wanted understanding like I thought other kids got from their mothers.

I pretty much wanted my mother to be different than she was. Not all of her, just the bits I didn’t like.

As the years have gone on, and I had my own children, I still wanted her to be different. I still wanted her to understand me differently.

I also despised her for not protecting me.

Little did I realise then, and have only come to realise recently, that I am guilty of doing to my mother what I don’t like others doing to me.

Wanting me to be different than I am.

And you know what … when I stopped wanting her to be different than she was, I got to see her real beauty, not just tokenly appreciate the things she had done for me.

You see, my Mama is quite an amazing person when I stopped wanting something else … when I actually took a step back and looked at her properly.

Not only did she raise 2 children on her own in spite of the hurdles she had faced with both mine and my brothers fathers … she chased, exorcised, actively sought after and conquered her own demons whilst raising us.

I’ve learnt over the years, that theres a huge difference between parenting well and seeking out the ‘better’ … for yourself and your children … whilst you are nursing your own wounds. And we all carry wounds. No-one is immune to that. And that is what my Mama did. She strived for better, from herself and from us. From me. All her, what I perceived then as criticism, was her way of getting me to think about what I was doing and where I was going. She wanted better for me.

As for not protecting me … I’ve also come to realise that she did all she could and all she knew to do to protect me. She is not accountable for another persons filthy wretched being. She’s not accountable for another persons actions. They are.

I recently helped my Mama move from her little house to another. She’s just retired and her new place is about 15 minutes away from me. In another lifetime that would have been horrid. But now, I embrace it. In fact I absolutely love having her down the road and round the corner from us.

Over the last few days I’ve helped her unpack and de-clutter / re-organsie her living space. I’m good at that sort of shit. Really good. But what was even better was spending time with her.

As we went through all her things, we did this process I do so it’s easier for those that don’t want to let things go, let things go. We look at every item and do a practical count of things; if theres more than 2 things we have to look at what they’re all there for. Usually its got to do with memories. With each item, my Mama had a memory attached to it. I heard all her stories of all the things she held memories of. The things that were the most memorable, or that she absolutely loved, those things she kept and put on display instead of hiding them in a box. I think she enjoyed the process instead of it being painful. I used to criticise her for her clutter and disorganisation, because I didn’t like it and I wanted her to be different. But by the time we were finished, I got to see the beauty in all the things that she loves.

I love my Mama. I appreciate her deeply, now, for who she is.

She is amazingly intelligent; holds a degree; has completed some brilliant research; has gone back to study to pursue her love of art; she is a beautiful artist; a gritty activist; she’s a devoted and loyal woman with a deep deep passion for what is just and what is right; she abhors injustice and greed.

What more could anyone want in a role model and in a Mama?

Lastly, my Mama has always lived on the bones of her ass. I didn’t realise how much so until I lost my income and had to look at how I spent money; what I actually needed versus what I wanted; what was really important. Mama always fed us and clothed us; she always paid her bills and still had money left over to give to others. She sewed and bottled; baked and cooked; she saved and spent less. She was always careful about where every penny went. But I don’t recall her ever complaining about being broke … she just got on with it.

And while I have always heard people complain about the amount you receive when you retire and how little it is … because my dear dear Mama has learnt to live on virtually nothing all her adult life … retirement looks like manna from heaven. Most people would sniff at 30 or 40 dollars ‘extra’, but my Mama is living large … for her, she has hit the jackpot. Mama has never drank or smoked or eaten exotic foods or bought exotic clothing … she’s never gone on expensive overseas holidays or ordered overpriced gadgets to ease her ego; she’s never bought a brand new car or a brand new anything for that matter … she’s always lived minimally. And now … she can buy an extra block of cheese, and her favourite fruits, and some raw milk, and a steak … she can go for a coffee at the cafe if she chooses and buy an extra pot plant if she wants … she can even give the mokos a few dollars if she wants.

For all these reasons and a shitload more … I am forever grateful that my Mama is my Mama. That she is the perfect Mama for me. That I still have her here to enjoy. That she is close enough for my crusty anxiety ridden ass to get to every week. That I’ve figured out how important she is and can enjoy every moment with her, now.

Love you my Mama xoxo


First Published on: Jun 1, 2016 @ 00:06 ❤ ❤ ❤

touchy subject

I don’t think I’ve written about this before … but feel the slight-ish need to now, due to recent events in my most fabulous life lol.

It’s the subject of intimacy.

I write and talk quite freely about all things awkward, painful and controversial – with the ease of a dissociative twat. But that s how I do’s it; it works for me. And instead of fighting that now, I roll with it.

But the intimacy thing … well that’s all 3 – all kinds of awkward, painful and controversial.

When I say ‘intimacy’ I don’t just mean sex.

I think the cruel ‘irony’ of PTSD by sexual assault as an infant, is that unless you are going to become a hermit, or hermit-tess, you have to be intimate in one way or another, sometime throughout your life.

PTSD comes with flashbacks … sight, smell … intrusive reminders of something you’d rather forget. Sexual assault, at its core, permeates through every little part of you, that is you … that is yours.

Your physical being, that should only be yours … to share when you want … to offer when you want … is invaded long before it should be … in a way that should never be experienced.

And if you believe that your physical being is connected to your spiritual being, as I do, then sexual assault permeates that as well.

And then when someone touches you; stands in your space; comes in for a cuddle; shakes your hand … what do you imagine happens in those few moments?

Thats right, you re-live everything.


You see, I don’t have to be asleep to have nightmares. It happens all the time.

And in those moments, I have to assess what the danger ratio is, before I involuntarily dissociate or have a huge ass panic attack. Fight – Freeze – Flight.

“All she wants is a cuddle” “All they want is to say hello” “All they want is to be close to me”

That is my living nightmare.

And a nightmare I can see the results of everyday, on the faces of the people I care about … and who care about me.

Thats enough now.

I don’t like talking about this.


First Published on: May 26, 2016 @ 12:14 … and is still a subject I don’t do well.


i’m beginning

to see

to understand

as i shed

the layers

that i once


that you still



as i was

and cannot


anything else.

which means

you are looking


what makes



not at what




First Published on: Apr 9, 2016 @ 14:20 ❤


it seems to me

that if conforming

was easier

my types

of peeps


wouldn’t do it


First Published on: Mar 13, 2016 @ 12:22 😉


behind my door, the sunshine shines

its gleamy and bright

and looks like blankys and pillows

beyond my door, the darkness darks

its gloomy and grey

and looks like thunder and earthquakes


through my door you can see

and touch my world

through my door you can hear

and smell my world


a closed door

only opens

to a

certain knock


while you wait, you’ll hear

elevator music

screechy and annoying

but if you wait, you’ll hear


you’ll hear me


First Published on: Dec 10, 2015 @ 18:26 ❤

i found it :)

Not being the typical blogger … I know nothing about stats, notifications … doing things ‘the right way’. I don’t blog to become famous, or for money (bahahaha), or because I actually know a lot 😉

I blog … because … ummm …

Ok, its cheaper and easier than going to counselling …

No really … I do it for very respectable cathartic shit (please go to the About Page for that … I can’t remember what it was … )

Any who – a fellow blogger was talking about the Map of where people come from, that come and visit your blog. Took Me a little while – but eureka! I found it 🙂

And the winner is: America?!

Wait – So no-one in New Zealand loves Me ? 😦

Oh Well.

So this was my achievement of the day. I know right 🙂

I went out…

Now, as a woman, I believe it is a god given right to go clothes shopping at least once or twice a month. And online shopping doesn’t count.

I haven’t been clothes shopping for nearly 3 years. Until today!

Now I’m definitely not saying the ‘shop’ itself was successful…but the attempt at…the browsing…the experience…well that was!

I did the car ride…tentatively. And I stayed in the back seat this time too. The traffic was horrid, but I managed…I breathed. And I think I closed my eyes maybe, three times. I did it without my headphones too!

The shop itself was huge with those horrible fluorescent light things. But I took my time and made sure I breathed…and stopped when I needed too. There were foreign smells and noises that usually cause me to run a mile…but I stayed with it and breathed.

I think we were in that place for about an hour!

I felt pretty depleted after we came out…but not completely overwhelmed! And I managed to purchase 2 items!

I miss doing that! And I’m going to do it again…not sure when…but I will.

To top off my outing…I went to the vege shop. Now I haven’t done that for about 4 years. My daughter or my partner have done all the shopping for all this time. Some of me sees it as natural paybacks for having done that shit for god knows how many years. But going back into the ‘war zone’ was intriguing, triumphant and unpleasant.

I’d forgotten how fast our society is. How unnecessarily busy and rude it is. And I can’t say I’ve missed that.

I was ‘tsked’ and ‘humffed’ a couple of times. Once, for the tattoos…yes, I saw you, you crinkled up old bastard. The second, was for not moving along fast enough.

But you know what…I breathed! I didn’t speed up…I didn’t run away…and I didn’t knock that old bastard out!

That was a successful outing I think!! 🙂

First Published on: Sep 11, 2015 @ 00:05 ❤

un-faithfulness … is a thing?

This post, rant, ramble … has been sitting in my frontal lobe somewhere, for a while now.  I tend to brood or process this sorta shit for awhile, before I come to any factual conclusions.

Have I come to any factual conclusions?


I’m still theorising, as I do.

So heres the dilly …

I have a couple of friends going through the ‘cheating’ dilemma. Now I’m not wanting to minimise any of their actions or feelings.  Or to talk about their lives specifically. Thats not my intention here. It’s just that with whats been happening in their worlds, those happenings have spilled over into our world, and it’s been the topic of conversation in our house, on and off for a few weeks.

So, cheating, defined by Me, for this Post, is: When one half of an agreed partnership decides that they want to liase with another, outside of their agreed partnership, for the purposes of intimate company, companionship and / or fucking.


I’ve been through this scenario myself, in previous relationships. I’ve also been the ‘other’ and the ‘li-a-ser’. Only difference with my situation, is in the latter of these 2 scenarios, I always told the other half of the partnership, what I’m doing. I think these are called ‘open relationships’ now. For Me though, I just didn’t want to commit to anything with these particular people at that particular time.

Fucking was also not on top of my agenda. It was, as it always is, just a part of what happens when you look outside of your ‘relationship partnership’.

So what we have been discussing at home, is the Whys. My partner, I think, is more disturbed by whats happening around him, than I am. But I believe this has more to do with his personal moral compass. He’s not a cheater by nature. Even if he was forced into a scenario like this, I think he’d miss the ‘signs’ that another was hitting on him. He’s a little ‘naive’ like that … but thats not a bad thing. He’s the kind of dude, if presented with a naked woman, flinging themselves at him, he’d probably say: “Oh, you might wanna put some clothes on before you catch a cold”. Thats what he’s like … and I love him for it.

But with all the infidelity floating round, I began to wonder myself, Why? Why do these men go off and screw something else? Why not just man up, say they’re unhappy in their present situations, and leave … free to fuck whomever they like? Or is it actually about not being satisfied in their present circumstances? Is it about something else?

And this is where we got stuck.

In our relationship, we’ve discussed being ‘unfaithful’. For Me, it’d be a deal breaker. And for my partner too. Not because of the deed, but because of the lie. I don’t like lies. I also don’t like copious amounts of people up in my business. So to have another to share sloppy seconds with? Ahhh Nope. For the partner; he’d feel betrayed.

But would I feel betrayed and devastated?

I’m not sure.

I think I’ve gotten to a realistic place. I’ve told my partner, if he’s unhappy and unsatisfied in any way … then, get gone. Simple.

I don’t Need him.

For the most part, I enjoy him. I enjoy his company; I’ve gotten used to his annoying little habits; even his snoring lol. I can appreciate now, all the things that make him unique and one of kind. I get now, his intricacies, that he hides from everyone; I get that he needs ‘alone time’ more than he thinks he does. I get that his little trips to his mates; the extra ‘jobs’ he likes to pick up and discuss; the ‘favours’ he does for people – are all to make him feel needed, wanted and appreciated. Unlike Me, he doesn’t get that from cleaning the house or having a conversation. But thats him.

For Me – I couldn’t be bothered cheating. I’m too lazy lol. And I don’t get my ‘good vibes’ off’ve other people anymore. A compliment is nice once in a while – but I don’t live for that shit. It’s also why advertising of any kind doesn’t work on Me … because I don’t care what someone else says about something else. I don’t do recommendations. I’m a ‘try it’ myself kinda of person. So cheating doesn’t really rate in my repertoire of ‘things to do’. Aside from the fact that I don’t like lying and I don’t lie well. It’s too tiring – too hard.

So when I watch our friends … hurt and battling to save a love that they believe they still have for each other … I wonder … why He still wants to ‘go out and mingle with the singles’. Is it because he is unsatisfied still? Or because he gets his self worth from strangers? Why doesn’t He want to be at home with his wife and children? Are they boring? Does He believe He doesn’t have to put in time and effort?

And for Her … why is she so hurt? Does she need Him to define who she is as a human being? Does she need his approval? Why does she want to dictate what he does? Is it because she feels cheated; hurt; insecure? How does she go about repairing that hurt? Does she need Him to repair that for her? Because I think he’s going to fail. Not because he wants to, but because He can’t fill up the hole that she has.

So this is whats been swirling round my head for a few weeks. I find it curious and slightly perplexing … curious because I don’t understand the Whys of it all. And slightly perplexing, because I can see the hurt that this lot are causing each other … which is spilling over into their other relationships.

And I don’t have a satisfactory reason or theory or debate or even a decent question to ask really.

It just all seems a bit fucked.

a word or two of remembrance to you counselors

If the help line counts as counseling of any type

Then you sucked ass.

I’m guessing you were trained for not much more

than answering a telephone.

Maybe you should stick to that,

but move to collecting stats.


Then there was little lady, Blondie Jane.

Your training included the then in thing,

“lets dig and recall”.

You seemed to know

and like what you were doing

You dug, and you informed.


The free dude from the good will place.

Used to working with more derelict types.

Not to condescending,

but definite boundary issues.

Funding ran out,

and I moved on.


Then there was the fill in lady:

brown hair, about 12 years old looking.

You were on the soft and mooshy tip.

You asked for a poem

to recollect my feelings.

And then you howled your eyes out.

You might need some more training

me thinks.


Then the dude, to fill in the fill in.

Brucey, think your name was.

Controlled and logical, methodical.

I got your jist and understood your logic.

You apparently felt uncomfortable though,

and thought I should go somewhere else.

‘Referred On’.


Then there was the Dutch catholic dude:

the child psychologist, he was.

You dug about and found Borderline Personality Disorder,



Oh and Oppositional Defiance Disorder for my girl.

Whilst you were full of knowledge,

and way ahead of your time,

you didn’t ‘treat’.

You just, talked.


Then there was the psycho drama lady:

that smelt funny.

With big dolls and little dolls,

to talk to.

Think you were ahead of your time too.

But you wanted to dig around far too much.

Looking for stuff that just wasn’t



Then the lady with the extremely hairy legs:

With the tapping technique.

You were more interested in marriage guidance.

I wasn’t interested in marriage though.

You said I was a runner,

wanting to be there, but not.

The essence of a sexual abuse victim, victim.

But then what?


Then theres the little pregnant lady from Germany:

Nice disposition,

not good at being blunt though.

You ‘discovered’ the panic and anxiety.

Then you became to busy,

and referred on to a Psychiatrist,

that didn’t happen.


Then came the short stumpy one:

You didn’t like being questioned,

as you believed your night course certificate

was all the information you needed.

Your theories aren’t real world honey.



Then the culturally appropriate lady:

who turned down her ass music

because it hurt my ears.

Thank you.

You had no theories. No logic really.

But you did realize you couldn’t help, and you were kind.

You referred on,

to a Psychiatrist or Psychologist.

That didn’t happen.


Eventually –

The Psychiatrist.

Short and sharp and straight to the $500 an hour point.

PTSD, post Borderline Personality Disorder, post Depression.

Heres some pills.



Eventually –

The Psychologist.


as honest as your ethical centre will let you be.


I can appreciate that.

You get paid well for your knowledge though.


But what Now?


You all added to my knowledge.

You all added to my distrust in the mental health system.

All systems.

You all added to my experience.


The End.

First Publish on: Jul 28, 2015 @ 11:47 ❤