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Why so Angry?

I’ve always been an angry person, deep deep down in my soul. Everything winds me up; people eating too loudly, people breathing too loudly… damn it, just ‘people.’ However, I have been able to hide this anger, this monstrousity of a character flaw under sarcasm, being an introvert and very luckily being overweight for a large part of my life AND have psoriasis over 75% of my body! Winner, winner!! Who wants to get close enough to that to get to know the ‘real’ me… that angry, angry angry angry ball of something. 

Then at 28 years of age, I lost loads of weight and found a miracle pill that seemed to spare me the horror of psoriasis. I gained a desire to want new people in my life, romantically, and after a few hits and misses, ups and downs, I met a nice man, moved in, got engaged, had a little boy, who is 6 months tomorrow, and are coming up to five years together… thank you very much. 

So, pretty good. But remember I’m deep deep deep down angry and there’s only so long I can supress that living in close quarters with another human being and being pregnant seemed to amplify every angry thought, feeling, reaction I had. 

My mother gets to be on a lot of the receiving end of my anger, my aggression, my sarcasm, my snideness but she’s never seen the balls to the ball wall anger my partner has seen… my hot, wet, horrible angry tears, my screaming, my phsyical manifestations of anger; at walls, my phone, the glove box, the car seat headrest, my complete lack of ability to communicate properly in any situation where I feel hard done by, under appreciated, treated unfairly or just in a shitty mood. ALL of this is in my own home at worst in the car. My partner is the only person who has seen the truth of me and I suck… hard. 

At work – consummate professional, comments on how calm I am, I’m a teacher so totally loads of opportunities to lose your actual shit. As a mother, love it, all the patience in the world, never could be angry at that little boy. As a partner… I suck. Hard. And last week it reached it’s climax and my partner was done and I don’t blame him, did I mention how much I sucked? I begged and begged and miracles of mircales we’re trying to work it out and we’re on a three month trail basis. We both have shit to change but my biggest thing is my seething, uncontrolled anger at him for nothing more than he didn’t put his dish in the dishwasher. 

So one thing I have to do is write about it, he really likes that idea and so do I! I love writing, have done since I was wee and even did my many brothers’ English creatve writing homework; getting them As and a call back from their teacher asking ‘did you really write this? I teach your sister, you know… and you’ve never put pen to paper before in my class…’ ‘yes sir, my heart and soul went into that story about… ummm…’ So I’m going to vent here and it’ll be whiney and mundane and so the fuck what, I’m channeling my anger so I can have my family, I’m not going to suck as a person, because while I love my little boy, that’s not enough, I want him to grow up in a fun and loving enviroment, not an enviroment where ‘mummy could explode, metaphorically, if I forget to put my dish away.’ 

Disclaimer – my partner is NOT perfect and my anger is amplified with him as he is my best friend who has done some douchey things to me, which have taken root in my soul because I let them and I let those things fuel my ball of anger, even when those chapters have closed, allowing me to justify my angry outbursts. The kicker is, this fuel is no longer viable, I have forgiven (supposedly), I have accepted (supposedly) and I have carried on my relationship with him…. so I need to let these things go… they can no longer be deemed justifiable by me to use as fuel to my fire, because let’s be honest those things in the past have nothing to do with him leaving a fucking dish on the side, it’s a dish, it’s not symbolic of his infidelity that one time or his inability to give a compliment or his douchey ways when he gets drunk. It’s a fucking dish that he forgot to put away. He’s not doing these things to me, he’s untidy and lazy sometimes but he’s also wonderful, kind and generous sometimes too, so let’s remember that for fuck’s sake. 

And yes I am no longer picking up his dishes, he can do it himself and while looking at those dirty dishes erks me, picking up after him like some sort of maid (which I put on my self, as he has never asked or expected me to clean up after him – and holy shit, was coming to that revelation hard enough) made me a lot fucking angrier and we don’t want that. 

Angry, welcome to your new home, I have a life to enjoy. 

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Hello is this thing on?

I’m a teacher. I think I already established that in a previous post. So while, when people hear this, they tend to ‘ohh’ and ‘ahh’ and say ‘that must be hard… teenagers and that…’ I generally like, even sometimes LOVE my job and I am listened to, not only by my colleagues but by the pupils.

Yes, even the pupils. They listen to me. I am that good… okay once I’ve conditioned the children they listen to me.

My point is I am used to being listened to. Pupils jump at my every command:

‘Put your chair on all fours…’

‘Stop talking Sophie…’

‘Start writing 7b1…’

‘Pens down, eyes this way…’

These things are done almost immediately and without hardly any threat of violence.

My colleagues listen to me, dare I say it, they even respect my opinions and ideas, for the most part. It helps that I got a little bit of a reputation for ‘not giving a fuck’ when expressing my opinion on things, becoming a voice for my Department when things were being executed shittly (yes I’m using it as an adverb! Sue me). They would clap me on the back, say they’d all been thinking it. Or before a meeting they’d turn around and say ‘don’t worry the angry pregnant lady will tell the truth.’ (Obviously now I’m back and not pregnant I will rein it in as hormones are no longer an excuse and I don’t want all the ‘in charge’ people to hate me forever. I want more money, i.e. promotions.)

My whole point to this preamble is… dun dun duuuuunnnn:

I am not used to not being listened to. And yet despite this I am constantly ignored, suppressed, just not fucking listened to by my other half, every fucking day, a million times a day (I use the hyperbole for effect).

These are my ideas on why he doesn’t listen:

  1. He is distracted by the electronic device he has in his hand,
  2. He is distracted by the many hours of gaming he does in the evening,
  3. He does not think what I am saying needs to be stored,
  4. He is just incredibly ignorant,
  5. To him, I am not important enough to be listened to.

That last one, number 6 is the kicker. Why you ask? He is my life partner, he chose me to go through life with as his equal – well that’s how I understood relationships anyway, so… am I not his equal, does what I say not need to be listened to, or worse when sometimes he seems bored by my conversation, even telling me to ‘skip to the end’ (Which by the way would be funny if he’d even seen Spaced – but he hasn’t).

I have to ask him why? Why are we here? Why do we endure with this relationship if you cannot listen to me, cannot engage with me on an intellectual level in its simplistic form: conversation?

We used to converse all the time, about anything and everything. The first time we met was via Skype and we spent the whole day talking. He set a standard and that standard is never met now. It makes me sad that I have to corner him to converse with him, I have to surprise attack him with conversation when we’re about to go to bed, or the in the car – places he can’t run away from.

Oh I’ve gone off topic – this has turned into the Lost Conversation and that wasn’t my intention. I needed to off load about his inability to listen, his inability to listen to instructions, requests for help, reminders of plans, proposed plans and so on…

Is it all men? Is it just my man?

Plans are made, I tell him these plans. Several times. He plans something else.

I tell him something about a joint task that had to be completed concerning our family. He asks me about it 20 seconds later. I stare at him in horror. I was JUST talking about that.

In conversation, I ask three questions, a void of silence, as he plays on his phone.

And the list goes on. And on. And on… I don’t know what to do. When I bring it up to him he thinks it a joke but how do I explain to him that 12 year olds treat me better than him, respect me more than him. How do I explain that?

I know that it’s ironic that I’m writing on a blog that no-one reads, about a partner that doesn’t listen to me but oh well at least here my words are written down, I can see them and they do not float away unheard. Here they will stay and they may be unread but they will stay and that makes them matter. To me anyway.

 

 

 

 

Freaky Friday

So I think the shit has hit the fan… very slowly and very softly.

I thought it was very empathetic of my fiance to suggest that he would take on the chores, jobs and ball ache tasks I’ve been doing since the bear was born.

Why? You may ask… what has changed?

Well I’m no longer on Maternity Leave, I’m back at work, I’m a teacher and I genuinely don’t care what anyone says, it’s a fucking hard job and takes up a lot of your mental and physical strength PLUS I don’t have access to my bear 24/7 which is extremely fucking hard and rather upsetting – let me tell you.

Really upset, reduced to tears because I felt like my own son of 8 months hated me… and I think for a week he did… a little bit… or had a major strop due to the fact I’d upped and left him.

He loves me again now though and all is right with the world… although he is much too attached to his Grandad for my liking and will make friends with ANYONE… the kid has no sense of loyalty.

Anyway, where was I… no more Maternity Leave… so housework and child looking-after now becomes 50/50. I drew up a chore table, very specific (you may scoff – but my fiance is that lazy and useless he would seriously quite happily do fuck all, live in squalor and forget that we had a child together).

And he’s not done a damn thing on it. I have struggled for two weeks returning to work, dealing with the hate from an 8 month old and continuing to do all the housework.

And now he’s doing everything and he’s stuck in a Catch 22, either he admits it’s fucking hard and shares the load from now on OR he stays stubborn and says it’s piss easy and then great! He can do it forever. Sweet.

Why do I think the shit has hit the fan then? Because something is up… I feel He. Has. A. Plan. And I’m falling in to some sort of trap – his entire attitude is upbeat and he won’t let me do anything.

I shall wait and see… I’m hoping he’s that stupid and stubborn he will glide through the week stating how easy it has been and will therefore be doing it forever, rather than He. Has. A. Plan.

Update to follow. Fingers crossed for stupid and stubborn.

I’m holding my breath… 

I’ve not been on for awhile and surely that’s an excellent thing as I’m only supposed to write when I’m furiously angry at life, the world, my partner… and I haven’t been. 

I mean it’s not perfect, this morning he lied about there being bacon in the fridge as he was ‘tired’ and didn’t want to make me a bacon sandwich… wanker… but then he had been up since 6.30am with the 7 month old and let me sleep in… so not a wanker?!? 

It’s things like this that have me very confused, in one breath he does something wonderful, and a lie in till 8.30am is a wonderful thing (I know, if 21 year old me could see me now, she’d kill me), and then lie about bacon, the swine (Not going to aplogise for that lil’joke).

And I’ve thought about it a lot and while it may sound like I’m generalising, I am not. I’m talking specifically about the men in my life, be it partner, brothers, friends and friend’s partners, we ALL have very similar complaints. So therefore, I have come to the conclusion that my man and the men I know are very much like dogs and should be treated and trained as such. 

Oh christ… I do apologise to everyone as looking at it in black and white it looks horrendous and horribly offensive… BUT my realisation led to a strategy and my startegy is working!!! 

I have a dog, see Silver Linings and we have had him in dog training, which I experienced first hand as the partner was off making big bucks on rigs. So my strategy revolves around this:

1. Positive reinforcement

No shouting, no moaning, no anger. 

Treats are awarded for a job well done. Treats include a ‘well done’, a ‘thank you,’ a blow job, sex depending on the level of work, thoughtfullness and care given to the task. 

Keep thanking them, it doesn’t matter that in your four year relationship you have put a wash load on 2,450 times, if he does it once of his own filition, he is praised, you treat that shit like he just saved a fucking child from a burning building. Just do it. 

2. Repetition is key

There is a fine line here, not repeating the task over and over, this may be construed as nagging and they rebel immediately against that. 

I have found repeating the instruction twice and then getting them to repeat it back to me works well. 

But the real secret is getting them to self correct. This line is golden baby. ‘Babe, what should you be doing right now?’ They get all sheepish and tell me and then do it!!! Amazing!!!

3. Be upfront and honest. 

Our command for Silver when he’s licked, whined, barked gone crazy too much is ‘enough’ and I’ve learnt to communicate this with Life partner. Enough playing on your game, enough buying crap, enough picking your nose, enough. 

Enough laziness, it will break us. I’m back to work soon and working and doing the level of housework and child rearing I’m doing, now if continued will break us. My honesty has been rewarded and I can see my partner actively trying. Hell today it’s like I didn’t have a 7 month old, I lay in, I went to the cinema, did lunch, napped!!! It was glorious and it was because adult number 2 did some actual adulting. And I haven’t stopped praising him since.

So really, number 3, it’s about communication, these men don’t get subtle hints, stoney silence and death stares. They only understand when you explicitly tell them, and only then can they do something about it. And if they love you they will, and if they don’t… well then he truly is a dog and needs to be rehomed. 

I’m really sorry for the offensive nature of my blog today, it’s all in good fun and I know men who bring domestic bliss to their relationship as they are a domestic god… my dad for one… but these are my thoughts on my own situation and my own male counter part so whateves man. Go fetch! 

From Brilliant to Shit. 

I’ve had a brilliant day. I’ve taken the boy bear out to a friend’s house, had my favourite meal cooked for me – paella, followed by cheesecake, yum, and had a good old natter. 

I got home, fed the bear, had some fun with my partner, laughing, joking, flirting in the kitchen. 

Fun. Happy. Relaxed. Calm. 

Bear goes to bed, bear is learning to cry it out. Bear is just standing, silently, glancing at the camera, which, with night vision makes him look like something from a horror film. Partner and I watch this, we laugh, we enjoy. 

Context is set – we’ve been having fun all evening, laughing, joking teasing. 

So this is where it turns, and why I hear you ask? Because he turns on his game. 

I go in to tell him something and I clock he’s taken one of my Coke Zeros. I DO NOT BEGRUDGE HIM A COKE ZERO. However  it has been standard for me to mock rage and threaten death, so I lean to get it, take it and mock rage ensues… but my leaning over causes him to die on his game so fuck me… it’s like he literally died in real life. 
I put the can down and he kicks it off the couch saying I can have it, I explain the joke, he doesn’t want to get it. 

So I lose it.

I smack the wall with my hand. 

The baby begins to cry. 

Fuck you life partner. 

Why does this game change your whole personality? How am I supposed to know when to stop joking? Stop having fun with my best friend? 

Fuck you. You’re a dick when that game is on. Fuck you and now I’ll daydream that that fucking game console somehow trips and falls right out of the god damn window. 

Now my hand hurts, my heart hurts and we’re not speaking. From brilliant to shit in 2 seconds flat. I should write a fucking book. 

Angry mum out. 

Night-time Terrors

I used to love co-sleeping with my son, we do it very safely and not often. 

As a result I barely EVER sleep when it happens. 

Why? 

  1. I’m scared I’ll suffocate him.
  2. My partner has a history of sleep elbowing me in the face – so I have to protect the child from the sleep elbow.
  3. The child is 7 months old now and he kicks like a fucking mule. I might have known; he was kicking very early in the womb. Hard. 
  4. My place in the bed is on the verge, the edge and I’m always scared I’ll fall off into the abyss i.e. the floor. 

These reasons alone ensure I more often than not, want some ‘me’ sleep time and push for the bear to be in his cot. 

When this feeling is strong, my partner seems to hone in on it and becomes the most neediest father that ever lived. 

I need to cuddle my son.”

“I barely spend time with him.”

And co-sleeping happens.

For an hour. And then the bear kicks like a mule/the partner wants to move/is too hot/is too cold/has baby sweat on him/I’m taking up too much room/wants to go to sleep, a deep sleep and then I’m left with the responsibility of the baby. 

Thank you. You fucker. 

I put him back in his cot, he cries blue murder as he’s already been disturbed three times, he loves sleeping with us or he takes after his dad and is just a douche. Not really he’s awesome. Fact. 

So my partner gets the lovely falling asleep, look at his face, oh he’s snoring moment and I get the rest. This is my life, well, my nightimes. 

I feel if you want to co-sleep then you have the responsibility ALL night long because I need my fucking sleep because I’m fucking knackered from all this co-sleeping, hacking cough and feeling ill shit while you’re also pestering me for a blowjob in the middle of the night! So let me sleep, goddamn it!!!

Sooooo… we had a chat. And last night I only had responsibility for the bear from about 5am. And that dear people is a win, in my life anyway. 

Big and Strong huh?! 

This post touches upon a previous post about back seat drivers, in particular my partner. 

Suprise suprise, we’re back on him. 

Sooooo… He’s finally had his ‘morally in the right’ crash… and the kicker: I and my 6 month old child were there to witness it. 

Oh and the 93 year old woman he hit. 

On a roundabout she pulled out, it happened very slowly, in the sense if it had been a younger driver they’d have nipped out and beat us, partner would have beeped, sworn and moaned about the incident but we would have been safe, home and NOT dealing with the ambulance, police and miles of traffic we created. 

Upon reflection he couldn’t have avioded it, if he’d broken sharply someone would have gone into the back of us, if he’d swerved he would have hit a car and then it would have definitely been our fault. He had to take the hit, he had to plow into the 93 year old’s driver’s seat door, also the side my son was in… he was asleep and stayed asleep and thankfully was none the wiser. 

This is ‘upon reflection’. In my head though straight after, all I could think, and bring to mind was his idea of a ‘moral accident.’ 

And my anger kicked in, but because of the situation I had to control it, had to, and I did. I swore once, very quietly to him… but as I said, very quietly, he may not have heard it. Then I removed myself from the situation and therefore the anger, I had to look after the little man and get picked up by my dad, away from my partner. 

And my anger subsided, my rationality was restored and I was able to accept he had to take the hit, even though his world was in the car because any other alternative would have been a lot worse…. he was shook up he said because of the little bear in the car and for him to even admit that is, for want of better words, fucking crazy.

So, what an I taking from this? 

Walk away. Think. Come back… 

Calm.

Brothers… who’d have them? 

Hooray!!! It is not my partner that has made me angry… well definitely not angry enough to have to write my anger out. Well done him!! 

Unfortunately it’s the other men in my life, my brothers… I have three, all younger, all God’s gift, all cocky, loud and lovely (sometimes.) And really it’s only one that’s made me angry. 

We have a family whatsapp group… which, to be quite frank, is the worst thing you can do as a family – it started off as my pregnancy group so we could get the message out quickly that I was in labour – it evolved. Evolved way beyond anyone’s control. People have left the group, come back to the group, started arguments, been rude, been mean… you get the picture. Generally though, we have gotten used to it and know how to use it sensibly without creating another family feud like the great one of ’99. 

Except Michelle, I’ll call him this to protect his identity… he is in no way called Michael and my chosen name for him is in no way an old pet name from childhood when he paraded around in a matching knicker set of our mother’s with socks instead of boobs. IN NO WAY. 

Today he shared an image that I’m not going to share, but it was clealry a jewish woman who was suffering in a concentration camp with a sash stating she was Miss Auschwitz 1943. Hilarious. Well my brothers’ seem to think so anyway. 

I do not. 

Therefore I am ‘overly sensitive’ and that is what is ‘wrong with the world’. I should see that a picture is just a picture, it’s not going to start World War 3. 

I begged to differ:

I’m sure this image started as a joke too… 

No one has responded to this yet but I have my response ready for whatever they throw at me. I’m tired of letting what my siblings say fly over my head, I’m tired of them thinking they dominate discussion because they are taller, louder and reduce themselves to name calling. I’m also tired of being to aggressive, too loud and babbling when I argue. That is what the blog is for, all of these symptons are a result of my ridiculous anger!

So I will say this… but probably not, it’s a bit too raw for my family, who, while are close in many ways, sharing feelings, thoughts and hardships is not one of those ways. 

Here it is:

Do you know what? I’m sick of this rubbish. Do you know why I’m ‘overly sensitive’ as you put it? Because unlike you, I didn’t grow up as a privileged white male with no issues in her life. I may be a white woman who hasn’t really suffered any sexism, excepted Mr Crocket, who wouldn’t let me play football but what I did grow up with was psoriasis and I’m constantly discriminated and persecuted by ignorant people, lacking in any sensitivity at all.

I grew up being called scabby every day by my own family, I grew up getting odd looks for wearing big black jumpers in the middle of summer, do you know how many friendships I didn’t make because of it, how many complaints I’ve had, how many jobs I’ve lost? Why I had no relationships until I was 28?

Because people treat me differently because of something I cannot control, and only truly good people, overly sensitive people see past it. So when I see people laughing at something a person is, looks like, believes in, then yes I get overly sensitive about it and I will make my opinions known about it because I know what it feels like and how absolutely devastaing it can be. 

So there it is, another reason I’m so angry. Probably. I was gifted with psorasis and I’ve never really recovered from it, especially being free of it for so many years, it going while I was pregnant and yet I see it creeping slowly and surely back to weigh me down yet again. 

FYI I really was called scabby my every single one of my family and it is only with meeting my partner that actually the aesthetics of psorasis doesn’t mean a flying fuck to him. It’s also cazy how someone’s aprroval can do wonders for your own self worth. God damn it… I wish I had my own inherent, string of steel self-worth!

Stupid brothers, making me think about stuff!