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!

Advertisements

The Mandela Effect

This is an interesting idea, effect, theory… The Mandela Effect. In extreme layman terms, and I mean extreme – people remember things that never happened, never were, never have been. The name is coined after Nelson Mandela, as many people would swear on their lives’ he died in prison in the 80s and not in his home in 2013… I definitely remember when he died… the glorious ‘signlanguageinterpretergate will be forever locked in my memory… probably wrongly, I have a deep admiration for that ‘interpreter’. 
If you think it sounds remotely interesting this link takes you to a layman’s blog which will then jumpstart your indepth, detailed and interesting research into the human brain and more specifically memory.

http://www.strangerdimensions.com

It even talks of alternative dimensions and as a new, hardcore fan of The OA I am so there, so interested, so deeply fascinated that choice could possibly fracture time into different dimensions, alternative dimensions, astounds and amazes me… and that items, thoughts,  memories can leak into my reality… holy shit. (Holy should be clapped out with at least five syllables when reading.) 

I’m a geek/nerd/whatever… it’s cool now don’t ya know. 

And I do have a point. 

The Mandela Effect happens in our house almost daily… daily dude! We must be at an alternative dimension hotstop/tear, as shit keeps leaking in all the time!! Our fights, conversations are always totally and utterly remembered differently EVERY SINGLY FUCKING TIME. 

And this makes me angry. Obviously, as this is what my blog is about. My anger. I was viciously angry today, so much so that I lashed out at the poor defenceless glove box with my foot, feet… okay feet, I gave it extra welly, or Converse in my case. I couldn’t use my hand as that’s already pretty bruised from my hammering of the stairs. (Never going into that one I’m afraid.) Therefore showing some sort of restraint, self-preservation on my part. Evidence of rational thought? Perhaps. 
Well done me though, I left that situation immediately… I mean my partner was dropping me off to tutor a Yr11 pupil, so I kind of was forced out and forced to calm down. However it really helped, and when my partner picked me up we got on with our happy lives as I didn’t blow up over the stupidest thing:

A misremembered conversation. 

We are both strong personalities. This is a fact and I am pretty sure we will go to our graves never admitted either is wrong unless proven by google, a third party witness, or a recording – visual or audio… I’m not picky. 

I mean obviously I was right and you’ll have to believe me because I’m writing the blog and he’s not, so screw him. I was right. And that’s why I get so angry. 

The question I ask myself though is when did I lose the ability to argue my rightness with a quiet calmness, dignity or even articulate and present well-reasoned points!? 

Was I ever able to? Or am I remembering my childhood, my life before my partner (Mandela Effect – hello!!) all wrong!? 

A misremembered conversation. In the grand scheme of things, looking back it does seem pretty petty. So if my partner had decided sooner he was going to drop me off and go shopping, rather than deciding 5 minutes before I had to leave (yes we were arguing about the timing of his verbal, outloud decision to go shopping… Pause for my embarrassment.) 

Would I have made my little boy’s milk and actually brought it with us? Would he have been happier, more content? Fall asleep later than he actually did, having a knock on effect that he went to bed an hour later as he didn’t fall asleep exhausted at 7.30pm… well only the alternative timeline that we have created will know if he grows up to be a totally different adult as a result. 

There have been bigger arguments and I’m sure there will be more, my solution is to start taping everything then how can he argue against taped evidence. Suck it bitch!! 

Dogs, Dirt and Partners

I’m here to moan, to vent, to be so fucking angry the words will burn holes into the computer/mobile screen. 

So I will sound whiney, bitchy and negative and my partner will be recreated here as a villain, a tool, a jerk, a douche, a moron, a sociopath… all the things I see him as when I lose my shit… when the veil of angry denies me any rational behaviour, any space to step away and see sense. 

This is what my writing, my entries, will be, because if they’re not then my anger is not controlled, it seeps into my real life, my real relationship and it will fester deep within our relationship and it will spoil our relationship. So better off being a whiney bitch here than elsewhere. 

Men are stupid… okay massive generalisation but it seems less hurtful than say my partner is fucking stupid. So I’ll be using the pronoun ‘they’ but really it’s just ‘he’. Sorry men. 

They operate on a totally different level, it’s pouring with rain, our garden is basically a mud bath. Let the dog out… let him in. They see this as their good deed for the day, ‘usually she does it but I’m saving her a job’, glowing sense of achievement, warm feeling of helping. Check. 

Fuck you. I see it as Let the dog out, dog runs around madly, playing in the mud, digging his favourite hole… let him in, let him run through the kitchen, into the hallway and to his food bowl… leaving a clear trail of mud on the floor and carpet that even the most inept dective could follow! I then have to clean said mess as they eat their breakfast, staring at their phone… oblivious to my quiet rage and hints in the form of my polite request that they never ever ever ever ever let the dog out again. That’s my job, not theirs… as so many things are in our house. 

I know deep down in my soul he does things like this, not on purpose, but because he is a lesser person than me, he needs me to survive basically… which is a lie as he survived 28yrs without me… so he did do it on purpose!! I FUCKING KNEW IT!! 

Gaming… WTFFF

What the fucking, fuck, fuck is my new phrase and I feel the fucks right down in my angry soul!!!

PS4, X Box One, Wii, PSP… I’m not picky I hate them all. All of them can go die for all I care. 

One game in particular though – The Last Of Us… you fucking fuck fuck!! Why put the stupid, idiotic, world consuming internet game, fireflies vs fucking whatever into this game… so instead of the 2 days it takes to complete the story arc I have now lost my partner forever to this piece of shit game with his virtual friends who are just as fucking obsessed. Between the hours of 8pm till dawn I may as well be a single parent who lives alone, eats alone, watches TV alone and does everything a-fucking-lone!!! 

Once he enters that virtual world of death he might as well be fucking dead. He can’t contribute anything to our life together, nothing will get done, he finally ‘trusts’ me to do things, bearing in mind he spent a whole day balling me out as I said the next door neighbour’s builder could use our roof to gain access to his, breaking tiles in the process, and that’s my goddamn fault, I’m naive and incapable and he’ll handle everything. However, in the evening I could decide who lives and who dies and as long as it doesn’t interfere with his precious game, he ‘trusts’ me…. what a cock. 

To all online gamers, and I’m sorry about this but seriously how important are these virtual people you play with and the avitars you control? Are they going to help raise your child, that you had together, cook for you, clean for you, suck your dick for you? Hello! And I say this for all the lost and forgotten partners out there… pay attention to us, appreciate us or we’ll be gone and a virtual blowjob ain’t a smidge on the real thing.