I’ve been in procrastination mode with this blog and pretty much all other areas of my life. I remember my brother telling me once that anger is good, because it propels you forward. But that hasn’t happened for me. Anger seems to set me back because I can’t think well through the anger.
But today I’m angry and want to see if I can use it to indeed propel me forward in some way.
This blog has been a real issue for me because of fear, because of perfectionism and I think even because of feeling coerced by someone a couple times, whose intentions were good, but she was being coercive none-the-less and I felt as though I was being pushed into something I wasn’t sure of or ready for. Which made me angry.
That being said, for years, I’ve really been wanting to blog. I’ve been wanting to blog about other things besides my abuse though too. And that’s part of where the procrastination comes in. There are many things I could and would like to share. So part of the procrastination comes from not being sure if it would be better to separate all these topics into separate niches/blogs.
But when I think about doing that, not only does it feel overwhelming, I get into a see-saw match with myself, going back and forth between yes and no. In addition, within that argument, I start thinking I should move all this personal stuff yet again to another blog, start all over, as a result of feeling unsettled with the name once again.
So…I’m going to do my best to stop procrastinating here and I’m going to keep this blog and just share whatever it is I feel like sharing. Because it’s what I believe I need to do for some healing and getting to know myself again and for the first time.
Back to the topic of anger:
Last night, I realized that Mr. B’s apathy is probably pathological to the point of being dangerous because it has almost set the house on fire in the past and he pulled the same shit last night that almost caused said fire before.
He’d left some bread in the toaster oven (that toasts quickly) and walked away. The toast caught fire. Luckily he was able to put it out before it got out of hand.
When I found out, I was so angry and after I yelled, he promised he’d be sure to never walk away from the toaster oven again while making toast. I was foolish enough to believe him and think this issue was a settled and done deal.
Well, last night he broke that promise. It was more important to check on the cat, to see if he wanted to come inside, than to wait less than five minutes for his toast to be done. The cat won’t have a house to come back into if Mr. B sets it ablaze.
Again, I became angry. And again I yelled about it, wanting him to understand how important the issue is.Ugh! Why I have to explain this to a sixty year old man is a whole other (obviously) sick issue. And like the last time there wasn’t much emotional reaction from him. The only emotion I saw was a little bit of annoyance when I’d come back to say more after walking away.
And I called him on it right away, “I know it’s an annoyance to you that I’m bothered by this and your apathy. It’s one thing to be apathetic about our relationship and not care about that. But when you don’t care about something that is potentially dangerous enough to burn down the house, you’re gonna hear me.”
I went from being sleepy and ready to sleep to wide awake and raging, with rolling heart palpitations. I was lying there in the dark last night so angry, so disgusted, I realized I could die here, having done nothing toward healing, toward becoming independent, toward no longer feeling trapped.
Mr. B has put our cat’s life in danger in the past as a result of his apathy too.
I’d taken a dog in for someone, upon agreement with Mr. B. His mother, who lived next door at the time, agreed to take our cat (Ozzy) while the dog stayed here. This was an ongoing arrangement with this particular dog because it was too dangerous for this particular dog to be around cats. The weather on that particular weekend that the dog (Wendy) came to stay, was really nice.
The first morning, Mr. B decided he would eat his breakfast out on the porch with Ozzy. His mom had already let the cat out and after preparing breakfast, Mr. B headed out. I held the dog while Mr. B struggled with his arms fuller than they should have been.
I asked him to make two trips while I held the dog.But he said, “I’m ok, I got it.”
Luckily I was even in the room to see this taking place because Mr. B does not ask for help so he didn’t speak up in this situation to even warn me and say, “You might wanna hold Wendy while I make my way outside.”
Nope, not one word. I just happened to walk into the living room just in time to grab the dog’s collar and hold onto it while Mr. B stumbled his way outside and while Ozzy sat, meowing just outside the door, under Mr. B’s feet.
The thought of the possibility of Ozzy running into the house while I held a dog that would’ve wanted to give chase and would’ve easily broken away from me, still makes me cringe. Still gives me anxiety and still makes me shake my head to realize how careless and apathetic Mr. B is.
What does all of this have to do with my procrastination in blogging?
Well, what happened last night feels like it may be the proverbial fire I need to do something toward freeing myself. I’m trapped here with him right now and although blogging may not make me the money I need to get the fuck away from him, I believe it is one key to my healing. It’s certainly part of the process.
I’ve wanted to write an “About” page before I really got started here, but I’ve struggled with that. I’m not even completely clear on how to explain why I chose the title and user name Sleeping Tiger. But I’ll try.
My sister was expert at shutting me down, by using things I’d said, against me from previous conversations. She triangulated with my mother against me. Shut me down in the moments when I’ve spoken up about things, given my opinion, even once when I brought a smoothie over to my dad while he was ill. My sister had stopped by to see my father while I was there. He’d been having some digestive issues and my sister asked him about it and how he was feeling. My father mentioned the smoothie I’d brought him. I said to her from the other room, that I thought it would help with his digestion and it was something he could probably keep down. She turned with daggers in her eyes and flatly said, “Or come right back up.”
My brother is a rage-aholic and took his stress and frustrations out on me so badly I feared making him angry at all.
My mother belittled our agreements and took my sister’s side, scapegoated me, and in fact excused one of my brother’s rage episodes by saying it was just an emotional reaction. She also blamed me for the eggshells we all walked on.
My father, I believed caused most of my issues of fear about sticking up for myself, standing up for what I believe in and speaking out and up overall throughout my life, so I had a difficult time as it was already when the stress hit the fan among my family.
I’m guessing they all sensed the difficulty that would ensue,ike rabid animals and used me to dump all their toxicity into. Growing up though, I didn’t seem to have much issue speaking my mind to my siblings, standing up for myself, even bullying my brother. I even spoke up to my father in some instances. But I seemed to get weaker as I got older or even in a very short period of time.
It all just seemed to sneak up on me. Which leads me to believe I missed a lot. I was indeed sleeping during the process of certain dynamics being put in place to make it possible for me to be so abused and scapegoated.
But when you develop the characteristics that make you more of a codependent and fearful of other people’s reactions and your siblings become more like scary, raging and even at times violent narcissists, it’s sometimes safer to not fight back.
And then there was the affair I became involved with a few years ago. I took a lot of crumbs and stuck around much longer than I should have. In fact all my romantic relationships were toxic and dysfunctional. And I held my tongue much of the time throughout those relationships too because I was afraid to rock the boat…afraid of abandonment.
In fact, after being with one particular guy on and off for some years, I’d lost myself so much I didn’t even know my own opinions about things. I had been afraid to voice my opinion that I ceased having one them at all and turned to him first to see what he thought or how he felt about things.
Even in many friendships I was a follower, especially with one friend in particular at the age of 13. There were things I went along with or just wouldn’t have done unless following someone else just to be accepted.
After the break up of the affair (and the break down that followed) and then the aftermath of the death of my father and having been closely involved with my abusive family, I shut down. I became afraid to say much of anything for fear it might be inappropriate, or wrong or something that would piss someone off.
I can see it when I make comments on FB. I don’t make the same jokes and I’m very careful to not say the wrong thing.
But it’s time to wake up and say what needs to be said. Say the things on my mind. Tell the story of the toxic sludge I grew up in and then later put up with in other areas of my life.
I hope this makes some sense in why I chose that name. I have been silent on what’s happened to me, although inside I’m roaring. I’ve been fearful about speaking up, however, just because I’ve been quiet (asleep) doesn’t mean I can’t let the people who hurt me know that I won’t let them do it anymore.
A sleeping tiger looks cuddly and cute, but would you mess with it?