Oh my goodness, things have been really depressing on here lately, haven’t they? I’ve been so nostalgic and miserable. I should probably turn that around. I’ll start losing followers if I don’t buck my ideas up soon. (Please don’t leave, I love you all!)
I seem to have a hard time knowing what to talk about these days. I listed a few of the reasons why on Instagram, but the biggest reason is because I’m always so concerned about being politically incorrect or upsetting someone. I’m always offending someone. Once upon a time, I wouldn’t have cared, but these days it seems to get to me a little more. Or, at least, it has been getting to me a little more. I keep tapping out blog posts that I never end up posting, and if I keep on going the way I’m going, I’m never going to end up posting anything ever again.
I sat down and had a good, hard think about my blog. I do that sometimes, pondering whether or not it’s worth it. Whether anyone actually reads it, or if everyone just thinks my writing is shit. I’m not fishing for compliments here, I know some of you wonderful lot read it, and even enjoy it. You tell me on Twitter and stuff, and those nice words mean more to me than you’ll ever know. But … I don’t know really. I see people who are more successful than me, people who have been doing the same things that I’ve been doing for less time than I have, and I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. I wonder if I’ve chosen the right career path. I wonder if I should give up on the dating blogger game.
Fuck all of that. I love writing my shit down. Even though I don’t post any of it, I still enjoy writing my shit down. No one can take that away from me. Instead of running away and hiding, not posting the things I want to post or say the things I want to say, I shall take a slightly different approach. I’m going to force myself to post all the posts I would normally save and forget about or trash. What’s the point in having the blog at all if I don’t post the stuff I want to post on it? And, more importantly, when did I become such a wimp?
Anyway, now I’ve said that I should probably start by telling you what’s been going on. Not a lot really. Bear and I are fine. Up and down like most relationships, I would imagine, but doing much better than most people probably anticipated. It’s been really hard work getting my head around the fact that he knows about the blog, and I think that’s half the reason why I’ve not been writing. He promised me he wouldn’t read it unless I gave him permission to read it, and even then he would only read whatever I sent him. I do trust him. I do trust that he won’t read it, but … I don’t know. It’s just been quite a hard obstacle to overcome. A lot of people have let me down recently … I would be utterly heartbroken if he were to let me down too.
Being a brand new step-parent for the first time in my life is proving difficult. I think I’ve already broached the subject once before, but it’s really hard to know where to draw the line. Like, when can I tell him off and when can I not tell him off? Bear keeps saying he wants me to get more involved – if I feel like I should say something, just say something. He trusts me. He trusts that I’ll only get involved if I really need to. They fight like cat and dog sometimes and I hate it. It makes me literally want to put my hands in my ears, shouting la-la-la-la, which I appreciate is just as childish as what they’re doing. But his son always wants to have the last word, doing that antagonistic thing that kids do – saying “Yes, Dad” in a really sarcastic fashion when they really should just shut up and accept their bollocking. The answering-back is actually quite shocking sometimes, although I remember being quite bad for that when I was a youngster.
Bear doesn’t help matters. He has the shortest fuse of any man I’ve ever met, and sometimes he’s just really angry for no reason. I guess that’s the schizophrenia though. He keeps it in check pretty well most of the time, but I can see him struggling when his son is really provoking him. He’s snapped a few times too, not in a physical sense of the word, but with the pair of them shouting things at each other. The kind of things that fathers and sons shouldn’t shout at each other. That’s when I get involved, to separate the two and give them time to calm down. Their loud tones get so loud sometimes, it makes me cower. I hate it. I’ve never been very good with people shouting around me. I’m quite the delicate flower sometimes.
I haven’t heard from the guy who I daren’t name for fear of him popping up again. You know who I mean … *whispers* Brown Eyes. In fact, things have been super silent on that department and I’m quite thankful for it. It drives a wedge between Bear and I every time something happens with him, and he’s a much easier memory to deal with when he’s not being rammed in my face every five minutes. I haven’t even stalked him. I don’t care what he’s up to. I would rather not remember him at all. I have a few blog posts here that I might publish someday, but he’s basically almost forgotten about. Although I was a little worried that I saw his vehicle the other day, but I think it might have been a false alarm. You know what it’s like – when you’re afraid of spiders, you see EVERY goddamn spider.
But that’s it really. I’ve been feeling lonely, working my ass into the ground, dealing with bloody annoying issues daily, such as mobile phone problems, shitty home internet, and Bear going on a spending spree every five minutes, coupled with a temper tantrum the next. I’m happy though. Mostly happy anyway. That’s good enough for me right now. The rest I can work on.
But yeah, I’m going to make a conscious effort to blog some more. I’m going to start on that tomorrow, I think. Here’s a cheeky little *spoiler alert* too – it’s going to be titled, “One Night With My Ex … “