Witty Title – Toxic Traita

‘I don’t really have a lot to say’

A sentence you hear when somebody is too lazy to argue.

A sentence you hear when somebody is not passionate enough.

A sentence you SAY when you are coming up blank for a blog post but you are still trying to hit your 1000 words a week target that you set yourself at the start of the year.

I feel as though a peace has settled over me. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I have no love life drama. And I don’t know how to deal with it!

I wouldn’t say I’ve ever sought out drama, but I will admit I love a good argument to clear the air. I’ve never been passive aggressive, always direct and to the point which has landed me in some trouble in my history. I prefer to argue with facts and logic these days. I’m guilty of using words to drive in a sharp knife. Not in rude way, I’d never swear at somebody or insult them, because that’s mean. But I’m a spin doctor of sorts and will capitalise on what you say and twist it until you can’t even remember what the point was you made in the first place. I consider this my biggest toxic trait (after taking another glass to bed for water when there’s already one there).

I also have bad habits. I bite my nails until they bleed (anxiety thank you very much), I smoke (because alcoholism is way more expensive, and risky) I wash the dishes way less often than I should and my clothes somehow always end up on the floordrobe as opposed to in the wardrobe.

So when you combine my toxic trait and my bad habits, it’s easy to conclude that I’m not a person many would find easy to love. And I believe this. I also believe that I am a person somebody would be lucky to love. Can you see my dilemma?

So when somebody brings up an issue, I instantly go to the part of my brain that believes I’m shit to love. When somebody is not passionate enough in their response, same thing. And to protect myself I start waxing lyrical, using big words and weaving them into clever sentences; they are my weapons that protect me from my own self-imposed wounds.

I’m not the most secure person in the world. I am soooo confident in many things; sports, driving, my job, socially, around friends, family. Any outsider could look at me and easily denote me as a competent adult who has her shit together. But that’s only what you see on the outside. I have high functioning anxiety and imposter syndrome. Which basically means I have to please the inner voice over everything else. This is hard to do. And my coping mechanism is talking to myself which in turn becomes the same coping mechanism when dealing with any other type of personal conflict. I have a sharp tongue and I’m not afraid to use it. Sucks to be you.


It’s an issue that has raised itself a number of times in the past with partners and I’m finally listening and registering that my vocabulary and grasp of the English language (most of the time) is as much a strength as it is a weakness.

I don’t have a problem getting on a level with peers, colleagues, friends, family, kids, the elderly and everybody in between. But I know for a fact that maintaining these awesome communication skills I have with a lover has never been my strong suit.

And the one thing somebody can say to me to really raise the pressure in this interpersonal kettle that is bubbling to ensure those communication skills completely boil over?

I don’t really have a lot to say!

Or any words to that effect. Infuriating!!!

And I have no reason to be triggered by such a reasoned statement. It’s probably what a secure person would say to prevent an argument. But I’m not secure and therefore it’s lazy and passionless, don’t @ me.

Or maybe do @ me. I can’t even decide if this is a toxic trait I want to improve. I quite like being a wordsmith.

I’m frenetic in nature, so I will naturally swing back and forth between two ideas. Even when I have laid out a reasonable and rationale argument for changing my ways and even when there is supporting evidence that those ways are not a ‘good thing’, I’ll still argue with myself over which wins out.

Until, of course, the time comes that an argument is borne, and either the other person is left feeling like shit because they couldn’t defend my war of words or I’m left feeling like shit because my war of words worked and now they feel like shit. It’s a no win situation and I can’t not have the last word. At this point, I instantly chastise myself.

So even though it’s a behaviour that I need to change, I don’t really want to. Even though I’ll always end up feeling bad by behaving in this way, I’ll continue to do it.

And because this peace has settled over me and there is no drama (in my love life at least) I feel a little lost. I’m jittery, like one who hasn’t had their coffee in the morning (or way too much) and I’m gunning for a verbal showdown.

It’s ironic that that I can spit words out and yet I’m really not sure this post makes any sense.

I have nothing more to say**

** a sentence you write when you have no clear way to end a blog post.

Just let me vent!

So my sons dad has been seeing my cousin. I mention this in Post Christmas Blues. A Rant! My 1am pity party was swiftly drawn to a close and I got on with life. Fast forward 4 months and not only has he moved less than 100 steps away from my own house, he’s moved my cousin, no wait, HIS SON’S Cousin into his house and he’s not said a dickie bird to me. Not that I need to keep tabs on what he’s doing, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable to know who my son will be spending time with when he’s not with me.

I’m so tempted to ban dad visits, never before have I felt this wound up about something. Never before I have I even thought about using my son as a weapon. Never before has I thought my son would be better off without his dad. Never before have I considered that my own free time is less important than his dad. But here I am, considering for the first time using our son to hit him where it hurts.

I won’t of course. Because my son needs his dad more than I need vengeance.

But my walks, my local, my Tesco, my chippy, my Chinese are now all tainted with the fact I could walk into either of them in any of those locations at any time. Urgh! This means always having my hair done, always having my make-up sharp and always being dressed to kill!

It sucks!!

Because I’ll be damned if I see them both together looking like fine wines while i’m a half empty can of red stripe. No idea why I’m using alcohol as a metaphor, maybe it’s my subconscious giving me a hint on how to cope in the short term? You know what’s worse. It’s the shame of it all. The cousin comes from the wealthy half of my family. The hoighty toity brigade. Whilst I cannot believe they don’t really see the shame in it, possibly because they see me as the black sheep of the family, so in their eyes he has upped a level…(pahahahahahaha all fuckidiots), in mine it’s like some Jeremy Kyle shite. ‘You slept with mine and my sons cousin and me at the same time’ So who here really has the wrong values, we were together for 14 years, is nothing off-fucking-limits?


Help. Please???