It has been 7 full days since I last wrote a blog. I missed one day, and then one thing lead to another, so I ended up putting it off indefinitely, justifying it to myself in various bogus ways. I've been swamped with work, but that has little to nothing to do with my process, and me pushing through this point of procrastination, which I've been staring at for almost a month. I've proven to myself numerous times that I'm absolutely capable of writing a blog even after 12 hours of work. It was actually almost like I didn't dare engage the point, because it seems so vast and all-encompassing in my life. So here goes.
I've been putting off my responsibilities to the very last moment before the deadline ever since I can remember. It started in elementary school (that's as far as I can remember now), when I would put off my homework and other projects until the very last day. I remember trying to 'be a good student', and do my homework and studying regularly, but that just didn't work for me, because I perceived to be living in a too hostile environment for me to focus on schoolwork. That was my main justification for not caring about school. When I would get home from school, I'd toss my bag in the corner and run away into an alternate reality either by reading books and comics or watching TV, and later the computer became my main focus in search of entertainment. I was running away from reality, mainly from having to face the 'dire situation' that I had with my parents, and the constant worry and fear for my survival that stemmed from their relationship to each other, which was highly unstable and volatile, to say the least.
This running away from reality manifested a laziness, as I would much rather stay in my own little mind-world than do any chores and tasks, which I have started defining as a hassle. In my teens it seemed much easier to engage my mother in verbal and sometimes physical conflict than to 'respect her authority', which by then I gave her absolutely no right to any more, as I was completely disillusioned with her conduct and behaviour.
My father was another story, I both respected and feared him, but he wasn't around as much as mother was.
So I developed this procrastinating personality as a coping mechanism for the hardship I perceived to be enduring (which is laughable, when put in a global perspective). Little did I know that I was terribly harming myself in this absolute abdication of self-responsibility. I was semi-aware of it not being a good thing... but I allowed it within myself anyway, because I perceived the world to be a too scary place to engage on my own, therefore I created my own little alternate world of fantasies and fairy tales, in which I was safe and secure and happy, and I was very reluctant to get out of it, but now it's time to face the music.
Self-forgiveness statements will follow.
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