If I were a tragic hero, my tragic flaw would be my anger. Every person in the world feels anger at least once in their life. But, for most of them, this anger subsides, they forget the incident, then move forward. Most people do not have repressed anger in their unconscious from kindergarten. Most people even have some control over their anger or their feelings in general. This is an area in which we differ greatly. My reactions are controlled, but my emotions run rampant. While I may 'act' surprised or happy when someone tells me good news ... I am forcing away tears or the desire to punch those tears away. Any repressed or hidden feeling gets locked in a box that is only opened when my anger takes control. This anger isn't just a flushed face and a brisk rush of embarrassment. My anger is equivalent to shaking hands, adrenaline pulsating, twitching, heartbeat in ears, eyes watering, and I can't tell the person in front of me apart from a stranger. Then comes the abnormal violence (throwing broken scissors at someone's head, stabbing someone in the neck).
It all makes no sense whatsoever. It's really strange. It'd be easy to blame this on a perma-period or early set menopause, but that's not it. YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. This is where I'll stop typing so that the 'public' (people who read this blog) don't see the breakable part of me. There is a very fragile person inside who lashes out before being hit. R-i-i-i-i-i-de out.
Part of me has decided against 'beating that bitch' ass', while another part of me has already made plans to bash her skull into the fucking ground and to stop punching when she stops breathing. I do not know her. She doesn't deserve to get all of the anger that will pour onto her. I just need a release ... and as much of a bitch as she is ... she doesn't deserve to be it.
I'm shrinking away from the world and no one seems to notice. Some days, I think that I have a secondary personality who functions swimmingly while my unconscious has floated away.
Happy note: I'm going to look like a girl for prom! Last year, I didn't know where the gauge for caring was, and I had no idea what to do. Only my hair was done, ha. Then, I threw a little eyeliner on. This year ... I AM GOING ALLLLL OUT! My nails will be done (o lawd) and my hair shall be poodle-esque.
It all makes no sense whatsoever. It's really strange. It'd be easy to blame this on a perma-period or early set menopause, but that's not it. YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. This is where I'll stop typing so that the 'public' (people who read this blog) don't see the breakable part of me. There is a very fragile person inside who lashes out before being hit. R-i-i-i-i-i-de out.
Part of me has decided against 'beating that bitch' ass', while another part of me has already made plans to bash her skull into the fucking ground and to stop punching when she stops breathing. I do not know her. She doesn't deserve to get all of the anger that will pour onto her. I just need a release ... and as much of a bitch as she is ... she doesn't deserve to be it.
I'm shrinking away from the world and no one seems to notice. Some days, I think that I have a secondary personality who functions swimmingly while my unconscious has floated away.
Happy note: I'm going to look like a girl for prom! Last year, I didn't know where the gauge for caring was, and I had no idea what to do. Only my hair was done, ha. Then, I threw a little eyeliner on. This year ... I AM GOING ALLLLL OUT! My nails will be done (o lawd) and my hair shall be poodle-esque.
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