What made me stop looking under the bed? I never stopped to think of that time when I became the monster I was most afraid of. I never stopped to question why it was that I was now struggling more with myself than with the people who come and go in my life.
It's the rage mostly that I can't seem to let go of. It rumbles deep.... somewhere in the viscera of me is this wretched pulsating anger that keeps explosively erupting when I know I just need to slow down and get a grip.
Just breathe, I tell myself. Count to ten or twenty or eleventy-million if necessary. But instead, more often than I would like, there it is. And all I want to do is scream and howl and vomit acid on whoever has happened to unknowingly trip the wire. Though I swear sometimes it feels alot like it is done purposefully... as if the people know, instinctively that this moment is the one where I won't be able to control myself. And afterward I always feel like such a fool. Saddened by my lack of rational self-control... tired from the energy that it took, lessened by the piece of my peace it destroyed. Desperately searching for my humor or something lovely to fill me back up so I don't feel so tragically emptied by the eruption.
The blessings I need to count are always there, just somehow they seem lessened, less real, more untouchable, less tangible when that anger takes over.
I'm just mad.Mad like a loon, mad like a hatter, mad like the Apocalypse is dawning and all that I can do is strap on the backpack full of ammo and go for the double-tap.