A Life of It’s Own

My rage and anger have taken on a life of their own. I have push things down and away for so long that they have exploded like a shaken bottle of soda. I can’t control them, I’m not sure I even want to control them.

For so long I have felt nothing. Then the person who abused me died. And I felt gleeful, happy, like everything was sunshine and roses. It was like all of a sudden I was free, free of the lies and the secrets and the pain that he caused me. Free to be me, who ever that was, or atleast free to find out who I was or wanted to be. I wanted to dance and sing and party. I saw rainbows and puppies and flowers everywhere I looked. I’d like to say that those feelings lasted but they didn’t.

Now everything and nothing make me mad, angry, furious or want to cry. The only difference is that the person that I use to focus those feelings on is dead. Now where do I focus these emotions. It feels like I am spreading them around on everyone, like manure in a corn field. Each time they seem to grow more and more powerful. I want to rage, I want to spit, I want to scream and yell, I want everyone to feel my pain. A pain that is flowing from me like a geyser.

I snap at people, I have little patience, and I feel like yelling is the only way they can hear me. Then I feel ashamed because I act so badly. The guilt then drives me to my room. Sometimes I feel like my room is my only safe place. Safe for me and a place that I can go to keep people safe from me. Now I am a captive of the pain instead of my abuser.


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