Rage

It sneaks up on you.

It’s very subtle at first.  The mild annoyance over life’s daily interactions.  Getting pissed off because the inconsiderate person ahead of you goes through the express check out clearly has more than twelve items or less.   And the stupid kid behind the register lets them go through anyway.  What kind of jerk parks on the curb in front instead of taking the parking spot that is only steps away from the door?  And what’s with driver who uses the merge lane to zip around everyone else.  Do they think they are too good to wait in line like the rest of us?

It becomes more aggressive.  Storming out of a store because the sales clerk waited on someone else first, even though you’ve been waiting longer.  Making sarcastic and ugly comments to friends because they have the gall to have a different opinion.  Hitting the steering wheel because you’ve caught three red lights in a row, and you’re in a hurry damn it.  Flipping off the bastard that cuts you off in traffic.  Cussing out the clerk because the store is out of your favorite brand of coffee.  And can you believe a bar can be out of scotch?  What the hell?  What kind of bar doesn’t keep enough scotch!  See if I ever come back here again.  That’ll show them!

It starts to take hold.  Yelling at your friend that has the audacity to be late meeting you for dinner.    Slamming on brakes because the guy behind you is in a bigger hurry than you are and gets a little too close.  Cranking up your stereo to the point of blowing your speakers to drown out the punk in the car beside you listening to that crap the kids today call music.   Sending the ALL CAPS EMAIL TO THE COWORKER THAT USED YOUR IDEA AS THEIR OWN.

Now you’re out of control.  Putting your fist through a wall because your spouse is arguing with you over something stupid.  Running the little old lady in front of you off the road while passing her on the right because the bitch doesn’t understand the left lane is the hammer lane, and she needs to get the hell out of your way.  Then tailgating the car in front of her because they aren’t speeding as fast as you want to.  Ripping your shirt off, destroying it in the process because SOMEONE set the Air Conditioner on 74 when it’s clearly not cool enough when it’s 90 degrees outside.  We have enough money to pay the damned bill!  I’m Hot!  Turn it down!  Slamming your cell phone on the floor, shattering it into little pieces because your Dr. doesn’t answer even though he should understand that your repeated calling should let him know that you’re in crisis and need help.  And he hasn’t returned your 12 voice mails and it’s been over an hour.  Screaming at the top of your lungs to the point of being hoarse for days over the frustration that comes from not being able to control your thoughts.   And the shaking.  Why the hell can’t I stop shaking.  Getting fired for yelling at your idiot boss because he just doesn’t understand that you know more than he does how to run a company.

Finding yourself alone because the love of your life has finally had enough.

Then, what the hell happened?  Your car  is in the a ditch because your speed is greater than the curve in the road.  You don’t understand why you are in handcuffs in the back of a police car. You are issued an orange jump suit, given a wool blanket and bag of toiletries after the finger printing and mug shot.  You are committed, again, to the mental ward and you have no idea why.

Now read my blog, dammit, and leave me comments telling me how good I am.  And make sure you subscribe you idiot.  You don’t want to miss the next post because you’re too busy and lazy to appreciate my brilliance.

Rage.  Because not all manic episodes are euphoric and fun.

And I’m sorry.

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One Response to Rage

  1. put on your big girl panties. lmao..

    Like

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