The Fight

I woke up this morning feeling like I hardly slept at all, though I know I did. Maybe it is the depression maybe it was all the anti-anxiety meds I took yesterday. Whatever it is, it is becoming a regular occurrence. I walk around like everything around me is just happening, like I'm not an actual participant in my own life, more an observer, and an observer who is watching through a fog none the less.

After about 30 minutes and a cup of coffee I begin to become aware of my body, and how it aches. It feels like I have whiplash, but I know there's been no accident. So I begin to retrace the last few days, because this is more than just my normal sore back. It is hard to move. I think about the rage I was in Friday night. I see myself hurling things across the room, pillows, my purse, whatever. I feel myself fighting Chuck as he tried to restrain me some. I wonder how out of control I truly was. I see bruises on my arms that I can't explain and I wonder if those came from me hitting things that night too. I see the scratches on my arms and I remember the day before,  fighting myself. I remember being bent over in the bathroom crying so hard. Every muscle tense and fighting the emotion. I feel my muscles remembering that tension. I remember my head throbbing once I calmed down. The truth is that I was so worked up through a lot of it that I am sure there is a lot I don't remember too. That scares me. What did I do? What did I say? Why can't I control myself more?

Even after all that exploded out of me, I can still feel it bubbling just under the surface. Like a controlled burn. Today as I was frustrated with Chuck over being late to get my daughter from her dad. I had to take more anxiety medicine, and really breath deep as the feelings of anger and rage began to rumble below the surface. I don't want to be a screaming maniac any more. I feel exhausted, guilty,  and small after each time I loss control. Ironically, I began having rages because I didn't feel important or heard. Now each time I have one I feel smaller and less like someone worth listening too.

Uhg I look at myself, my body, how upset Chuck was, and I feel stupid! I have made nothing better for anyone, and now I hurt physically as well as emotionally. I feel beat up in so many ways and it kills me to know I did it to myself. Why do I do this? You would think after 14 years of playing this game with myself I would have figured out a better way to deal with it. Yet it seems every time I start to spiral down I eventually hit the point of no return,  and even if I see it coming. Even if I am aware, and on my meds, and desperately trying to grab hold of something to stop myself from continuing down, I can't stop it. I end up scream, throwing  things and generally acting like the "crazy" person that I so desperately DON'T want to be.