I’m stomping around the house in a fit of what’s labelled “Borderline Rage”. It’s not fucking borderline, it’s actual rage. Oh I get it it’s because I’m borderline so all my emotions are borderline too? I really don’t grasp that concept. It’s like saying she’s feeling pissed again because of IBS Rage. Acne Rage. Ingrowing Toenail Rage. And so on. It’s quite funny really how these labels and traits are described. My explosive moments of intense anger spring out of nowhere usually. Often over something really superficial and meaningless in the grand scheme of things.
Today I was using an app to keep my Instagram ratio in check and yet again, more #cliques unfollowed me. I unfollowed back as protocol sees fit but soon I felt it! The inner volcanic eruption from within! I hung up the laundry in hope it would pass but nope, red hot lava shot out of my ear canals and I started. I kicked off. “Fuuuuuuuuuck saaaaaaake….” . Seriously, I was like the character in the brilliant videogame above although my chainsaw was a wooden spoon used to stir our porridge earlier. Got to improvise right? “Why can’t people just loosen up and stop this #community bollocks? Stop pigeonholing themselves and enjoy life’s multiple facets. No wonder I feel on the periphery“, etc etc and so forth. See what I mean? OTT response to nothing really. And we all have our various tags dependent upon what we post but I don’t want to be a singular entity.
Now the subsidence part. First of all I swallowed two Kalms tablets (valerian and hops) then looked around. Dragging my tired leg around like a cathedral bound outcast. Now I usually do one of four identified things. Either frantically play a videogame; binge eat; walk it off and buy things or worst case scenario, cut myself in my private place. Not my actual privates, but a private part of my body. I scanned around the kitchen, my green eyes akin to a cat eyeing up a housefly. I chose coffee and gourmet fudge that I’d been sent for my recent birthday. I smiled as I remembered “Want some fudge?”. Long story.
I stomped into the bedroom, cosied up with my husband and watched a Netflix true crime documentary while we wolfed down gooey gourmet fudge. He knows my patterns and triggers very well and always reassures me I’ll be okay.
I will be. Fucking Borderline Okay!
© Copyright: Sharon Lawson™