As I hit my mid to late teens I just got more and more out of control. The lying was constant and the drug use was getting worse but not bad enough for people to notice just yet.
I was violent and not just at home any more. I was stealing things all the time also not just at home anymore. I would take off and not tell anyone where I was going or lie about where I planned to be, all this for no reason any one could easily spot.
When questioned I always had the same answer…”I don’t know” it was my default response when I had no desire to explain myself, mostly because the explanation would be much more frustrating than “I don’t know”
Most of my life I have taken emotion and done one of two things with it. I turn it off or I turn it into rage, as I got older turning it off became very difficult for me to do and as I would feel things very strongly I was mostly just in a constant state of anxiety filled rage. Which is as horrible as it sounds.
I began to lose control over everything. I was doing horrible things to the people around me and for the most part I was un-phased by my own behavior. I had allowed myself to find comfort in that dark place I used to try to avoid. Once I had found that comfort I found it hard to want to leave that dark place.
Samantha would yell for what seemed like days inside my head about the dark not being a good place to settle and blah blah blah. She had begun to sound like every body else and I needed her to be quite. One of the easiest ways for me to make Sam quite was to cut. She hated when I would do that to myself. It bothered her so bad most times she wouldn’t talk to me until the cuts were healed.
So during my long stays in the darkness I tended to cut more often just to keep things quite.
The rage filled me like water as you drown, my chest would fill and my breathing would become strained and it would just consume all I was and did.
There were moments of light I would catch as it peeked through the darkness at me, but there is a comfort in the darkness inside of me; not one easily walked away from.
“Anger is one letter short of danger.” – Eleanor Roosevelt
