What I’ve Learned from My Last Bout of Rage
The Explosion
“I’m really sorry”.
Those were the three words that set me over the edge. Such an innocent-looking statement that had absolutely no meaning at that point in time. Why?
Because it had been said a little too much, and despite it, there I was, getting my heart broken to pieces after I had worked SO incredibly hard to patch it back up, on my own.
And to make matters worse, it was the same person who was breaking it, whom I gave a second chance to. Three simple, yet haunting words.
It felt like a nightmare. My hands were shaking. That chill from my hands passed through me like a wave and pretty soon, I found myself shaking all over. I knew what I was about to do and what I had to do — DROP THE PHONE! My brain screamed.
I tossed it onto my mattress, but the shaking intensified and the blood rose from my toes to my temples. I went to reach for my towel and clean clothes to take a shower but instead gripped the edge of the mattress, a bunch of thoughts flooding me.
How was I supposed to go about my day, as if nothing happened? If I let it go, I’d feel the pain, I’d be sad. And crying. And weak. Defeated. They’d get away with it. Again. Then I was filled…
