I was hit with a low blow today. Scratch that. I was hit with a fucking mack truck. My heart felt as if it was going to leap out of my chest and dance across my desk. My hands were sweaty and my skin clammy. My appetite was nowhere to be seen and I was ready to sell my soul for a soothing shot of whiskey or tequila.
I’ve been very absent from the world of blogging lately due to my inability to properly handle stressful situations without becoming a useless, shaking blob of jelly. I’m angry and I don’t know where to direct my rage and how to keep it from burning down the world around me. I want to scream and cry and throw things until they break. I want to confront the reason for my distress and beat it into the ground. Yet here I sit, doing nothing.
As badly as I wanted to fly off the handle earlier today, I held it in and removed myself from the situation as quickly as I knew how. I’ve shed a few tears, but have kept myself from falling into a full out sob. Nothing is broken (yet). I’m trying to fix it, but I feel like I should know why it happened in the first place, and that is one question that will never get a good answer.
I’m glad I didn’t see the smirk and sarcastic wave earlier today from the wrecking ball that destroyed my world today. My situation would have been irreparable if I had seen that, as I have no doubt that someone would have gotten their teeth punched into the back of their skull. At some points, I’m so amazed by what happened that I can’t even be angry. But of course I can. I am angry. Justifiably so. But anger won’t solve any problems. I have to go forward. I have to move on. And a month from now, maybe a year from now, you damn well better believe I’ll be laughing in your stupid, smirky face, you intolerable bastard.