Anger (Ramblings)

Sometimes I can be so dramatic.

Perhaps it’s my doomed femininity that makes me this way. I read too much into things that, in the grand scheme of life, are rather simple and unimportant, yet I never fail to blow them out of proportion. 

It’s my fatal flaw- I’m too much of a thinker. 

I wish sometimes that I could just FORCE myself to be happy. Unfortunately, I have a tendency to hold grudges. It’s a viscous cycle really:

  1. Someone does something.
  2. I read into it, interpreting it as some personal vendetta against me.
  3. Or, in regards to people I care about, I interpret it as a sign that they don’t really like me. That I am a freckle on the face of their existence, and that they could really not care less about my position in their life.
  4. Both 2 and 3 basically mean this: I blow the situation out of proportion
  5. I fail at acting normal around the someone who did the something the next time I see them. I’m dreadfully terrible at hiding my anger or hurt towards people and I take everything too seriously. 
  6. The someone notices that I’m acting strange. When they bring this up, I somehow, against all reason, get either angrier or more hurt. They noticed. Why couldn’t I just act like a normal person?
  7. Finally, I push people away, until I can handle being around them again. Normally that’s only a day or two, but there are times when it’s longer.

This is a terrible system, because the people I care about most are generally the people I get angriest with or most hurt by. Why is that, I wonder? If I truly love these people, why do I get so fed up and angry towards them?

I think the answer is simply because I care. I care so much about people, and likewise fear so much that I could mess  up. I am always afraid that the people I love will move on from me. That they will find newer, more exciting people to be better friends with. I, after all, am I crazy person who can’t control her emotions, so why shouldn’t they find stabler, more exciting and enjoyable people to be around?

This, I suppose, is one of my greatest insecurities. Loving without being loved in return. Loving, but being too crazy or strange or dark or bitchy or unfun or whatever else, to be loved in return. 

Those are my current thoughts. Sorry they’re not very insightful or happy!

Here’s to hoping you don’t feel the same way, but for the solidarity we can share if you do,

Kristy

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