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Feeling Like a Burden

Yelling Bouts

By Alexandra FPublished 6 years ago 4 min read
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I feel like such a burden. I have my problems, my agitative depression, my uneven serotonin levels, my yelling in my room I try desperately to curb. I use humor, venting through writing, busying myself with tasks, focusing on the cuteness of my cat, crying it out, anything I can think of to stop myself from being this yelling monster that disturbs others by her yelling.

It hurts to feel like such a burden. I’d love to just be normative (or at least normal me), in my own control fully, never shelving my anger to such moments as when I do end up yelling. I’ve been like this certainly since the miscarriage, to this extent. I used to do it to a lesser extent even before that.

I was 19 when it happened. I had a boyfriend, and I was happy and hopeful for the future, and I hadn’t been punched out of having his baby. I think my body and I got used to the idea of having that baby. We accommodated that potential child and mourned him or her when I saw the blood in the toilet the next day after my mother punched me in the jaw.

It was not period. It was too full of flesh and didn’t smell like my pheromones.

I have a negatively visceral reaction to even the mention of vodka now. I honestly hate the thought of anyone’s drinking alcohol, certainly liquor, but am OK with wine, mainly red wine. I don’t think it’s an excuse to tell others how to live their lives, what drinking habits to have, though the mention of alcoholism even as a joke makes me feel triggered.

I lost a child to my mother’s alcoholism and physical abuse. I think my system was preparing for the baby and getting ready to protect us both, so when she hit me I was in that mode of protecting us.

I’ve been yelling ever since I started it in high school. I started yelling at my impossible to control hair one morning when it was being particularly difficult to brush and tame. I was raised white even though I have a part-black birth father. I don’t know how to treat my crazy, dry, frizzy hair. I didn’t learn any tools for taking care of my hair because I wasn’t around people who knew how to. The first place I went was this Dominican hair place since they have crazy hair too.

It came to a point for me when I threw a pair of sharp scissors at this obnoxious boy that would pester me because he liked me and didn’t know how to treat me like he did. Didn’t bother to treat me nicely was how it felt to me. One day, we were in Chemistry class (we had all three sciences) and he kept pestering me without telling me why. I went from asking him kind of quietly and nicely to stop bothering me, and he would briefly stop, then keep going. My volume would escalate at him about it as he went on, still not stopping though I was trying to work on an in-class project he was distracting me from with my partner. I tried to get the teacher to step in, but even when she tried to get him to stop, he still wouldn’t. I’m not proud of what I did, and I don’t think his obnoxious behavior is an excuse for it, but it’s the explanation. I snapped. He wouldn’t exercise self-control enough to stop bothering me and distracting me from the work I was trying to do, and wouldn’t stop slowly angering me more as he went on. I took a pair of scissors that was nearby and threw it at him. Had he not ducked, he would have ended up in the hospital. I ended up in the headmistress’ office, talking with her about the event and asked to take the rest of the day off as a suspension. I have never been proud of myself in this, but the boy in question would not stop distracting and angering me, so I don’t think he should be proud of himself either.

I’m not proud of my yelling, of my problems, of my biochemical “differences.” I’m in therapy and in life to figure out how to work with having those problems and still ultimately end the bad behavior that disturbs people. I don’t think I’m better than people in general, though I do think I’m morally better than rapists, murderers, burglars, people who’ve decided to do the wrong thing.

The question is: where do I put the anger I don’t express to people’s faces? Where does that energy go? Venting is good, walking it off is good too. The ice water thing is right when it’s happening, but I’d need some kind of alert that’s set to when I’m getting yell-angry (with a sensing device that’s hooked up to me) to go off to remind me to do the ice water dumping thing. Where do I put the anger about not having a job? Where do I put the anger about the miscarriage? Where do I put the anger about my rape at age 11? Where do I put the anger about my mother’s past physical abuse of me? Where do I put the anger about my father’s psychological abuse? Where do I put my anger about feeling like a judged burden? It seems to still go into some bouts of yelling, though fewer than before. That’s in the right direction, but it’s not stopping it. I want to learn to naturally control myself enough to do so.

trauma
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About the Creator

Alexandra F

I write to give myself an adventure & if it's fun perhaps you will enjoy it too.

This is the link to my journalistic blog: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/franklynews

I only make money if you contribute, so please click the bottom button. Thanks!

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