The Aftermath

Thanks for reading, Catherine :)

This is continued from yesterday's "The Wreck."

Things were pretty okay until I got home, really. Then my dad switched attitudes completely. Suddenly, I was a terrible person. Suddenly, I never towed the line. Suddenly, I "had a princess mentality," and that's what caused the wreck.

He went on and on and on, demanding answers from me. I mostly stuck to, "Okay," "I know," and "I'm sorry." He kept pushing me and running all over me with this whole YOU'RE A TERRIBLE PERSON approach. {At least that's what it FELT like.}

Then when I said, "I'm sorry" for the millionth time, he said,

"That's exactly what I'm talking about. That princess attitude."

What. The hell. Do you want from me? I had honestly done everything I could think of to do the right thing. For the past hour, I had been trying to put into practice everything he had ever told me. Taking responsibility, processing my actions, apologizing, trying to make it right. I actually thought he'd be proud of how I was acting. I was trying to do everything right.

And now he was telling me I'm a snot and that's why I make life suck for the world.

My mom to my dad: "I think she's just trying not to be upset."

Me: "Yup."

But he wouldn't shut up. Or back off. Or stop tearing me down and trampling me. I knew I was going to lose it. So I just started to walk away. He tried to stop me.

As I left, this strangled sound of frustration erupted from my throat. I literally saw red. It was the weirdest, most out of control feeling I've ever experienced. I didn't know your body could force you to scream so completely involuntarily.

I went downstairs and threw what was in my hand as hard as I possibly could at the floor. It was a CD in a case. It all came apart and went places. I literally had to throw it. There was no way to hold in the kind of emotion that was building in my body.

I went to my room. Unfortunately, I was crying. In myself was the most out-of-control rage I'd ever seen, much less experienced. I actually felt like a monster. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run away. I wanted to kill things and break things and shred my body.

I actually did cut/bruise my palms with my fingernails. I didn't mean to.

I couldn't figure out what to do with the rage inside. I knew a lot of things I COULDN'T do. But what TO do.

So I just went to music. I put in earbuds and turned up the music until I couldn't even think. I cleaned my room some, but I was still really upset. I wished the tears would stop. Angry tears are better than sad ones, but they still make me feel weak.

Eventually I was at least stable enough not to kill anything that moved. And I wanted to talk to someone. I wanted to tell someone. So I called Sam. I think we balance each other fairly well in the sanity department {or at least try to}. If I'm losing it, he's pretty chill, and theoretically vice versa. I was still definitely not okay when I called him. But by the time we hung up, I was.

Oh, and it turns out he knows the guy I hit. Go figure.

My parents had somewhere to go that night, so we were separated for a while. When they came home, they were both supportive and amazing again. My dad was nice to me and told me he was proud of me.

Um. Well. I'm glad.

One of these days, this will be in the past. But it's not yet. Right now, I'm just glad for all my friends.

Cass, I absolutely would not have been okay without you. Absolutely not. You were my head during all this.

Momma, thanks for sticking up for me and showing that you love me anyway.

Sam, somehow you talk me down from enormous mountains of not-okay. Thanks.

Aaron, I just love you.

Daniel {who doesn't read this}, I'm glad you're always on my side and help me gain perspective and sanity.

~Stephanie