The loyal companions of Miso.
I remember how heavy the burden was that I carried with me. I remember that characteristic “eating me up inside” feeling I felt going through the every day of my life. The guilt.
The rage was also present every day, of course, but I did have some time to recover. The rage was and is there while the triggers were/are there. It comes quickly, and spreads all over me faster than I can inhale. Every cell in my body boils to the point that it hurts.
I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know how to get it out without hurting anybody around me while doing what I wish I could do. I know I want to scream and I want to hit something. I know I’ll go nuts and it’s just a matter of time until I snap and break something. I also know it will pass, but in those moments, waiting for the rage to go away seems unbearable and impossible.
The truth is… I never break anything…
The difference between “I’ll go nuts right at this moment” and “I’m ok now” is measured in a picosecond. I can also count the number of minutes I spent feeling rage. It’s something like a gazillion minutes.
However, I can’t put a number on how much time I spent on feeling guilt. All the time left after the rage is gone was the time reserved for the quilt.
I was such an awful, weird person who gets enraged by some silly chewing, smacking, breathing that’s happening across the room; who runs from certain people just because the way they talk with their hands and make grimaces while they talk.
A person who spend so much time hating stupidities must be awful. And unfortunately, I made the peace with the fact that I was one of those bad people living on the face of the Earth.
How could I feel that amount of rage towards someone whom I love deeply, and who loves me also? How could I be so grateful to someone because he/she has just done something really nice to me in one moment, but then in the next moment when he/she decides to have a random bite of some fruit, I flip? How come that “bite of fruit” is stronger than “doing something nice for me? ” Rage vs. feeling grateful and happy. Miso wins almost exclusively.
Only God knows how many times I was so happy and excited and hurrying home to tell my parents all about something that had just happened. I would enter the room with the biggest smile оn my face, determined that I wouldn’t let the rage ruin everything this time… But then… it’s just… before I got the chance to say the true reason of my excitement, my mother would make a characteristic sound or movement and I would be done. Right then and there. Drained to the core of my being and left without any desire to tell them why I was happy a moment ago. Wait… I even already forgot that I had been happy in the first place.
Another silly, stupid argument that came out of nowhere.
What after? The same pressure we all felt every time after arguing about unnecessary, irrelevant reasons. About the way I react out of nowhere. Wasn’t I happy a moment ago? I think I was, but I ruined it again. The concern about me for them, and the guilt for me.
Sometimes I would just sit through their “parenting class,” completely aware that what they’re saying is true; I am really “impossible to live with.” While they were talking, I would be whipped by their sounds and gesticulations. I would look down and slightly turn my head so I could avoid looking at their faces, out of the fear that I’ll pick up another trigger. I’m just not able to put up with another explosion!
They weren’t aware that they were already punishing me. I was, and I felt I deserved that.
I would embrace the guilt and go through life with it. Because, it truly was my fault. I ruined the moment yesterday, today, and I know I’ll ruin it tomorrow.
Knowing about Miso brought me relief; the burden is not that heavy any more, but it’s still here, on my shoulders.