Fury
Sometimes we play the broken dancer so long we don't know how to stop. Splinters of wood fly as my vision fades to nothing and
I
just
let
go.
Worse than the last time, I can't even remember certain parts flying off. Cracked clean down the seat, I simply cannot remember that happening or how many times I struck it against the ground. At least the last time I only hit once, jarred back into my senses by the thing breaking. This time, it wasn't enough, just more and more and more is all I seemed to want. I couldn't even fully explain why I wanted to because there wasn't any particular why. More of an exorcism of a build-up of emotion. Keeping things to myself, the only options left to me seem to involve destruction, self or otherwise and I managed to avoid the first, which I am proud of. More truthfully, it was a thing beyond wanting, it was beyond thought.
It was fury.
And this raw, untainted thing is horrible and awful. I can't even imagine what would happen if I ever did this to a person.
I think I may need help. But then there is the pathological inability to do so. Ironically one of the things I need to get over is my issue with psychology.
What are you going to do, neh? I don't really have it that bad, in fact, everything is going well. I have absolutely no reason to complain except for things that are well and truly contained within myself. All my mistakes, emotional and otherwise, are my own. Maybe that's why I can't get past the feeling that I have to fix myself.
I mean, really, who else is going to?