It’s not like we’re all wired differently. But, you know, some of us just are. It’s OK. We wind up confused or angry at things that normal folk don’t blink twice at. That’s OK too.
I’m having a hard time today. My normal hard time is a gentle paranoia that bleeds into anxiety. It’s like a whisper in your ear telling you the reasons that you suck and that safety is a mere illusion.
Anxiety can make me feel out of control and afraid. I fear for myself and society at large. I wonder what that guy is hiding under his sweatshirt. I wonder why that woman looks so angry and what she has in that giant purse. I won’t sit in the middle of the room because I don’t want anyone to walk behind me. I don’t want anyone too close.
Today is not that day.
Today I’m pissed.
Just under the epidermal layer of my emotional chitin shell is full blown anger. I’ve already ranted at my sig-oth for no reason that my logical side can fathom. And instead of feeling like I’m spending these feelings, emptying the rage-well, it’s building.
Today there is a deep and rising tide of anger. My jaw is clenched so tightly that the muscles hurt. I am fearless. I am fucking tired of other people’s shit. Even if I can’t fucking put my finger on what that shit is. So, I’m going to go run errands instead of be angry with my family for no damn good reason.
Growing up with a brother and sister, we fought on the regular. My father used to tell me it was because we were too familiar with one another. When he’d had it with our squabbles, he’d say, “Ya’ll treat one another like you’ve never met. You’re kinder to strangers than you are to each other.”
So, even today, he’s right.
TL;DR: Anger is a part of PTSD. Don’t let it burn down your relationships. Also, everyone loves Girl Scout cookies.