damned

So there we were trying to communicate. At least I thought we were trying. Maybe. Who the heck knows. The God in heaven would be proud. I did not scream or yell. I spoke. I told Alvin all the things I was worried about, all the things I was stressed about, all the things that pissed me off, all the things that made me so very very sad.

He has finally spoken. And in his infinite wisdom he says to me that if I can just stop being so angry with him we will be okay. The problem is, like I told him many many times over the past months, I am unable to rein in the rage the moment it reaches a certain level.

But of course he would have none of that. He thinks I should be able to control my anger because I am almost thirty and I am a professional. I have never heard anything more ridiculous in my entire life.

He thinks I should not be getting mad over little things. I agree. But that is why I think I have a problem - I get too angry. And it does not feel right. And while it does not feel right, I am incapable of stopping myself - as both of us have experienced on various occasions.

Would I be asking for help with something I can deal with myself?

I feel like a fucking addict who just admitted a need for help and was turned away. At this point I do believe substance abuse might be a considerably simpler problem. I mean come on, if I was a smoker I can just smoke for the rest of my life and die young.

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