I don’t understand and doubt I ever will. Her moods all over the place, not helped by the fact that our weather has been more inconsistent and wet than I ever recall. How do I own what I am supposed to? Am I a bitch? Yep, can own that one. Am I bored, yep can own that one too. Yet, just as I said in group last week, I don’t seem to care much about consequences or anyone else’s feelings anymore than I am to care about my own.
It feels anger related, a festering wound bubbling under the surface. I recognize that irritant, it feels the same as when I watch peroxide bubble as it sterilizes. Yet, my anger doesn’t feel like a wound, I don’t really know what precisely it is directed at. If I had to guess I’d say it is many emotions rolled up into one; the expectation to figure out specifics and label where specifically the emotion goes to…. futile.
At times to push through the emotions can be as simple as a “talk therapy” other times it feels like a shard of glass slicing down my chest, splitting down the middle, jagged like my soul.
The Bitch comes out, when words can’t be found. She comes out when her needs aren’t being met. If you ask her what those needs are, she will most likely not know, other than simplistic thoughts, lack of sleep, no sunshine, sadness, but anything more and chances are she will clam up and go away.
The root of the emotion, is not always know. I just know that when The Bitch is Out even I wish I could get out of me.