
For as long as I can remember, I have been an emotional person.
Not a cries a lot kind of person or an overly sensitive kind of person. I’m talking about mood swings that happen so intensely and quickly that they would make your head spin.
Vicious words that spill over my lips, only to be forgotten minutes later. I am the girl who goes from happy to angry to sad all before nine in the morning and then back again, with no control over any of it.
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When I was 17, I can remember a night when I couldn’t get a hold of my boyfriend.
He lived in a house with my best friend and her boyfriend about 30 minutes away from where I lived with my parents. Each time I dialled his number it would ring a few times and then go to voicemail.
Within seconds of the third call, I had convinced myself that he was cheating on me, and in my head not only was he cheating on me but he was doing it with my best friend.
Anger swelled up in me, an uncontrollable rage that was about to boil over. I slammed my hand against the steering wheel, unable to control my temper.
When I called for the fourth time and again didn’t get an answer, I left a seething voicemail about what a piece of scum he was and how I hoped he and my best friend were happy with themselves for consorting behind my back.