Have I ever mentioned that I am prone to have tantrums?

Well…I am.

Not often, mind you. It takes me a long time to wind myself up to that point. The last time I had one, in fact, was the day asshole broke off our engagement with the only explanation being “I’m sorry.” (I’m guessing he was “sorry” for cheating and lying and stealing from me. He never did say exactly why he was sorry…the sorry son of a fucking bitch). When I threw my fit that time, I was alone in the house and suddenly I began to scream my head off and starting tearing through my room and demolishing what I could. I took my favorite ring off and banged it till it broke…ripped up some sketches that I had drawn…threw my favorite glass against the wall and shattered it…and then…amidst the glass and fluttering papers, I began stomping and kicking the shit out of my bed as I cried and screamed “Sorry?!?” over and over again. I throw a fit and fuck up MY shit instead of fucking up the things that push me to my tyrannical point. I’m like a rioter…fucking up my own shit even more when it’s the world that’s really the problem. That becomes clear once the fit subsides and I cry myself to sleep and then wake up later completely disoriented because during the first few seconds and blinks, I have no clue what’s happened or where I am. And then I remember. And then I cry and feel worse as I clean up the pieces of all my favorite things. Last tantrum cost me my fucking bed…and I pay for that shit every night.

It is my controlled chaos…so to speak.

Point is…I feel a tantrum coming on. I feel that rumble under my skin and that unexplained anger bubbling in my brain. I just can’t take it anymore. But who can I rage against…really? My mom for fucking making herself sick and driving me crazy? My co-workers who are just as stuck at that suck ass job as I am? At Adam for not being here? At Lola FOR being here? at my wallet for being empty? At time for passing so quickly and making me one year older…taking me one year closer to 30? Who that fuck can I seriously have a beef with beside myself?

Thing is…I don’t want to be 29 on Friday. I don’t want to be that old and this far away from where I thought I’d be at this time. When I was a teen, 29 was me out of school, working at either a woman’s counseling center or shrinking criminals in jail, a million miles away from mom, and raising my kid on my own. So college fell through….mom is still being mom…then marriage fell through…twice…then the baby was a no go…three times. And here I am…fat, broke, and alone…the same thing I was when I was a teen making these dreams. How many letdowns do I have to cycle through before I finally have the beautiful breakdown I so deserve?

And I know I’m whining. I know people say “it could be so much worse…you could be doing so much worse…you’re one of the lucky ones…” blah blah blah. But fuck that. We all have our own personal Hell that we wallow in from time to time and this is mine. And I’ve been trapped in it for far too long now. And as much as I want to chew through my limbs to get free again, I don’t have the energy to do it anymore.

I DO NOT WANT TO BE LIKE THIS WHEN I TURN 29!!!!

I can’t explain it. VD started the slump…and then today, out of nowhere, tears just poured down my cheeks while I trudged through my work…another thing that hasn’t happened since the notorious break up. I just feel so…sad…and useless…and…trapped.

Maybe I’m just PMS’ing. Maybe it’s because Adam didn’t write me yesterday. Maybe it’s because I don’t have the money I thought I’d have to get my bed out and buy a new outfit and stuff for when I go out Friday. Maybe it’s because my mom is fucking working my nerves. Maybe it’s because I know neither that bitch Jen or Ben will bother to fucking wish me a happy birthday…when I was proclaimed by both to be their fucking soul mate. Maybe it’s because Swiz didn’t call and I know it’s done and it’s making me miss him 1000 more than I normally would. Maybe it’s just because I really am that petty that I am freaking out about turning 30 in a year.

Who knows.

I just know that I am really fucking sad and I don’t know why and I’m sick of pretending I’m otherwise. And that I am really dreading waking up Friday morning. And that I feel so alone. And that despite it all…I do realize and appreciate how lucky I am and how good I got it. And that I just want to find a way to be happy.

Why is that so hard for me?

****EDIT****

I am feeling a bit better thanks to three things....
The Dave Chappelle Show. It was the episode where he and John Mayer prove white people can dance and where he does a sketch of himself at 3 different ages. I realized how much I have grown since my Das Efx days. Though...I don't ever think I'll outgrow Das Efx.

I got a letter from Adam. Apparently one of his boys said I was beautiful and asked if I had any friends like me...Adam said, "It's not possible. She's one of a kind and I'm not letting her go...and besides, I'm the only she wants." Corny...but it really made me smile.

And most of all...Lola. Every time I get done talking to her on the phone I thank God she is in my life. I guess I won't have to chew off a limb to get free after all...not when I have a friend like her willing to always brave through my hell to come and save me.

Thank you Lola...I love you, girl.
I can't wait to see how we are when we're 60.