Temper, Temper.

Time for more self-exploration. Gad, I need a Publix sugar cookie. Or ten.

I have a horrible temper. When something doesn't go my way, I will yell, throw whatever is in my line of sight, kick, or punch. It's horrible. At times, I'm like a demon. But I never hurt people. Only myself.

Do I demonstrate this temper in front of others? No.
Does it scare me? Yes.

I'm like a woman possessed. I will go to a room upstairs, away from the kids, or into the garage, and scream at the top of my lungs until my vocal cords sting. I'm sure the neighbors think I'm a loon. And I will throw, kick, or punch whatever is in my way. Plastic hangers are my favorite. I can't tell you how many I have broken and how many walls have been scuffed. If I'm in a particularly sour mood, I'll chuck toys around the main floor house (under the guise of "cleaning up"), listening to the satisfying thud of toys hitting the floor and bouncing off cabinets. All of this is done while the kids are at school or napping. I have been known to rip the seams of stuffed animals with repeated smacks against a door frame. It is satisfying. Tiring. Mortifying.

It drives me nuts that I do this. I'll wake up on a Monday and decide That's it. I'm not going to allow my temper to get the best of me. I'm a grown woman. This is ridiculous. And so, I go about my days. By Friday, I'm a mess of grinding teeth, short answers, and an even shorter fuse until I pop and march upstairs to slam doors, cuss out a few choice words, and cry.

And so, it's back to throwing toys, hangers, or ripping mail to shreds. Otherwise, I'm a vacuum seal waiting to pop. And that? Is ugly.

I've researched anger-management classes and they're mainly geared toward corporate environments or for people who are ordered to attend by the courts. Nothing like a "Defensive Driving" course you can just sign up for off the street. I've considered yoga. Didn't work. Where did this temper come from? I have no clue. Could it stem from my attempt to constantly please those whom I think (incorrectly) need pleasing and in turn bottling up those negative emotions rather than expressing them? Possibly. Could it be a recessive genetic trait, showing up in both me and my uncle and just waiting to turn up in one of my kids? Maybe, but I think that's the chickenshit explanation. I just know that when I perceive myself to be stuck in a rut, my temper gets worse and flares up with an intense heat and it's then I realize that I need to get out or a door, a wall, my knuckles, something is going to get dented or damaged.

This is the part of me that embarrasses me the most and saddens me to have to deal with it day to day.