I stood in my hall today and beat on my closet door for fifteen minutes. I imagined it to be a personification of that which I believe is the cause of my anger and anxieties. The door was not a person, but stood as some real solid place to vent what I have been feeling.
Normally when I feel this way I hit myself in my head. In fact, last February I hit myself for such a frequency that I ended up with a concussion. It is strange, I don't even mind writing about this wacky behavior because one, there are very few people who read this blog, and two, it is the truth of who I am. I hit myself when I get angry or frustrated.
The greatest thing about the closet today was that I could turn my frustration and anger outward instead of toward myself. I wasn't angry at myself (at least I don't think so), I was angry at what I had projected onto two people. I really wanted to tell them both how absolutely irritating they were, how much I hated them, and that I wished they would just get out of my life. (So silly in retrospect because one was a stocker putting chocolate chips on a shelf at the store. Really, like I will ever see her again).
So, I came home and beat the crap out of the door. I screamed at the door. And, yes, I kicked the door, which proved to be a slight mistake, but hey, at least it wasn't my head that broke; equally,I did not direct my anger toward myself.
All things considered, this was all an improvement.
