Anger. Of the many qualities that constitute me, that is the one I am the most comfortable with. I have no demons with my anger. I make no excuses. I am a fiery Irish woman; it's simply in my nature to want to be in control of every situation all the time (unless, of course, I control the fact that I choose to be out of control). I react with fury when I'm not - sometimes physical (if the situation calls for it) and other times verbal. I rarely step out of line when not provoked.

Along with that anger comes jealousy. I'm not jealous of other people - how people choose to live their lives and the blessings and curses that come along with that is simply none of my business. I'm insanely jealous of those I deem "mine," people that have become prized possessions in my life.

Don't get me wrong, I see them as people. I value them as the people they are - friends, lovers, etc - but also treat them as someone would treat an expensive sports car. It is mine to drive at will, no matter how fast or how reckless, but the second someone else tries to step into that car I will take them down. It's my car. Mine. Don't look at it, touch it, breathe on it... under penalty of duress.

I do feel guilt that my mind works this way. Obviously not enough to actually do anything about, but enough to realize that this might not be the healthiest way to behave. Close friends have pointed out that I bait people, trying to engage them in this game of cat and mouse to extract their jealousy, so that I'm not feeling one-sided and culpable.

The truth is, I love my things. If I could take them out and play with them when I want to and put them away when I'm finished, I would. If I could have my cake and eat it to, avoid all the emotional entanglement required in really giving myself to people, I would. Fucked up, huh? Sometimes I have to work to be human and that terrifies me.

This entry was posted by Mellie, on Saturday, December 02, 2006.