Chiffon #131. Bloody Hell


Shut your face! So fucking what? I am feeling fucking angry. You dogs, you don’t have a fucking clue. I want to kill something.

I have been waking, walking and going back to sleep with a weird and uncomfortable feeling. It is very unsettling and keeps me agitated beyond belief sometimes. In my hurry to vent, purge or disarm the feeling, I did what you really should not do; react, lashing out blindly in a rage. I crossed the street firing my home made device at men and women going about their day. I hurled a grenade into the kitchen at my partner (for the moment, everything, it was her fault, no question. If I did not meet her, this would not be happening). Stop! Overkill extreme and untrue as well as irrational.

The thing I am feeling could not be withdrawals, as enough time has certainly passed for any nicotine to be out of my system. As for marijuana, well, the best information suggests that THC is stored in my fat cells for up to three months. So what is going on? I am concerned about my own sense of neediness and why the emotions connected with depriving yourself of smokes are so strong. In this case the fight is all in my head, if my angry mouth doesn’t attract outside contribution.

The first thing is acknowledging that smoking has been my coping mechanism for a dysfunction (dishonesty) that has been with me since I left school. I have been carrying around a secret I have not needed to carry around and it has been to my own detriment. When I look at my life I can see my secret has affected my family relationships and any relationship for that matter (neediness? codependency?). I have been stubbornly settling for the bottom line, being broke financially, emotionally, socially…

I don’t work properly, sexually or for a wage. With everything I do, my expectations are unrealistic, so I guess ambition, goal setting, time management or getting qualified at anything has been non-existent. I am suspicious about everything. I was taught early on when ya get thrown off a horse, you got to pick yourself up and dust yourself off and get back on the horse and that’s what I thought I was doing (inappropriate coping mechanism).

I am an adult. I was damaged by a school teacher who assaulted me sexually when I was a child. I did not tell anyone. I operated in a state of denial and sought to be on my own. I affected aloof arrogance. That did the job. It still does or so I thought. Smoking was an adequate tool for this purpose. It allowed me to be in denial and look as competent as the Marlboro Man and as Australian as Paul Hogan. No one knew there was anything wrong with me. So can you see how such a prop might be missed, even grieved over?

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