Kimberly, you are not alone
Before delving into the contents of this post, you must read this one.
Finished?
Ok, here goes. I can’t say the beast within has come out recently, but it’s been trying. I think we all go through stages of being our nastier selves. Weeks, sometimes months pass where I plod along feeling snippety, suspicious and arrogant toward the human population and life in general. It’s at these times that I manage to be both arrogant and self loathing at the same time, because every snide thought or stupid thing the angry me thinks or does is met with, “You horrible person you” by the nice me I like to think I really am.
And just to make you feel better Kimberly, and anyone else to whom this might apply, I will tell you the story of “The Cookies”.
Once long ago, almost 7 years ago to be precise (when I could still eat chocolate) I was baking a batch of chocolate chip cookies. I had just purchased a new non-stick baking sheet, and it is this, singular fact, that you must remember, that you must keep at the forefront of your thoughts, or nothing that follows will seem justifiable (nod to Dickens). Which it isn’t actually justifiable anyway.
I pulled my cookies from the oven. They looked lovely, they smelled lovely and as soon as I let them cool a bit I was prepared to devour many of them warm with a glass of cold milk. Ten or so minutes passed and upon procuring a spatula I attempted to remove a cookie from the sheet. It. Did. Not. Budge.
I tried another cookie and then another. They we’re clearly not burnt or in any manner overcooked but they were not coming off of my NEW non-stick cookie sheet. So out came a butter knife and I tried to saw gently underneath the edges, hoping that would loosen things up. It did not. I tried another and another.
All this while, I felt my blood heating. The fury was building and with the try of the eighth cookie on the sheet the beast consumed me.
The butter knife was no longer gently trying to pry the cookies from the sheet. It was trying to destroy them! Maniacal laughter plays in my head as think back to the moment I tore the cookies to shreds, screaming incoherently at them. I couldn’t even pry all the pieces off in a blind rage they were that stuck. I threw the pan in the kitchen sink, mangled cookie bits flying everywhere. Then I picked up a handful of those mangled pieces and stuffed them into my mouth, trying to prevent the waterworks from starting. But came they did and I sobbed and choked on cookies and salty tears.
Not my finest moment. I had only been married 7 months and my husband witnessed the whole thing. I was also 3 months pregnant with my first child at the time. It is true that most of my psycho rampage stories begin with, “I was pregnant…”
But, I relay my story to this end: You are not alone. Not in your desire to hurt the thing that hurt you first, nor in your desire to be stronger than the anger welling up within you. Succumbing to that anger hurts the most in the end. All the more motivation to overcome it next time. Because as humans, there will always be a next time.
Comments
15 Responses to “Kimberly, you are not alone”
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This could easily have been a story of mine, as I have been there far too many times - riled to anger over a stupid event or seemingly insignificant thing. This was a good post - thanks Summer.
man, that stinks. i was getting excited to read about your eating of those warm cookies and drinking your tall glass of cold milk. darn that non stick pan!
Okay, I’m crying. Thanks so much for sharing that Summer. ~hugs~
I remember times that a small thing set me off to behave in a way that I never thought I was capable of. I think that it can be a part of ‘the experience in all things’ part of life. It is worth is to find out if a medical condition is contributing to the problem; I have found the story my daughter has retold the most about me are of the time I said something under the influence of prescribed medication.
My cookies had the nerve to not turn out again (flat as pancakes and burnt looking while being underbaked). I let them sit on the counter in a bag for 2 days before I couldn’t take it anymore and tossed, no threw the entire thing in the trash. And. It. felt. good.
You’re right, there will always be a next time. I hope one of these days to posess enough grace to get through it better.
I only wish my last time had been 7 years ago.
Dude, I do that kind of crap all the time and I’m not being jokey at all. Not making light at all. Somehow, magically, I’m able to hide it from just about everyone but my husband, but the other night I did it in front of friends who were over for dinner and Steve and I were both shocked. He pulled me aside and said, “honey, you’re making an ass of yourself” and I screamed, “I KNOW!” and then I started laughing and it totally diffused the situation. So anyway, yeah… I need a therapist. Kimberly, Summer, everyone else who does these things, you are NOT alone.
Great post Summer. And I thought it was just me. Can’t be the full moon, that was on Christmas! I was throwing toys today as I “helped” my youngest son pick up his room, which was, yet again, trashed. I’m like this way too much, but I know I’m also premenopausal. Even though I have a “reason”, I hate that I’m not in control. It’s not fair to my kids or my husband.
Corrie - I never said anything about that being the last time something like that happened. :) That just happened to be the worst time.
Wow…. totally has happened to me… so glad I am not alone in my psychotic-ness…
I think I would have responded the exact same way to those stupid cookies and their stupid defiance.
So Summer - you’re not alone either.
I very rarely lose my temper, but, every now and then . . .
Clearly, the cookies had it coming!
In a way I’m glad I’m not alone, but I’m also very sad for all of us.
As I said over on Kimberly’s blog, I murdered a tape gun and some books the week before Christmas. Left their mangled bodies dead on the floor in my basement. Then was really embarrassed when someone came over and saw them.
I totally understand. I just yelled at the kids for stuffing boxes into the recycle. People stuff and stuff and then the trash can won’t even open. There was no throwing of stuff, although there might well have been.
And I love the cookie story. I can relate.
Many of my psycho stories, as well, start with, “I was pregnant.” But now I have no excuses. PMS? Hot flash? I guess I could use those when they come.
I have spent the last 3 years or so feeling out of control of my life. I always try to pass the blame onto my kids or whatever is convient but sometimes it’s just really hard to be grown-up and mature all the time. I guess it helps keep things real at my house. My kids definately know that I am NOT perfect. Thanks for sharing your cookie story. You are very good with writing. I’m enjoying your blog!