I'm a girl....and I throw fits.
Actually, it's not that I'm a girl, it's that I'm a monster. A petite, vicious, little monster- with carny teeth who won't hesitate to bite, or punch below the belt, while simultaneously biting you some place weird...like on your collar bone.
When I was six I tore buttons off of little girls dresses so mine would look prettier. I fought off 6 strong men (all family members) when my ear piercing closed up and they were forced to shove it back in...or so they tried. I'm that kid that lays down, in the middle of a crowd and throws her body wildly in all directions, then kicks over the precariously stacked pyramid of Nilla wafers. I have the mental strength of steel, especially when I want to get my way, thus inducing the physical strength of baby Hercules....or, those people that pull a Semi off of their loved one in an accident.
.....Now try dating me.
It's not that I was that kid, I AM that kid. I just have learned to throw temper tantrums more discreetly, or in moving vehicles...where the victim cannot escape your wrath. My "short fuse" didn't grow into a longer one and my outbursts didn't lessen the more I "understood my emotions" as I got older....if anything, the more I defined my own opinions, the more impassioned I became.
I can be impossible.....
... because...I am a girl and I throw fits. I throw fits with cold shoulders, misplaced anger and the silent treatment. I kick and I scream, I glare and I seethe, until it's unmanageable to exist in my presence. I throw daggers into open wounds, because sometimes it's the easiest shot and though the pride of winning fair is "nice," guaranteeing the victory with enough time to gloat is better. I "take it there" when I shouldn't...and I go to bed angry. (Or I "toss and turn" angry.) Angry over little, silly, ridiculous things- sometimes I fight so hard I forget what I was even angry about.
When I throw fits, firing off words like whoever encounters me is my verbal punching bag, I want to vomit. Kicking and screaming doesn't make me feel better, like it used to, when it was just a pillow to punch, or a teddy bear to throw and some "girl rock" to scream loudly to......there isn't that SIGH at the end of a good tantrum, where the heat in your face settles and your cheesy are speckled with pink, eyes watery and red from fighting of the "weakness" of tears.... that isn't there when I fight.
The only thing that makes my tantrum better is when he grabs my body, and holds me....tightly in his arms. So tight it takes my breath away, until he can steady me again. Until he can fill me with new air, air that calms me. Air that makes everything CLEAR again.....
I'll admit that there have been times when I believed my "passion" for something would be validated if I were "stronger" by being more willing to get bloody and dig my teeth into the meat of life, with tenacity to hunt, kill and feast. If I fought viciously- like two chickens in a fight, the only winner is the one who is willing to go in for the kill. And I wanted to be that chicken....the one everyone's a little bit scared to pet. I confused tenacity, or fierceness- with being mean and being stubborn. So stubborn my tunnel vision was giving me a fucking headache.
For the past year and a half- My Love hasn't taken away my "fire," my "vibrant energy"(that's what he likes to call it), or that kick in my step that both works WITH me and against me, depending on where (and how hard) the kick is actually swinging....he hasn't taken away ANYTHING....but he HAS taught me when the kicking and screaming is worth it.
When sometimes, it's ok to just throw off the gloves- because strength isn't measured by how hard you can punch, or how loud you can scream. Strength isn't measured by how long you can "be right." Or how long you can "win." By keeping score, or being "better than" With all of your "I told you so's." That type of strength keeps people apart, it separates you; making you, "you and them".....and really, what a lonely place to be. It keeps compassion from growing, relationships from developing, and leaves just enough bitterness to, over time, harden you. Bit, by bit. Letting it go can be the greatest redemption. Furrowed brows, pursed lips and sucking air through your teeth, while biting the inside of your cheeks aren't qualities that scream "love me" or "life is good!" they scream Cruella Deville. Or, bitter and "not getting laid."
I am a girl and I throw fits. But, I will be better about throwing fits in the right direction. I will kick and scream until I am living the life I dream. I will kick and scream when I believe in something, so deeply it makes my stomach turn. I will kick and scream at the naysayers in my head, the doubts that tell me "I can't" and the people that challenge me. I will fight for the things that make me happy, instead of fighting against things that makes me sad. For the right to have a job I love, live with a man I love, for the body I live in that I love, and for the family that makes me. I will fight when what I'm fighting for creates harmony in my life, not stress.
I am a girl and I throw fits.....but I promise at least this much....I will stop throwing them in Blockbuster. (Waving at you, couple that saw me throw a dvd like I was ten, sorry about that.) and yeah, I said Blockbuster....because I'm archaic and fucking hate the idea of picking out movies online. So there.
ARE YOU A LOVER, OR A FIGHTER???
A year ago today: My Valentines Post