I get angry. A lot.
I’ve felt this way for as far back as I can remember. I’m my Dad’s mini me; I look like him, I possess the same drama queen personality, I can’t hold my tongue (or hide my facial expressions) and I sure as hell, like my Dad, have the shortest fuse ever known to man.
I can argue with the best, and more often than not, I win. It’s not that I’m always right, I can totally admit when I’m wrong, I just get dead angry, really quickly over things that wind me up. Like bad manners, or other people’s driving (or breathing in some select cases), or people’s self obsession with all things about them. I can’t help but get angry and say my bit.
Yeah, yeah, I know I’m a bitch, I stood up for myself.
You see I can’t tolerate a lack of respect; that’s what all this boils down to and that’s why I become angry as fuck. With a lack of respect, tags along it’s best mate – a lack of feelings for the other poor human being. And this is why I’ll always stand up for myself and say my bit as I can’t stand people who think they can walk all over other people with their thoughts and opinions and not a give a flying fuck how it affects other people.
Take bad manners. And shoes on carpets. I absolutely freak out when anyone walks onto my carpets wearing their shoes. Everyone who knows me, knows this. The moment someone wears their shoes on my carpets, I break into hives and start shaking. Why, why would you wear outdoor shoes when you could’ve potentially walked through shit, spit and god knows what other crap and then embed this into my carpet? I don’t know is the answer. But whenever I ask people to take shoes off, i’m shot with a look of disapproval – yeah, yeah I know, I’m a bitch blah blah blah.
“It’s my fucking carpet” I feel like screaming, but of course I don’t, but only because I’m almost hyperventilating. Anyway the look on my face is enough to say it all. Knock yourself out on my wooden and tiled floors, because, guess what? I can bloody well mop the crap up from your shoes.
Anyway, my point is, when I stand up for myself, I’m accused of being a bitch. I know, pathetic isn’t it? I can almost hear you laughing at the absurdity of it! Which is why, I’ll never stop being me.
If you don’t respect me, fine. You’ll feel the full wrath of my short fuse and guess what? You’ll accuse me of being a bitch and I’ll simply tell you I’m standing up for myself.
Don’t like it? Jog on love.