Ugly, Disgraceful, Raw Anger

I yelled at my dad today. For the second time in my life, I have been mad enough to say so.

The first time I really yelled at him, we were helping out at drama. I was helping him in the workshop, making measurements so he could cut a bunch of pieces for something it was he was working on. After several hours of working, I made sure to mention I was hungry. He said that we'd get food soon, that Dave would probably order pizza for us and the other helpers. Cool. Until I was ditched and forgotten in the workshop. I finished what I was working on and was waiting for him to come back so I could ask him a question. I waited 15 min or so before deciding to go see what was up. And there they were--everyone eating without me. You can imagine I was hurt and angry. When offered food, I said I wasn't hungry and went back to the workshop before I exploded in front of everyone. Unfortunely, my father cared enough to follow. And I tell you, I let his ass have it. I went out in the hallway were my voice echoed and shut the greenroom door before he could come in. I yelled for another couple minutes, hot angry tears burning my face and then I had to stop yelling because I couldn't breathe. I composed myself, fixed my face as best as possible in the mirror, marched back to the theatre where my mom had just come to get my sister, and decided to leave. Believe it or not, my mom made me the bad guy by saying I had no right to be refusing food, that I shouldn't lie when I said I wasn't hungry--that I should have grabbed 5 pieces and left without saying thank you. Needless to say, I did not eat that night. Or the next day. Or the day after. Eventually, all is forgiven and appetite returns. Life goes on. The world keeps turning and my temper goes back to the soft light of a candle, overshadowed by bright, happy smiles and goofy behavior.

Now, two years later, that very same person has caused me to reach my limit. He has fueled a fire that has long since been kept under tight surveillance by my inner firefighters. Today, I lost a great and terrible battle with my inner self. I'm terribly ashamed, but at the same time, I don't think I regret it. Maybe how I went about it, but do I regret finally saying something? I think not....? To quote how I put it to someone earlier: "When i gently stormed out of the room, he [my dad] asked what was wrong with me. I said "Me? Nothing. It's just that some people get sick and tired of being around you when bitch about every goddamned little thing."
He responded by putting his hands on his hips and sarcastically saying "yes ma'am."
You have no idea how hard it was to keep walking away. I was ready to grab my giant decorative fan off the dining room table and bat his head of that pair of conceited shoulders.
You know it takes a lot to get me that angry."

It unfortunate. We are not speaking to each other now. My statement seems to have finally made the impact I intended, but it is awkward and unhappy nonetheless.

I'm so angry. So very, very angry.

I saw this coming. Yet, I still couldn't stop it.