It’s not a literal tornado. One that blows houses apart, upturns cars and leaves a path of broken bits and pieces of ruble in its wake. But it’s how I describe it. This feeling. This darkness that is so unlike my natural sunshine. And it’s no fun.
It tells me that I’m a bad person because I don’t keep up with everything like I should. I’m not perfect, so I’m dreadful. It’s not pretty. It’s not good.
It’s an anger that builds up and swirls around faster and faster and I just want to get mad at anything just have something to get mad at to give it some type of release. Any release at all.
Logically I know what causes it. Fucking surgery. Fucking broken body. Fucking imbalance. And that helps. The knowing. But I still have to live through the tornado. I still have to try to control the fury that threatens to leave a path of destruction and broken bits in my wake.
Because I am the monster. I am the tornado.