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for the most part, i’m nothing special. just your average guy walking around. doing what i do. minding my own business. i try not to make much of a big deal out of anything. i stay out of everyone’s gossip. i’m basically nice.

sometimes, i can’t always be so nice. sometimes, i’ll have a bad day, or i’ll be in the wrong mood. sometimes, little things get under my skin, and i get annoyed.

it’ll be the dry-cleaning, or my car, or somebody i barely even know.

and that’s when it happens.

my face turns green, and my eyes start to bug out of my head. i get tense, and my muscles swell up. i lose the ability to articulate my feelings with words. i get physical. i get violent.

sometimes i’ll throw things. sometimes i’ll hit people. i’ll stomp around growling and scaring the shit out of people who thought they knew me better.

and then it always ends the same way. a little later, a little ways down the road, i come to and realize what’s happened. i’ve done it again.

there i’ll be, slumped by myself. wearing the same ripped plaid oxford and the same ripped purple corduroys. sweaty and nervous. my hair a mess. my shoes. i don’t even know where my shoes are.

maybe there’s blood. maybe it’s mine. i don’t know.

somewhere, someone is crying.

i get up and start walking. to a new place where nobody knows what i can become sometimes. hiding from what’s inside me. running from those i’ve hurt.

wishing i could be anyone else in the world.