Pour Your Heart Out: Hiding Behind the Proud

I know this is a day late, but I wanted to link up this week.

Again, just a brief reminder that everyone linking is pouring their hearts out and we should all be respectful in our comments. ;)

I have avoided posting about this because of fear. Fear about what others might think about me. Fear that I will be judged. But this is who I am and who I was.
Do you what it's like to not be able to control yourself? It starts with something agitating you and then you lose your temper. But it doesn't stop there, it boils over and before you know it everything around you scratches at you and you lash out at anyone in your path. Not physically, but verbally lashing. When it's all over and you've calmed down, you feel guilt. HUGE GUILT. You apologize and those that you have affected accept your apology and you go on. You say it won;t happen again, but it does. Again and again and again.
It gets worse, each time escalating into more. And before you know it, you don't who you are. Who is this person that I am or have become? You tell yourself that you're going to stop being that way. You pray to God that he will give you the strength to control yourself. Then something happens, you're running late to work and you lash out and scream at everyone. You blame God for not giving you the strength and will power to hold yourself together. You blame everyone else for making the problems. If only the kids moved faster and didn't dawdle in the morning. If only that guy in the car in front of you would go faster, you wouldn't have to get mad. It's their fault, not yours. Spiraling out of control you finally break down and go against what you didn't want to do. Get medical help.
After one awful morning of running late, yelling at the kids you finally make the call. Practically in tears with the receptionist you tell them why you want to see the doctor. She fits you an appointment that morning. You breath a sigh of relief that you might finally be able to end the chaos, the rage.
The doctor prescribes you with some medicine and schedules you for a follow up appointment in one month. After two weeks on the pills, you actually feel normal. Things that once bothered you don't seem to matter as much but there is still an edginess to certain occurrences. You see the doctor again and he increases your dosage and adds more pills. After a week of taking the new combination you notice that life is better enjoyed. That your kids don't have that look of worry on their faces when they spill milk all over the table. You actually laugh at the spectacle of spilled milk dripping on the floor.
Is this what normal is? Why was it so hard to admit that I had a problem that I couldn't solve myself? That I needed help. Was I too proud?