I almost broke my metacarpal bones in a moment of rage the other day.
Don’t worry, it took me a minute to google that too. They’re the bones of the palm of your hand.
I banged on a glass window and I swear it felt like everything inside my right hand shattered into powder. I looked at it and pictured all the blood running out between my fingers, pieces of glass comfortably lodged inside my flesh like a frozen sea that had started to break out from inside.
Actually this feels like my soul right now. Frozen at the top with raging waves trying to erupt into icy deltoid crystals. I have seen the images on Facebook. It is truly beautiful. Ironically, it feels like burning hell.
But in actuality my right hand didn’t fracture. What did shatter was the inside of my heart. Now don’t Grey Anatomy me. I don’t care whether hearts can disintegrate into powder or not. What I know is that now I walk around feeling like a salt shaker is stuck in my chest.
To be fair, I am PMSing. But that isn’t just a monthly hormonal outburst. I haven’t had an episode like that in months. Ok. I just called that an episode. I won’t hold it against me. But yes, this hadn’t happened in a long while and I need to get a grip.
Self control has been an issue in the past few years. Frustration, depression and other kinds of “tions” have made it really difficult to auto regulate. My behavior with my loved ones has suffered the most because somehow I manage to pretend quite easily with strangers. And when I can’t, I just shut down anyway so nothing really happens.
But getting physical. It was glass, granted. I did not break anyone’s nose or dislocated someone’s shoulder. Maybe I should. Nah. Just kidding. Nothing is worth going to jail for. Not a Lebanese jail at least.
So I need to chill because I can’t go around breaking glass or my metacarpal bones. I can’t afford paying for stuff, much less for medical care.
Anything and everything is pissing me off today but I decided to sit down in a busy coffee shop on Hamra street and numb down the anger with the overpowering noise of Beirut’s chaos. And write. It somehow felt more peaceful than sitting by the sea, looking at the Raouche Rock. Cars, pollution, all kinds of smells, rude pedestrians, children selling gum, and the silliest conversations made for a perfect chill pill.
I am weird, I know. But hey, whatever works.