When powerful feelings overwhelm me, they're never really bright, happy, sparkly feelings. The force deep within me is usually rage. I know this is a problem, and I think over the years I've made improvements in terms of reigning it in, but still...it's always there, threatening to bubble up to the surface. I suppose it runs in the family. My father's temper could be triggered by the smallest thing, and when he blew, you knew you had to find cover. The weird thing is, underneath it all--the rage and darkness--there's this eternal hope that won't seem to die. Does that make me a closet optimist?
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