What happens when a jaded, middle aged woman who is sexually frustrated and feeling powerless about the course of her own life gets stuck in a shared environment with people she cannot bend to her will? She will break them instead. With all her soul crushing might, she will throw her poisoned arrows into their sweet and fragile hearts, either extinguishing their life centers immediately, or more than likely, leave gaping, weeping wounds that allow their life's blood to slowly, painfully run from their veins down the drain--leaving them for dead.
What shall we call such a monstrous woman? How about a rageaholic? Ever have the unfortunate experience of meeting one? I have. In fact, I am sharing a house with one at this moment. And worse still, I moved here to get away from one. Yesterday's roommate was the epitome of such a creature. Oh but so was I once, not so far in the past.
But, I was completely oblivious back then to just how damaging my mood swings and tantrums effected those around me. I was blind. But now I can see. And feel. And it feels awful to be the target of anger.
Will the woman I live with now ever be the victim of rage? How about the woman I left behind yesterday? Will it take them becoming victims themselves--like me--to understand the errors of their ways? Probably.
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