I am. in Random

I am a 40 yr old divorcee. I am a mother. I am a sister I am a daughter. I am 3 a.m. snuggles and 2 pm kisses. I am dirty white shoes and untied shoelaces. I am 5‘4”. I am cold Dr. Pepper and a marlboro red. I am dirty toes and shanty flowers. I am the brightest blue eyes. I am a smile in a rain storm. I am the light in the room. I am empowered. I am bbq’s and popsicles. I am dirty sticky little hands on a warm summer day. I am laughter and tears. I am the bestest friend you will ever have. I am trustworthy. I am scrunched up hair and flip flops because I hate socks. I am singing in the rain. I am singing in the shower. I am randomly singing everywhere. I am tissues and hand sanitizer. I am popcorn and game of thrones. I am his sister. I am her sister. I am her mom and I am his mom. I am bonfires and marshmallows. I am the sunshine on a rainy day. I am beautiful.
But sometimes I am none of those things. I am not random. I am not a smile. I am tattered fingers and worn souls. I am broken hearted. I am scarred and bruised. I am angry and hurtful. I am screaming in my head. I am hurtful, because hurting you first means you can’t hurt me first. I am angry, because you don’t hear a word I say. I am clenched jaw and white knuckles. I am a racing heart that won’t slow down. I am heavy breathes. I am sweat pouring down. I am walls closing in. 2 pm kisses are now 2 pm angry glares. But it doesn’t last long. It never does. I am anxiety. I am panic attacks.
I was angry because you moved your hand from mine and I automatically thought it was because you were mad at me for something. So I became sad. When you keep telling me nothing is wrong, it’s hard for me to believe you, because in my mind the only reason you would move your hand from mine is if you were mad at me. I can’t think rationally like you can. Not right away. It takes me awhile to process things. Because it takes me awhile to do that my sadness turns into anger because I don’t want to feel the pain of being sad. If I’m angry, it doesn’t hurt. I am sorry that this happens. I can’t control it. But I do recognize when it happens now. And it doesn’t last long. But never the less, I am sorry. I know that it’s frustrating sometimes. Trust me. I don’t like it either. But that isn’t me. Not always. I am still me. I am still all of those things mentioned. And so much more. I am me. I am…