October 29th - Late Night Tantrum in Posso's Prompts

It’s been awhile. I won’t lie - I haven’t been feeling the most public about writing and I haven’t been impressed about anything in my life since breaking up with the self proclaimed star warrior of Dane county. Here’s something that just happened tonight though that I feel like I need to share just based on the week filled with looming stress I know I’m about to have.

I was stressed out and not having an ideal night after losing at poker so I went to run at the gym and I swore I was alone except for the attendant cleaning the locker rooms, but I know in the showers with the music blasting that they can’t hear you, so there I was trying to get under a 7 minute mile, stiff and sore from open hockey this weekend and after mile four where I barely missed running a mile under seven minutes, I jumped off of the treadmill, went on a expletive riddled tirade and without really thinking through all the rage in the moment, screamed “WHY THE FUCK AM I EVEN ALIVE” whilst convulsing and contorting my body into the various machines and trash cans around me. A full out tantrum that younger, angrier me would boast about.

When I finally stopped because I couldn’t breathe, I looked up at the reflection of myself in the mirror and behind the purple faced mass of my head was the girl working the gym cleaning, with tears in her eyes. I was hoping they were from laughing. Nope. She was legitimately scared.

I took off my headphones and apologized and basically had to tell a stranger that i wasn’t about to bash my brains in with a 50 pound dumbbell. We got to talking about why I would say something like that, and of course I basically had to tell a stranger that, sure, I had been very angsty and life taking the last few years but I had been working hard on myself the last year and thought I had been doing a pretty good job on the whole ‘finding a reason for me to live for myself’ aspect in 2019. Wouldn’t you know it, by the end she had given me her number and agreed that working out the bad days were just as great as Oreos in bed, sweatpants, and Netflix.

I’m not saying that I won’t text the girl that likes Marilyn Manson, New Girl, and third shifting a 24 hour gym, but I just needed a reminder that it’s okay to have an off day, but maybe don’t vocalize your idiotic tantrums, especially since this is the least suicidal you’ve felt since before cancer.