I must do something about my language when I'm angry and screaming in my apartment. Something about too many profanities that worries people hearing them. Because so far my angry non-sensical rant fests have lead to 1. the cops ringing my door bell, and 2. I had two missed calls from sos alarm in Stockholm. First incident occurred about a month or two ago, and the second early this morning, at around 4:00. First time they were worried about me committing suicide, and I think this time it could have been maybe they thought I was about to harm someone else in various degrees of physical violence. I was not doing or planning on doing either of those things any of those times or any other times for a very long time.
But how would they know what my intentions are or aren't when all they have to go on is the dark, chaotic blerb coming out of my mouth late at night? I tend to scream things like "I want to kill myself I hate this horrible disgusting fucking piece of shit world and everything in it" or like last night something more along lines of "I hate you you fucking piece of shit game character idiot I'm gonna kill you so bad a million times over you're a fucking menace god damn fucktard I hate this god damn fucking game" or whatever as I was overreacting a tad to a mob being annoying in world of warcraft. And yes that is a deliberate understatement cause I cannot convey the absurdity of my reaction in any actually comprehensible way. But I wasn't very loud about it, I didn't scream at the top of my lungs and my balcony door was closed. Apparently not that sound proof, my apartment.
Ugh, this can not go on, or I can find myself in actual, serious trouble. Even though I live alone, never have any visitors and am not actually suicidal or in any way harming myself intentionally. How would I be able to prove that? Just that my temper is so horribly bad that some of my otherwise hidden inner darkness leaks out as some kind of twisted verbalised fantasies. It's like a leaking pot that you just can't keep the lid on cause the pressure is too high and literally exploding into the entire room and out the window. It looks poisonous and smells vile, but actually it's just badly cooked soup.
I never told anyone about that time the cops came over cause they got larmed by my neighbours thinking I was suicidal. Too damn embarrassed to own up to it, or face criticism regarding my immature and clearly not thought-out behaviour. And then it kind of happened again, except this time it was two phone calls that I didn't hear or see until several hours later when I went to bed, by which time I was calm again and just tired and needed to sleep. But I think I should tell my therapist about this.
My darkness is ravaging underneath the surface and I can't quite keep a lid on it when something pisses me off. How my otherwise hidden resentment and feelings of betrayal against the world, with an ever decreasing amount of empathy for anything living, leads to fantasies about murder and mayhem. I have no plans to actually do anything, it's only in my head, my own private world that I can do anything I want in without repercussions, at least in theory. Because when I get furious, I loose my inhibitions which are there to keep my inner, private world secret from the outer world. And it's only "dangerous" in the sense that I reveal some of those secrets, not in any sense of me actually acting upon them. It's only verbal and emotional, and I can't imagine it will one day go beyond that.
I think I need a stress releaser of some kind, an activity of some sort that would wear me out and act cleansing in a way. Like exercise/sports, dancing, or even construction work for that matter. Something that is powerful/exhausting yet fun enough to not bore me into not doing it, something I can channel those dark energies into in a powerful but positive and healthy way, as to prevent it from becoming destructive. Make it more constructive instead. Apparently video games is not a good replacement for that, because it engages my mind while my body relaxes, and I think I need the inverse: something that engages my body while I can put my mind away for a moment. I wish I could have started karate this fall, and it's unlikely I'll be in shape for it by next fall, but the fall after that (2019) it should be fine.
And I don't see that waiting time as two more years of slacking and doing nothing, but rather it's gonna be a period of preparing for and having surgery, then healing from it and slowly try to get into a little bit better shape and diet to prepare my untrained, overly lazy, weak and stiff body for being able to keep up with karate lessons once again. I'll probably have lots of stuff to do in just a few months from now and from there on. But I need to not make my life a mess again before that. In any conceivable way. I need some of that luck now.
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