PO'd: Ticked off or bipolar?

Why is it that all of a sudden, I’m so pissed off that I decide to attack the punching bag so hard and for so long that my knuckles bleed? I was doing fine all day long. My friend had slept over the night before and we had had a blast. This morning, another one of my friends came over and helped me to baby-sit (she actually ended up doing most of it.) and now she’s sleeping over tonight. Tomorrow I’m going to Maine with the two wicked cool summer missionaries and my friend (and my family).

There.

Absolutely no reason to be pissed. But here I am.

It’s like… At quarter of six, I snapped. I was pacing back and forth and I kept snapping at my sisters and my dad and yelling at Abby to go and spar with me, but she kept saying no.

My dad asked, “What is wrong with you? Why are you snapping at me? Are you mad?” And my horribly told lie was, “No! I’m fine! I just need to punch something.”

I went into my room and got my speakers and iPod (which isn’t technically an iPod, but it’s a whole lot easier to say than mp3 player), and which, at the time, was really well named. Because i PO’d. (If you don’t get it, no big deal.)

Anyway, I grabbed my music and my speakers and ran outside to the gym.

Linkin Park blaring through the stereo. The satisfying smacking sound as my fists pounded into the bag and the scratching as the bag was pushed farther and farther across the room with each punch. (Mind you, the bottom of the punching bag is filled with almost 100 pounds of sand.)
Adrenaline pumping through my fists and feet and my heartbeat slamming against the inside of my chest.

Glorious.

After half an hour, I stopped and laid on the ground, breathing hard and vibrating slightly with the adrenaline. I was still pissed. Heck, I’m still mad now. And I don’t know why. I figured that typing it out would help calm me down, but no. Not working.


I’m gonna go punch the poor defenseless bag for a while longer.