I'm a tiny human. My stature barely reaches over five feet, and I am somewhere around 125 pounds; of course, like everyone, I'd like to be more fit and make it 120, but I'll accept 125.
In my life, I have punched three people in the face, and all three of them were males. The first time I was twelve, and being made fun of, so instinctually, I socked one to him. The second time I was seventeen, and that was a dumb thing to do, but the asshole deserved it.
Cheater cheater pumpkin eater.
The third time was actually awesome. I was eighteen, and after being called every name in the book I told him to get the hell away from me or I would punch him in the face.
He said, "Do it. I dare you."
Double dog dare me?
After that last one, I woke up the next day and my arm hurt so bad. I was so angry and full of adrenaline that I don't think I even felt my fist hit his jaw, it just happened. But the next day I was very sore.
Even though I hit with all my might, I don't think I did any damage at all, because I am so small. All three probably felt like cotton balls bouncing off their cheeks.
I don't feel very shameful for any of those hits. But, I don't feel any pride for them either. I probably sound like a psycho with anger issues, but I'm really not. I can admit though, when I'm mad, don't fuck with me. My blood boils; I see red. And, because I wasn't blessed with a very strong physical presence, I learned quickly how to have a razor sharp tongue, and how to think on my feet.
I may not be able to knock somebody out, but my verbal assaults can leave much more impressionable scars.
Often times I find myself lashing out at the people who mean the most to me. Not to mention, I have constructed the Great Wall of Paige around myself, and there are very few people allowed inside. Certain aspects of myself are miserable and I hate them, then I hate myself for hating them, and continue to hate myself for hating myself.
It's a vicious cycle.
I am an anxiety-ridden, impulsive, heart-on-my-sleeve, dramatic and passionate ball of Paige who comes out of a cannon full force at any given moment, arms and legs flailing with fists up. There are times I wonder why anyone loves me, especially with my constant judgement on myself and huge expectations for the world and everyone around me.
But for some reason, through every shade of Paige, my boyfriend is always there; loyal, and with arms stretched wide. I'm not sure he knew what he was getting into when he put the remote in my hands, giving me every opportunity to push every single button.
And of course, in true Paige form, I have pushed them all and will probably eventually do it again.
I am a professional at blowing things out of proportion and turning small issues into catastrophic disasters because I am unable to effectively verbalize how I feel for fear that I may get hurt in the process. A classic Sagittarius, I draw my bow and aim my arrows, and without much thought, I shoot them off in all different directions.
What I have to say is important, but I constantly drown out all valid points with my nonsensical anger and babble. I am lucky to have someone as kind and patient as I do, who is willing to sift through my unnecessary hurtful jabs, and find the center of my problem to hear what I am really trying to say.
I'm sorry I was mean, and raw. But, because I am comfortable to be as true and real as I am, I know that this isn't some phase or a bridge that will eventually be crossed. It is an abundance of time. It is a universe; a circle. It does not end. There is ongoing loyalty, but most importantly there is love.
Sweet, unconditional and nonjudgmental love.
You are all I've ever wanted. Stick with me, because I love you.
