But he was correct. One second I'm smiling, cheerful, happily going about my business; the next I'm snarling, shoving things off the bar to clatter to the floor because they're in my way. I've struggled with anger issues my entire life; I could trace it back to all kinds of excuses - being bullied, not having a proper outlet, being taught from a young age that expressing extreme emotions was a sign of weakness. But the end result is the same.
I've spent years learning to suppress it, countless hours exercising restraint and relaxation, broadening my understanding of people to be forgiving to a fault. But now and then, one stupid little thing stacks upon another with no respite, and I lose it. Admittedly, nowadays, me losing it is far from dynamic; I'll usually find some way to inflict pain upon myself to override the feeling (usually by punching something I shouldn't; brick walls are my favorite) and shake it off. Gone are the days when I would want to fight, to yell.
But it stains the rest of my day. My face becomes stern, my voice sharp, my comments curt. My displeasure emanates from me like a cloud; I can darken a room with a look.
I suppose it's just the way I am now. I've improved greatly from my younger years; standard advice has been given to me thousands of times, evaluated, attempted, et cetera. And I've been mellowing with age; each passing year brings a little more tranquility, a little more patience.
We all have our demons to wrestle with. I suppose mine could be far worse.
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