Broken Hands and feelings
I stormed into my room, slamming the door shut behind me, seeking solace in the confines of my anger and frustration. The weight of Donnie's words hung heavily upon me, fueling a storm of emotions that threatened to consume me entirely.
With clenched fists, I approached the punching bag hanging in the corner of my room. Each strike echoed through the empty space, a physical manifestation of my boiling rage. The sound reverberated across the lair, a testament to the intensity of my inner turmoil, despite my attempts to keep it contained.
As I pummeled the bag with unrestrained force, my thoughts churned, a chaotic mix of resentment, hurt, and a desire to prove myself. The violent scenarios played out in my mind, tempting me to unleash my anger on anything within reach.
I grabbed my sais, wielding them with precision and fury, envisioning an opponent who dared challenge me. The blows rained down upon the training dummy, the metallic clang mingling with my heavy breaths. The intensity of my strikes escalated, matching the turmoil within my mind.
But as my anger reached its peak, I made a fateful decision. I balled my hand into a fist, gritting my teeth as I aimed for the wall, the embodiment of my frustration. The impact reverberated through my bones, jolting pain shooting up my arm.
In that moment, as I cradled my broken hand, a wave of realization washed over me. The violence I inflicted on the inanimate objects was a reflection of the war raging inside my own mind. I had allowed anger to consume me, blinding me to the consequences of my actions.
With trembling hands, I leaned against the damaged wall, struggling to catch my breath. The sounds of my own punches echoed in my ears, a cacophony of anger and despair. I knew that my attempts to remain calm had been futile, that the violent thoughts swirling within me had gotten the best of me.
As the pain in my hand throbbed, a sense of bitter regret settled over me. I had failed to keep control, allowing my emotions to dictate my actions. The guilt and self-loathing weighed heavily upon my shoulders, a burden I couldn't escape.
Beyond the confines of my room, I could sense the concern and worry of my brothers, their footsteps hesitant, their voices hushed. They could hear the evidence of my inner turmoil, the echoes of my anger reverberating through the lair. It was a painful reminder of the impact my actions had on those I cared for.
Locked away in my room, I grappled with my conflicting emotions, longing for the peace and harmony that had once defined our family. With a heavy heart, I knew that I had to find a way to mend the fractures caused by my own recklessness and regain the trust that had been shattered. But first, I needed to confront the violence within myself, to find a way to channel my anger in a more productive and constructive manner.