simmer beneath the skin

I always have crying episodes at night. Whether it be because of stress from recent events, old wounds, or completely made up scenarios that I pray to God wouldn't happen. But most of the time, its because of the scenarios. Dire situations. Moments of desperation. Inklings of rage shining through a calm facade. The most common are usually me reaching a boiling point and lashing out. Some of the made up scenarios aren't even based on my life. Sometimes they're set in fictional worlds with fictional people and only myself as an already existing entity. Only, I'm put in positions ranging from bizarre to outright horrifying that at times I have to distract myself however I can to stop imagining said scenario.

I feel like many of the events that I make up, though fictional, are extreme reflections of what I feel or what I go through in real life. The proverbial evil twin to the somewhat calmer counterpart. The usual take away is that I have a boiling point and I am dangerously close to reaching it. So many emotions; so much rage, sadness, disappointment, and disgust, boiling beneath the lid just waiting to spill over and create nasty trails of dark liquid down the pot.

Honestly, it's a double-edged sword, the boiling point. I've never been afraid of admitting my weaknesses though more to myself than to others and accepting that there will be certain times in my life where they will rear their ugly heads and force me out of my cocoon of silence and deliberation. There will come a time where I have to let it all spill out and maybe even take the lid off myself or let it be taken by someone else. Whichever is more suitable. But at the same time, I wouldn't be able to control the aftermath. I have no idea what would happen after; after the liquid finally settles in the pot once more. And if it would settle at all or go down to a mere simmer, biding its time until the next spill will occur.

I want to take the lid off and smash it to pieces. I want to take the pot and throw it against the wall and watch all the liquid go down the drain; into a void where I wouldn't have to be bothered by it. But I can't, can I? There's no void. There's also no lid or pot or liquid. I have myself and the emotions that I keep imprisoned in some section of my mind. The boiling point is still very real though and no amount of hoping or wishing can make it go away.