The Yelling

It can happen any time.
When I’m doing something right.
When I’m doing something wrong.
If we’d been arguing, or if things have been okay
If it happened the day before of if it hadn’t happened for months.
There is no way to predict it.
There is no way to explain it.
But it follows a common pattern.

Sometimes it begins when I hear cursing
Often, however, it starts right out with yelling.
The yelling goes on and on.

I try to apologize.
The yelling goes on and on.
I try to understand.
The yelling goes on and on.
I try to console.
The yelling goes on and on.
I try to explain.
The yelling goes on and on.
I try to be silent.
The yelling goes on and on.
I try to defend.
The yelling goes on and on.
I try to stay calm.
The yelling goes on and on.
The yelling starts accusing.
The yelling goes on and on.
The yelling describes every mistake I’ve made.
The yelling goes on and on.
I am crying. I try to apologize again. I try to apologize for all those past mistakes.
The yelling goes on and on.
The yelling belittles me, says I haven’t “gone the extra mile” or “taken initiative” or “really tried.”
The yelling goes on and on.
And I ask the yelling to stop.
The yelling goes on and on.
And the yelling makes no sense, a cacophony of in double forte.
The yelling goes on and on.
And I ask it again to stop.
The yelling goes on and on.
The yelling become empty, crazed uncomprehendible accusations, insane inflictor of torture.
The yelling goes on and on.
The yelling becomes like burning coals in my soul and I beg it to stop.
The yelling goes on and on.
The empty, meaningless yelling overtakes me and I drop to the floor.
The yelling goes on and on.
I cower and I cry and the yelling stands over me.
And the yelling goes on and on.
And I’d do anything to make the yelling stop.
And the yelling goes on and on.
And then I yell. I yell back at the yelling and I scream out from the depths of my soul and the pain that the yelling has inflicted.

And the yelling stops.

And I know I was wrong to yell back.
And I know that what I yelled was hurtful.
And I know I shouldn’t have done that.
And I look out for forgiveness,
And there is none.
And I look out for compassion
And there is none.
And I look out for a gentle touch
And there is none.
And I look out for some sort of acknowledgement.
And there is none.
Because I am nothing.

And the yelling has stopped.
But I haven’t stopped it.
I have merely given it more ammunition
next time it wants to destroy me.

11/15/2012