Rage: -noun; angry fury; violent anger.

One Christmas quite a few years ago I received a journal from my mother. It took me exactly a year to write something in it because for some reason I hate to ruin paper with my inane thoughts and chicken scratch handwriting. In that black and pink journal I wrote down my day in over simplicity except the nights I was awakened by snarls and booms. It may sound as if it were every child's nightmare to awaken to find their parents in a brawl. As messed up and crazy as it sounds, although it bothered the hell out of me, it was comforting, normal, something I had grown up with before my stepfather and before I received this savior. Savior. Savior; the word has never come to me as to what to call these ludicrous words I throw together in order to express whatever it is that is eating its way around my helpless body. All of these epic nights where I wrote down the nasty things that had happened between my mom and step dad they made me remember when I was little. Every single one of those nights walking to stand between my parents in my Barbie nightgown. It was normal then and remained normal and still is today even if I outgrew my nightgown. I love my parents. I really do love them even if they cannot love each other the way love and marriage is supposed to work. When I would cry myself to sleep on those nights of the fights, as much as I loved them, in that black and pink book I would pray to never let me be like my mother and to never marry the man who would fill me with such rage and to never let my children have to seek sanity between the lines of the paper. As I get older and help raise my two younger brothers I find myself turning more and more into this person who has lost all patience. I'm giving in to the easiness of rage instead of fighting against it as I have for all of these years. Now, it is so much easier to threaten people then to actually sit down and ask. I don't know what I'm becoming but you are what gives me hope. Promise me that our lives will not lead to fighting about anything more than any normal thing like what color to paint the baby's room or whose turn it is to pick the movie. I couldn't live with myself if I make our children experience not only what I experienced but what you experienced. I want to be a good mother like my mother is but I feel this rage winning. I need you here to help me control it because you are the only one who can.