It feels like I am cursed to live inside a body that betrays me at every turn. Emotional dysregulation isn’t just “mood swings” or being “too sensitive.” It’s violence from within. A storm I never chose that tears through me without warning, leaving destruction in its wake.
One moment I am fine. Breathing. Surviving. The next, I am consumed. Rage, grief, despair — emotions that don’t trickle in, but flood me, drown me, drag me under. There is no pause button. No control. Only the crash.
People see the outburst, the breakdown, the silence that follows. They don’t see the terror. They don’t see the way I can feel myself unraveling in real time, like skin splitting open at the seams, powerless to stop it.
And when it passes — because it always passes — I am left with the ruins. The guilt. The shame. The voices that gnaw at me: You ruined it again. You destroyed everything again. You’ll always be too much, too broken.
It’s a cycle I can’t escape. A pendulum swinging between fire and emptiness. Between being consumed by emotions that feel too big for my body and being left hollow when they finally burn themselves out.
They call it dysregulation.
I call it being at war with myself.
And some days, I wonder which part of me will win — the storm or the silence.
Through the Fog 