I see red, I see red, I see red.

I’ve always been a moody Ray Ray. I used to blame this on being a Scorpio – the fact I had a stinger, a dark streak, but since NASA updated the star signs (for the first time in 2,000 years) and I found out I’m actually a Libra, I no longer have this excuse. I also tried to argue my Italian heritage was part responsible, we’re ostensibly passionate and fiery - though I’m pretty sure the fact I’m only a quarter wog renders this void.

The ugly truth, my anger isn’t tied to the stars or constellations, my ethnicity or heritage – it’s just me.

My mum tells me as a baby I selectively shared my smiles and giggles - only with her and Dad. I’d be all love and light with my parents but if we came into contact with a stranger, my face would turn stone cold. Probably the only baby around rocking a perpetual resting bitch face. My teen years were punctuated with door slams, rage blackouts, tantrums, and tears. I went through a biting phase, which was particularly hard on my sisters especially given the size of my chompers. And, “I HATE YOU” became my new tagline.

I’ve settled a little in my age, but still have those unquestionable moments of rage. I’ve managed to finally identify my anger spells - which can go one of two ways:

Silent Treatment; where I punish the perpetrator with deadpan one word responses until I’m asked what’s wrong. I insist “I’m fine” while continuing to inflict sassy monosyllable hell. Eventually, after continued prodding - I unleash a well-rehearsed monologue, which has been stewing in my head for hours.

Or…..

Screaming Tantrum; short, violent, and somewhat harder to diffuse. They usually surface when I’m slightly intoxicated. I have issues which I’ve been internalising, stacking up like bits of kindling in my gut, the alcohol sparks it, and an inferno of toxic anger spews out of me. Usually I just need to yell, to be heard. To get a reaction, to see another’s fire. But eventually, I get exhausted and the flames peter out.

I’ve thought about why I act the way I do. I think the insecure, slightly sadistic, part of my psyche likes to push people as far as I can – just to see if like rubber bands they’ll spring back to me. To test their loyalty and commitment. And sometimes, I want a fight for the sake of a fight. To have a bit of drama, passion, intensity. To provoke tension, frustration, and spur on that strangely satisfying make-up sex.

Whatever the reason, I’m desperately trying to kick these wildly childish and unhelpful habits – they’re totally ineffective ways to bring up and resolve issues. I know that.

Thankfully, Ollie has this innate ability to bring me out of a sulky charade or an irreverent fit of rage. He disarms me with his unbridled humour and contagious chill. He calls me tushy or tushka, I don’t really know what this means but it makes me laugh – I guess it’s a reference to my big butt and sassy attitude? It forces a smile across my face and the anger dissolves promptly.

While momentary levity is appreciated, I get the shits if I feel as though he’s discounting the issue; drawing attention to my irrational behaviour to pooh-pooh what I’m saying. I think it’s important to articulate problems - even if it’s not in the most eloquent manner. Get that shit out in the open, even if it’s at the expense of your vocal chords.

#raginrayray #nasawhydidyoudogme #stillsayingiamscorpio