Doctor and Hand

Summer of 2007, though the sun was glittering and of course broiling, yet I remained next to the darkness and walked under the shadows. Unfortunately to those who were surrounded around me, were up against the stress, because I was what you can say going through a phase of “puberty”. The times of being emotional, the anger issues, and of course the heat just had to sugar coat everything, even the smallest things overwhelmed my body and things just got out of control. It became worse as I was in the process, I caught myself bickering with my mom a lot, clueless of what she was trying to imply and all she could do was try and lecture me. But with the rush of anger taking over my mind, it leads to another, unexciting to an unusual physical behavior. I never understood why I got so mad, why was this anger building up so fast over something so small? It was rather pointless when I thought about it, getting mad over a petty situation. During the time I was in my house, conflicts grew and fights were endless. It was late at night, and my mom was in a different city; in a business run. We were arguing over the phone, and I couldn’t take it anymore, all we did was go in circles, and everything inside of me was just building with the antagonism. But with that raging fire, I took my fist and forced out a hard hit against a filling cabinet. Creating a huge dent, and yet without feeling any sensation of pain. But then when I looked down at my injury it was the size of a plum, and the color was in a velvet red shade. I was confused, I asked myself “Is my hand broken?....” my sister in law was infuriated, she hated seeing me being so wrathful. She took me to our bedroom, and laid my hand on the pillow while rubbing the hot oil on my hand to ease the pain. We laid there for thirty minutes; I began to cry and wimp over and over. She was so worried she couldn’t help and just took me to the hospital. Where all I could feel incompetent, and the retched agony.