But yet, it waits.
You go for hours - get up, get dressed, go to work - and still, no screaming. No boiling point. No cartoonish bursting thermometer of anger. Just the same bullshit as usual, which makes you even angrier. It feels like the day is just mocking you at this point. Oh, what are you gonna do? Cry? Like a baby? Mocking you like grade school bullies. Pricking at your every weakness. You fume, but what can you do? You just sit there and take it.
You kick your toe into the ground, stomp your feet, and throw fits in your mind that you'd never throw in real life. Every little inkling of insecurity prickles, widens, then bursts and pours through you. Your hair. Your skin. Your clothes. All wrong, all cheap, all dirty, all worthless, you're worthless, you're stupid, you never do anything right, how could anyone love you? You're too fat, too ugly, too short, too lazy, you don't deserve what you have. You're sick because you deserve it, this is your punishment, you are just taking up space, give it up for someone better - anyone is better.
By the time the pin drops, you're too tired of fighting.
You just sigh, look down,