I Used To Throw Eggs

When I was a teenager, I used to throw eggs.

It started off innocently enough as a way to release my anger, then one day it was an entire carton. I had to explain to my mother I accidentally dropped them. (Sorry, Mom!)

Truth was, I was angry at myself for being gay.

I was angry mainly at my classmates for bullying me about it, but I was also angry at myself. At the time in the late 1990s / early 2000s, being gay was still taboo, especially in my small town. It would take me years to realize that there wasn’t anything wrong with me. I struggled to accept myself for who I was, and so I threw eggs.

The anger would build up inside me. I would sneak downstairs, open our family fridge, pull out one or two eggs and chuck them as hard as I could at various trees on our property. I’d watch them explode and pretend they were my bullies. I’d watch them burst and imagine my problems bursting with them.

Eggs became doors. Doors became people.

Fast forward to 2009 when I was in my final year of University and chose to drop out for a semester. Instead of bullies this time, it was gossip. Instead of eggs, I chose to kick in my bedroom door.

I still remember the shame I felt when my father — bless him — repaired my door exterior with a replacement board. This arrested development made me struggle to maintain friendships with people who were important to me over the years. Whenever I felt like I was right about something, or that I was being treated unfairly, I’d lash out. Eggs became doors, doors became plaster walls, and plaster walls became burnt bridges with my closest friends.

My inability to cope with any and all injustices in my life caused me to lash out at people I truly and honestly cared about. There’s only so many times you can flip out on a person before they feel like they’re walking on eggshells around you (har har) and then ultimately want to stop talking to you altogether.

You can imagine my shock, when working with my therapist last year, to learn that I struggle with Emotional Regulation.

Maybe it’s a disorder

As long as I can remember I’ve argued with the people in my life that I care about. It’s taken me a great deal of time to work out that this is due in part to childhood trauma of bullying.

Bullying is no joke.

I thought I was over it, but clearly I’m not. If you want a surefire pathway to a mental breakdown, look no further than the emotion of denial.

Anyone who knows me knows that I do not take criticism or feedback well, and I equally have a harder time dealing with perceived injustices. While working with my therapist, I’ve come to discover that I likely have Borderline Personality Disorder, though I haven’t officially been diagnosed and right now it’s a waiting game to get to see a specialist during COVID-19.

The culminating effect of being picked on and treated like an outsider throughout my early years has led me to this moment in my life. I have some really amazing friends in people in my life now, but every day is a struggle to deal with my insecurities and ability to feel loved or appreciated.

It’s taken me months to get out of the slump I’ve been in, and all these thoughts and feelings became a wall that I couldn’t jump over this time. To quote my therapist: “It’s hard to put the pieces back together of your sense of self, when they’re scattered so far and all over the place.”

The light at the end of this farty-egg tunnel

I’ve been working on myself a great deal, and my ability to recover a sense of self-worth when faced with injustices or emotionally traumatic experiences is far better than it has been before.

I had to put some pretty important creative projects aside, but now that I’m on the road to recovery, I find that I’ve entered a prodigiously productive and creative time in my life.

It hasn’t been easy, but I guess being stuck in self-isolation sure gives you a great deal of time to think.

For the first time in my life I have clarity to the patterns of anger and frustration I’ve been dealing with for the past twenty-odd years. Now that I know that I struggle with Emotional Regulation, I have the tools at my disposal to help me cope with my trauma, and look forward to a better tomorrow.

Instead of throwing eggs, perhaps I’ll cook some instead.