The Fire That Follows You Home

Anger at others often begins quietly. It hides in the small moments when someone interrupts you mid-sentence or rolls their eyes when you share your truth. It grows when promises are broken, when you are left waiting, when respect is withheld. Sometimes it comes in one sharp blow, and other times it builds drip by drip until the weight is too much to ignore.
At the dinner table, someone you love dismisses your feelings with a shrug. Your chest burns and your hands twitch, ready to slam the glass against the table. Instead, you drink. The warmth slides down your throat and dulls the edge just enough to keep you in your seat. You tell yourself, "Let it pass. Do not make it worse. Just get through the night."
With a partner, the fire cuts even deeper. There are nights when you reach for them, not just physically but emotionally, and they barely respond. You share your day, your worries, your hopes, and all you receive is silence or a distracted glance at a phone. The heat rises in your chest as you think, "Why am I giving everything to someone who cannot even look at me." You feel invisible in your own home, unwanted in the place that should feel safest. Instead of screaming or demanding attention, you pour a drink. The glass becomes your audience, the one thing that receives you without looking away. The alcohol dulls the sting of their disinterest, but it cannot erase the truth that your love feels one-sided.
In friendship, the betrayal comes softer but cuts just as deep. You defend them when others talk, you show up when they call, but when you need them, they vanish. When you bring it up, they laugh it off or say you are too sensitive. The anger swells in your chest, ready to spill out. Instead of confronting them, you open a bottle. You tell yourself, "At least the drink will not abandon me." The glass becomes the companion that never turns away.