Sneaky Hate Spiral

Most of the time, I'm pretty even-tempered.  Aside from the odd nervous breakdown or caffeine-induced bliss-seizure, I have the emotional variation of sand.  However, every once in a great while, I'll lapse into what I like to call a "sneaky hate spiral."

The buildup:

Sneaky hate spirals begin simply enough.  In fact, that is one of the hallmarks of sneaky hate spirals - they are merely the confluence of many unremarkable annoyances.

Your day begins poorly.

Before you've had a chance to recover from your unpleasant awakening, you are pummeled by a series of unfortunate events.  There are probably some loud and/or persistent sounds mixed in there, too. 

The little frustrations start to happen more quickly.  They ping against your psyche like hundreds of tiny pebbles.  

Eventually, the sum of the small annoyances begins to exceed your capacity for patience and rational thought.  All it would take to send you over the edge into a bottomless pit of angry hysteria is just one more tiny, little thing...

The turning point:

The turning point is usually a minor but slightly jarring incident, initiated by some force of nature that cannot be blamed or scolded - like gravity or sleeplessness or wind.  That last specification is very important.  In order to send you into truly batshit crazy hysterics, the final straw must cause anger that cannot rationally be directed outward in any way.

Your worn patience plus the inability to blame anything for your misery causes a chain reaction to take place inside of you.

The rage enters your body, but cannot exit through either the blame or personal responsibility pathways. It therefore must travel to the very center of you where it will fester and eventually rupture.  

Chaos:

When enough anger and hatred has accumulated inside of you, it will rupture through your pathetic sense of integrity and start spewing outwardly as if you are some sort of rage sprinkler, spraying your putrid hate all over anything that comes near you.   

You are officially out of control.   At this late stage, there is no way around it.  You are simply a helpless passenger in your psychotic war-machine of a body.