Control and dirty carpets

I hate that feeling of not being in control. I mean, don't we all? But it seems like it's the little things that go wrong that infuriate me to my breaking point. Traffic being the number 1 infuriating inducer, but that doesn't seem so little. But if you throw in being hot, and starving and literally not moving or taking a detour only to find it's a dead end and you have to turn around and end up right back where you were before, but at the back of the line now... well all that gets me past my breaking point. I do have rage moments, I'm not going to lie. 99% of them do happen in the car, but some happen at home too. All that happened today and more happened in the evening at home. This time I wasn't hungry but I was hot, despite the air conditioning being on, which I usually don't do in Springtime. I usually have the windows open and cool my house down, but I was losing it, and my blood pressure was probably really high which explains the being hot. Despite my entire house being covered in tile floor except my bedroom, my cat thinks she has to run into my bedroom to throw up on my carpet. I knew she was about to do it because I heard her low guttural meow and I hurriedly grabbed her to move her but all this did was make the mess cover more of my carpet. So I clean what I can and wash what I can and febreeze it all and close my bedroom door. Except I didn't close it, it was open a crack I guess and there she goes right back in 20 minutes or so later and throws up again. On my damn carpet. And on a new side. I was yelling and screaming all the while thinking would I react like this if it was my own child? Well maybe. Especially if they were old enough to run tot he toilet. Mollie is the smartest cat I know and understands so many words and follows directions, I felt like she knew she's not supposed to throw up there. But anyway, I guess at least it wasn't my brand new rug in the living room. It still has that fresh clean look to it... for now.
Sometimes I feel like the longer I go without having that need met of physical intimacy, being held and kissed and just hugged even (I rarely even get that. Like extremely rarely); the longer I go without it the shorter my temper gets. The higher my rage gets. The breaking point gets broken quicker and easier than before. I consider myself a chill person. At least I used to be. I think it's the lack of controlling the biggest and deepest desire of my heart, of most people's. That need to be loved fully and physically by another human being. Not having any control over that makes me feel like I should be able to control all the little things, but of course we can't. As a kid we think being an adult means we could control everything about our lives, what we did, what we ate, what we wore, where we went, how late we stayed up. All things kids wish they could control but can't. I actually don't care about any of those things. If I didn't get to control what I ate because my love was cooking me dinner, well then that would be great! Fine by me! If I stayed up way too late not because I got to control it, but because I literally had no idea what time it was because I was up talking with the greatest girl in the planet, well that would be fine by me, as well. With the invention of dating apps and websites galore, we have this sense of control, swiping left or right, I don't even know. We can pick and choose who we want to talk to and respond to a wink or whatever it might be. But it's also 2 sided, and have to be reciprocated. And it's also all BS. At least in my experience. Matches aren't matches, they are random. I'm sick of it all. It makes me want to throw up like Mollie did tonight. But at least I get to enjoy this cool night outside on my porch, Pandora playing inside, Mollie jumping in the air trying to catch bugs in the front yard in front of me. At least I have that. I can't control Mollie any more than I can control traffic. I don't even know if I can control it when I lose it. I guess if I'm being honest, I don't want to. Screaming and cussing, throwing a fit is not my response to having to clean a carpet, it's really me reacting to all this pent up... whatever, I don't even know the word. I know for a fact that if someone that loved me held me tightly, I would be ok. I would calm down. And no a straight jacket won't do the trick. If you were thinking that. It's gotta be a person. A trusted person. But no such person exists. The few that could sort of kinda meet this in some way shape or form, I only get to see every 4,5,6 months sometimes more. So that doesn't really do it for me. But what are you gonna do? Continue on the path of life until the path reaches a dead end or merges with another path. I'm hoping for the latter. But I'm not gonna hold my breath. I've already passed out from holding my breath for 8 years. It's probably never going to happen. I'll be okay. I'll make it. I won't be the person I could be, but I'll still be awesome.