Using a complex system of mirrors to stare at myself lying on a long couch.

It's going to be another confession, I'm afraid.
One of the things that annoys me, and I mean REALLY annoys me, I mean BILE HAS GAINED SENTIENCE annoys me, is when people, when you're having a conversation, decide to claim it for their own subject by sticking a big metaphorical flag in it.
Another variation is when you are recounting an event to somebody, and before you've even finished they change the subject. I don't mean 'decide to take the scenic route with the subject'. I mean 'drive the subject into a lake, kidnap the passengers and take them to a completely different subject, perhaps in this analogy in the guise of a light aircraft'.
Two people I know do these two things a lot, one a friend and the other a family member, and it drives me up the wall. I know it's only to gain some attention, and as such I should be supportive and let them talk, so they might gain some confidence. And yet, my inner git triumphs.
So why do I feel these spasm of rage when people do this? It's no normal annoyance. I get annoyed by the narrative inconsistencies in Olly Murs' song Accidental, but I (for the most part) stay calm about it. This is different.
Let's apply some motherf***ing Freudian theory to this issue. (If you understood how apt that adjective was, you can stay and have chocolate fondants) If you react with violent, bordering on physical dislike for a certain thing, it is most likely to do with a traumatic experience involving that thing that you are trying to repress.
While they weren't exactly traumatic, we can apply this theory to the fact I continually try to repress all memories of Years 7 to 9. During this, I exhibited the despised feature we're currently looking at, and many more odious personality traits. Anything that reminds me of this, therefore, threatens to bring it back, along with a side-order of embarrassment chips and guilt gravy. I meet these stimuli, thus, with over-exaggerated aggression. Simple.
This, by the way, is what happens when you pair teenage angst with basic knowledge of psychological principles. Self-analysis to the point of compulsion. Ah, to be a self-unaware mathematical thinker.
(I should point out that Freud, whilst certainly the most famous brainy dude, is by no means the most respected in the psychology world. Take everything he says with a penis of salt. PINCH! I mean pinch!)
Finally, this is for Jacob. Till the next time, goodbye.