That you have just described me perfectly, that's what. 5'5" and thin. People who've never witnessed it would not believe in a million years what I'm capable of. Normally, I'm either quiet and just a bit odd or joking around a bit of a weird way (especially when hypomanic, my brain's just making these super-fast leaps of divergent ideas that no one can keep up with. They think I'm weird, I think they are slow of mind...). But when the lightning bolt hits? O.M.G. STAND BACK. Things fly, things slam, things get broken. I've bitten my ex in the collar bone, slashed up the kitchen table, bent expensive hard tempered steel tools, to name only a very few... you get the picture. It gets UGLY. Ferocious? Oh yes.
Seconds flat? It's not even that. It is like a white hot lightning bolt and control is completely lost. Count to 10???!!! As IF! I have no control whatsoever at that point. Meds have helped. I still lose it, but not so frequently or so thoroughly. (Recognizing potential triggers has helped too.)
Regret? You better believe it. I am positively mortified at what happens at those times. In the moment, I can't stop it, though I wish with a thousand wishes that I could. Later... the guilt, the remorse, the self-loathing? Oh yes.