The Anger Within
And sometimes this cool calm and acquiescent exterior gets to be too much. And I just want to scream to holy hell in a not so good way, in a way not befitting a lady like the one I pretend with varying degrees of success. How can I write about it so coolly, even now? Even as my fingers are frozen cold and aching to strangle something in their grasp?
I am irritated and that is usually a bad sign. It means there’s anger I’m trying desperately to mask. There’s always anger just below the surface that barely ripples. Keep it contained, keep it contained dear, lest you do that which we’ll all regret. They’re waiting and waiting and what have you got for them? Nothing but coming up empty-handed and full of regurgitated, overused, unoriginal banalities time and over and once again.
I’m falling apart inside and I want to let it show. Crumble into nothingness dust in the open air because the disdainful desperation of empty forgiveness is wearing on me and wearing thin. I don’t want to give up or forgive, I simply want to give in; to break it all irreparable until we breathe nothing but toxicity because even sniffing glue can’t hold us together now. But I can’t, no. I musn’t. I wouldn’t. I absolutely couldn’t. None for me, thanks. I’m fine. I had dinner, earlier. You’re much too kind.
26 September 2007 at 7:49 pm
i have that sickness too, today, tonight ….i’m tired of holding it all together….insides crumbling, your words summed it up perfectly.
26 September 2007 at 7:57 pm
“How can I write about it so coolly, even now? ” Because sometimes that’s so much more effective and satisfying.
26 September 2007 at 9:51 pm
Hmmmm. Sounds rather like most people feel most of the time, don’t you think? Calm, collected exterior, crumbling and desperate interior… seems about right, in my (limited) experience of humanity.
27 September 2007 at 12:32 am
Like looking in a mirror.
27 September 2007 at 8:54 am
I wish I could write that eloquently and descriptively about such anger and frustration when I’m in its clutches. The best I can generally manage is to smash one of the collection of old plates I kept for such moments. Sadly, I don’t even have any of those left any more.
27 September 2007 at 10:16 am
Isabelle: And then we just keep going somehow, huh?
Z: Yes. It is also the only thing I can do for it at the moment.
Bohémienne: I’m not sure. I’ve given up on humanity. Well, at least on trying to figure what they’re thinking most of the time.
Ariel: In that case, I’ll touch my fingertips to yours.
Unreliable: I would smash plates but the knowledge that I’d have to be the one to pick up the pieces afterwards would piss me off even more.
27 September 2007 at 8:43 pm
I agree with bohémienne…everyone deals with anger. Was it Plato who said: “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle.” ?
28 September 2007 at 10:26 am
Citizent, hello and welcome. In my self-obsession I like to pretend that mine is the greatest battle in the history of the world, ever. ;)
28 September 2007 at 3:12 pm
I’m not sure that you should label this ‘sickness’, Ani. It’s real life, honest emotions. That’s not sickness. Maybe some sickness in the world has made you feel like this, but you’re enviably alive.
I appreciate your keen, honest description. I also feel despair quite a lot of the time. So such descriptions make me feel slightly less alone, to feel less bad about having bad feelings. It is true that there’s a lot of it about. What can we do to help each other. Acknowledging our despair - firstly our own, then each other’s - might be a start. But when I’m really depressed I can’t bring myself to care about, let alone believe in, such political projects.
Such comments as these don’t help very much, I know.
28 September 2007 at 8:19 pm
Drodbar: Don’t worry, I don’t have any answers, either. I think just knowing we’re not alone helps somehow.