Angry

Hi, I’m Angela, and I’m angry.

I’m the kind of anger that boils like a volcano, shaking the world around me with the energy of pent-up rage.

Why I’m angry is a long, painful, and sad story that I find it hard to believe when I hear myself tell it. And it’s a story that is still being written, seemingly never ending, and fuels my anger on. This is a story that won’t end well, because it can’t, and that makes me angry too.

As a woman, I’m not allowed my anger. People tell me to “let it out” and “don’t be passive aggressive because you’re angry.” So I do let it out. I tell people what they are doing that pisses me off. Usually, I’m not too much of an asshole when I’m doing this. I learned quickly people don’t really mean they want you to tell them. People don’t want to be called out on their shit, in a nice way or not. They just don’t want to deal with your anger towards them. Love, they take willingly and greedily. Time they will steal. But anger, that they leave you to it, or worse, they fuel it.

I’m skinny. I’m almost too skinny (if there is such a thing in this culture). People ask me how I lost weight and stay thin. The truth is anger. I exercise viciously to remove the anger from my body, mind, and exhaust myself so my body has to rest. This form of anger management seems okay to people, as long as they aren’t around and have to help do something. You want to get thin? Get mad.

This anger walks a thin line between intense and rage. Rage is a whole breed of anger in itself. Rage is all consuming, filling every pore on my skin and cell in my body. Rage demands payment, and wants to destroy. Rage is anger that must come out, but how? The weeds in my garden get my rage, and yes, my garden has no weeds right now.

When I figure out how to better deal with Anger and Rage, I’ll let you know.