I Can FEEL Your Anger (or 3 Simple Steps for Getting the Sexiest Abs This Summer)
I started this blog to take a cheeky and somewhat sublime look at the surreal, and with the limited number of posts I've added so far, it seems that I've more-or-less been sticking to its original intent.
After all, such confounding real-life occurrences, such as the sudden proliferation of red baseball caps and the discovery of gravitational "ripples" in the fabric of space-time, do indeed warrant a bit of levity, particularly if we plan on coming out of this age alive...
But I thought I might veer away from the formula for a second (time's up!) and do my best to examine a "serious" topic in a little more depth...that of the monkey who never quite leaves your back (unless you therapy the shit out of it)...drumroll please...A. N. G. E. R.
Anger.
ANGER.
ANGER!
F*%#ing ANGER you F*%#ing F*%#!!! JESUS F*%#ing Chriminee!!!!!!?!
Okay, enough of that. This post is about anger, using my own to illustrate.
I know, I know. NO one in the history of humankind has ever dared down this fraught-with-peril path. I mean, who do you know has ever taken a look anger, its causes, its effects, its place, its power, etc?
But seriously, for a second.
People bury it. People ignore it. People rely on it. Some people carry it in reserve. Others piggyback on it in order to inflict great pain.
It's often misplaced, often misused, many times misunderstood.
Yet no matter how enigmatic and misaligned this emotion tends to be, no matter how many times it tends to be overlooked or discarded or ignored, it comes back. Or, it never leaves in the first place. It hides and waits for the right time to kill.
I have struggled mightily with anger throughout my life. I've held onto it too long. I've released it too late. I've relieved it too fast, too openly, too hurtfully.
Anger has been a large source of regret in my life. That's not to say that each angry experience has been a source of regret; only that I've often woken up the next day, or walked away from the release, only to find myself more angry at myself for being too angry, or something.
I've always had a complex relationship with anger, as I'm sure any human being that's ever had a pulse can attest to or sympathize with on some level.
It's been my best friend and my worst enemy.
At times, anger, RIGHTEOUS anger, can shield me from awkwardness and carry me through difficulty. If I ever need to put up some defenses, to protect my ego or my intellect or my fragile whatever, I simply press the button and open the floodgates of rage. Suddenly, I'm on top of the situation again.
At other times, anger is the very source of awkwardness and difficulty. It makes a challenging situation worse, exacerbates the problem, lends credence to my enemies, both real and perceived.
Guess which scenario occurs most often?
This dual role is perhaps best understood for what it conveniently omits. The Why? (source) of the anger. regardless of where and when it makes itself present, is never put forth, never answered. Sure, there are clues, but these amount to bread crumbs that tend trail off into circle-jerk Quest territory.
And when things get too labyrinthine, I tend to lose patience and back away...slowly, of course.
When I was young, say 10-12, the frustrations began to pile on. When puberty hit, frustration piled on frustration, feasted on hormone and spit me out in high school. By that time, self-doubt wasn't just a lingering cloud; it was etched into my skin. Deep.
Needless to say, I became angry. And though I largely held it in, which seemed to eat away mercilessly at my insides, a piece of it always rode along on my shoulder. At all times.
Of course, I couldn't express it openly or in any sort of logical fashion. The perception was that its release was dangerous and potentially damaging to the few friendships I was in constant fear of losing a grip on, particularly at the time.
My anger became so thick, so all-consuming, it began to dominate my personality, my presence and my aura. In other words, it not only added to the problem, it became the problem.
And while I would blame my "situation" on others, on my peers, my parents, my school, society, etc., the brunt of my most brutal finger-pointing was myself. There was no stop to the number or severity of psychological beatings I would self-administer.
Why this is exactly I don't rightly know. I have my theories, but those would be a digression. The real focus at-hand is the anger that not only dominated my "previous" life (so-called youth), but that continues to remain an undercurrent beneath nearly everything I do to this day.
On some level, it's always there.
It's always festering beneath the surface: a hot, bubbling stream of anger; a steady current of rage that can be tapped into at any moment of weakness, pressure or threat of stress. And though it ebbs and flows, it never really disappears from view.
That's not to say I'm planning on acting on my anger. The same self-analysis that has allowed me to dissect and mitigate my anger before is still there, and promises to be for quite some time. Only when I'm senile do I suggest more stringent and dedicated adult supervision (kidding)...
I do believe, however, that suppressing such an emotion, or pretending it's gone away simply because of a change in station or life situation, or because you're happier "at the moment", is not a good thing.
Acknowledging that your anger still exists is, I believe, the only real way to cope with and understand it, lest it consume you once again in the future.
Nonsensical venting over.
re ipsa loquitor,
BP
Next Time--A lighter subject, anything at all; probably something to do with Russian collusion and the death of democracy.
Ciao
After all, such confounding real-life occurrences, such as the sudden proliferation of red baseball caps and the discovery of gravitational "ripples" in the fabric of space-time, do indeed warrant a bit of levity, particularly if we plan on coming out of this age alive...
But I thought I might veer away from the formula for a second (time's up!) and do my best to examine a "serious" topic in a little more depth...that of the monkey who never quite leaves your back (unless you therapy the shit out of it)...drumroll please...A. N. G. E. R.
Anger.
ANGER.
ANGER!
F*%#ing ANGER you F*%#ing F*%#!!! JESUS F*%#ing Chriminee!!!!!!?!
Okay, enough of that. This post is about anger, using my own to illustrate.
I know, I know. NO one in the history of humankind has ever dared down this fraught-with-peril path. I mean, who do you know has ever taken a look anger, its causes, its effects, its place, its power, etc?
But seriously, for a second.
People bury it. People ignore it. People rely on it. Some people carry it in reserve. Others piggyback on it in order to inflict great pain.
It's often misplaced, often misused, many times misunderstood.
Yet no matter how enigmatic and misaligned this emotion tends to be, no matter how many times it tends to be overlooked or discarded or ignored, it comes back. Or, it never leaves in the first place. It hides and waits for the right time to kill.
I have struggled mightily with anger throughout my life. I've held onto it too long. I've released it too late. I've relieved it too fast, too openly, too hurtfully.
Anger has been a large source of regret in my life. That's not to say that each angry experience has been a source of regret; only that I've often woken up the next day, or walked away from the release, only to find myself more angry at myself for being too angry, or something.
I've always had a complex relationship with anger, as I'm sure any human being that's ever had a pulse can attest to or sympathize with on some level.
It's been my best friend and my worst enemy.
At times, anger, RIGHTEOUS anger, can shield me from awkwardness and carry me through difficulty. If I ever need to put up some defenses, to protect my ego or my intellect or my fragile whatever, I simply press the button and open the floodgates of rage. Suddenly, I'm on top of the situation again.
At other times, anger is the very source of awkwardness and difficulty. It makes a challenging situation worse, exacerbates the problem, lends credence to my enemies, both real and perceived.
Guess which scenario occurs most often?
This dual role is perhaps best understood for what it conveniently omits. The Why? (source) of the anger. regardless of where and when it makes itself present, is never put forth, never answered. Sure, there are clues, but these amount to bread crumbs that tend trail off into circle-jerk Quest territory.
And when things get too labyrinthine, I tend to lose patience and back away...slowly, of course.
When I was young, say 10-12, the frustrations began to pile on. When puberty hit, frustration piled on frustration, feasted on hormone and spit me out in high school. By that time, self-doubt wasn't just a lingering cloud; it was etched into my skin. Deep.
Needless to say, I became angry. And though I largely held it in, which seemed to eat away mercilessly at my insides, a piece of it always rode along on my shoulder. At all times.
Of course, I couldn't express it openly or in any sort of logical fashion. The perception was that its release was dangerous and potentially damaging to the few friendships I was in constant fear of losing a grip on, particularly at the time.
My anger became so thick, so all-consuming, it began to dominate my personality, my presence and my aura. In other words, it not only added to the problem, it became the problem.
And while I would blame my "situation" on others, on my peers, my parents, my school, society, etc., the brunt of my most brutal finger-pointing was myself. There was no stop to the number or severity of psychological beatings I would self-administer.
Why this is exactly I don't rightly know. I have my theories, but those would be a digression. The real focus at-hand is the anger that not only dominated my "previous" life (so-called youth), but that continues to remain an undercurrent beneath nearly everything I do to this day.
On some level, it's always there.
It's always festering beneath the surface: a hot, bubbling stream of anger; a steady current of rage that can be tapped into at any moment of weakness, pressure or threat of stress. And though it ebbs and flows, it never really disappears from view.
That's not to say I'm planning on acting on my anger. The same self-analysis that has allowed me to dissect and mitigate my anger before is still there, and promises to be for quite some time. Only when I'm senile do I suggest more stringent and dedicated adult supervision (kidding)...
I do believe, however, that suppressing such an emotion, or pretending it's gone away simply because of a change in station or life situation, or because you're happier "at the moment", is not a good thing.
Acknowledging that your anger still exists is, I believe, the only real way to cope with and understand it, lest it consume you once again in the future.
Nonsensical venting over.
re ipsa loquitor,
BP
Next Time--A lighter subject, anything at all; probably something to do with Russian collusion and the death of democracy.
Ciao
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