In all dimensions and meanings to the word, anger encapsulated my being today. I am not one that expresses this type of emotion regularly. Annoyance, sure. Sadness, sometimes. But pure anger is a relatively rare occurrence. It starts with a burning sensation in my chest. My throat will close up as it feels like a huge stone has been lodged through it. The heat rises from my chest into my head so much so I can feel my arteries throbbing. The same heat shoots through my eyes as my brows furrow to the centre. It becomes hot, steaming hot everywhere. My muscles begin to tense up and I physically become still and quiet. I will look down and not keep eye contact with anyone.
Inside my head, thoughts are swirling at a thousand times its normal speed. These angry ideas move swiftly, and swirls into a centre, moving even faster as it collides with one another. Everything around me blurs out of focus. My hearing slowly deafens out and I feel like a bull charging towards a red target. Angry, focused and ready to destroy.
However, this is all contained in my mind. I do not have the bravery to make a scene where I hypothetically yell and swear when people are watching. As I was in a public place today, I had to suppress the internal volcano which was very ready to erupt at any second. But as my efforts to hold back didn't suffice, tears of rage started to pool in my eyes and stream down my face. I was shaking. I felt the pressure building inside of me and I couldn't hold it any longer. Cracks were forming.
But as I approached work, I managed to put on a different act. I smiled, I laughed and went on normally. It was like I adopted a temporary persona. But the minute I was on my own, the mask went off and the burning sensation came back. In the past, when in isolation, my anger would sometimes manifest physically where I would throw stuff around the room and rip things up whilst swearing under my breath. Today was no different. The source of all my grief did give me a book a few weeks ago. I took it and threw it on the floor, ripped all its pages out and tore it into small bits of paper. It part fed the flame as it was part therapeutic. But seeing it all in bits on the floor gave me temporary relief. And although I am trying to be good by recycling more, I threw the book in the trash. In with all the smelly rotten food, where it genuinely belonged.
I cant tell you how long this state of being will last. But looking back historically, I can be pretty destructive when I am here. I would splurge on expensive things, or eat extravagantly or just plainly hurt people who I trust will forgive. But for now, I am comfortable simmering in the corner. There will come a time when the fire will run out of fuel, but I doubt that time will be soon.
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