I want to go back to a time when I didn’t care about anything. When my every want and need was met, and if it wasn’t, I forgot who to blame as quickly as my next blink.
Because anything would be better than the rage within me now. It doesn’t even boil or simmer. It simply exists in ruptured bursts just waiting to burn someone, anyone – even if that someone is only me.
I googled the words “rage” and “anger” and all I got was a bottomless pit of oceanic waves and fighting dog images. Is that what I’m reduced to? A battle of canines and a rolling ball of blue?
Even that enrages me.
I envy my nephew who still gets away with throwing temper tantrums. While I must sit here and watch, as the me within screams and bangs against my skull and breast bone, dying to be released. It isn’t even the unfairness that gets me anymore, I’ve long grown accustomed to the fact that some people land in rosier piles of shit than others.
No, what bothers me is that I’m expected to grin and bear it. I’m expected to suffer with an overwhelming sense of humbleness that the world around me is comfortable with. Heaven forbid somebody should actually be enraged at their lot in life or, worse, express it to another human being. After all, one is constantly reminded that they’re not living in a war zone or suffering from malnutrition and starvation. So obviously my life is peachy.
I don’t even feel like complaining about “what’s wrong.” I just want to be able to not feel guilty about this insane fury inside of me. Sometimes, I sit and fantasize about elemental creatures in fairy tales, and I wonder if this is what they feel like. If their bodies are so overwhelmed with a certain sense, that it’s ready to bust out at the simplest of commands.
Maybe it’s a good thing that there’s only one Air Bender?
I think things would be easier if there was some kind of outlet. Like water bending or air bending. But instead I’m left with this ever reddening emotion that isn’t evil but neither is it good.
And I’ve been thinking…
Have you ever actually looked at a peach? Maybe that spreading shock of red is nothing more than a peach’s show of indignation and injustice for being plucked from its home to satisfy another’s whim or left to fall mercilessly all on its own.
So… maybe I’m just peachy after all.