And still I rage

For the past few days now, waves have been crashing around me. No, not around me; in me. I wake up, the water is calm. I breathe. Gently, in and out. I take my steps steadily, one at at a time, aiming not to trip, not to disturb the water’s surface; praying for nothing to go wrong.

The slightest knock, and they swirl again. Not just a rift, or a ripple, but a tidal wave sweeps through me. And I’m roiling with rage. Anger at people for being unkind, for staring at me in the street, for leaving me out. For disagreeing with me; for not registering what I’m thinking straightaway. Not understanding, not doing as I ask.

imageI daren’t tell them I’m angry. Angry doesn’t make sense. It’s intense, irrational, out of proportion. Sadness would make sense, but that’s not what I am. I am unbelievably angry. At every little thing that goes askew. And at things that haven’t; where I’ve seen disappointment, where actually, there is none.

I’m scared of myself, because feeling is rare these days. I’m more often empty. And the anger is so, so strong. I’m frightened I could hurt someone. Or make it that they don’t want to know me anymore.

And God knows I am angry, but telling Him doesn’t bring calm. I hurt myself. Press harder, cut deeper. Turning the anger inwards seems to be the only safe way to get rid of it.

And still I rage.

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