Every week, I challenge myself to a Monday Dare. You can click on the link if you’d like to see the complete list of Monday Dares or find out more about its origin.
This week: Anger management
My number one desire in life is to be less of a hoarder. I also want my daughter to grow up to be a profoundly happy person. I hope that even on the days she is feeling blue, she is surrounded by a shitload of people who appreciate her inner-core and help her to see that this too shall pass. But that’s a hope I have for someone else. I really want to focus on me right now, so yes, my number one desire in life is to stop amassing mounds of useless junk.
I’m guilty of hoarding objects. My animal pencil topper collection is pretty intense. The entire collection is housed in an airtight see-through container because most of them have a distinct yet subtle scent, and every time I open the lid, I am greeted with a cornucopia of fruity goodness. It’s very appealing to me.
But more than my collections of pencil toppers and rap lyric t-shirts and metallic tinsel, the “thing” that occupies the most amount of space in my life is the dirty pile of anger I have stacked, one rage-filled thought after another, in the middle place where my heart should be.
I’m just angry as fuck.
It’s hard to recall anything I learned in high school which is understandable because I wasn’t really paying attention, but I do remember learning in biology that 60% of the human body is comprised of water. This confuses me, because if I had to guesstimate, I’d say that anger makes up roughly 81% of who I am. Apparently, every drop of liquid coursing through my body (plus a few organs) has a high level of fuck you, motherfucker.
I’ve been amassing rage like it’s currency.
I no longer trust myself. Sometimes, I call Harv to ask if I “should” be angry about something because I’m guilty of overreacting to small offenses, and maybe even worse than that, I don’t react at all in some situations where I should voice concern and disapproval.
Over the weekend, a random dude pinched my cheek. Now that I’m thinking about it, I feel a little embarrassed. I must look like the kind of person you can cheek pinch. Would anyone dare take a chunk of Ludacris’s face meat between their thumb and pointer finger? I DON’T THINK SO. This man didn’t think I was participating enough in the group conversation and pinched my cheek. I stood up because I wanted to gain better leverage and force before I smashed my hand into his temple.
My cousin stepped in and stood just inches away from my face before telling me to leave immediately. Which I did. Because I was enraged and because I felt such an overwhelming desire to be physically confrontational and because I didn’t trust myself.
Violence is never, ever the answer. Never. Ever. Ever. I’m ashamed and riddled with guilt that my thoughts could even venture into that territory. Yet, I am still seething.
I’ve resisted going back into therapy because I’m afraid that once all of my anger is gone, there will just be an expansive hole. I could, of course, fill it with other things like arrogance or laziness. Laziness is the front runner right now because I already have a lot of experience with it, and it just seems to come naturally.
I’m enrolling in an anger management class this week. I want to be a better example for my daughter. Also, I want to stay out of jail.
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image via Meme Machine
These spectacular metallic motherfuckers were created one by one in a historic mill town in Massachusetts. Only send these to people you really like. These fuckers are too nice for stupid bitches.
