Anger. Mind numbing white-hot anger surging through my veins and trying to escape from my mouth with every word I speak. That is what I feel. That is what is living inside of me. I fight to keep it down, swallow it so that it won’t get out of control. It is winning, very slowly, bit by aching bit.
Scratch the surface and not only will I bleed, I will claw and snarl and bite as the anger breaks free. I will burn with the intensity of the anger inside. I want to run away from everyone and everything. I want to hide. That way I will not hurt the people that I love. I don’t want to feel their pain. I can’t handle the responsibility of making someone else bleed. It is enough to do it to myself.
I don’t feel safe. I am scared. I don’t know where to go with this hurt. I can’t take it to Him. He isn’t here and is so stressed out with work that it is Him that I lash out at the most. I try hard to be polite, to be nice and sweet, to give Him the space that He needs but He senses something behind it, that I am trying to keep something from Him and He feels that my sweetness is insincere. It is not.
Yes I am hiding my fear, my panic, my rage. Yes I am not showing Him my insanity or the tiredness that has worked its way into my bones. But the sweetness that I give Him is given with all of my love. It is the only way I know how to soothe Him while we are this far apart.
And when He questions it the anger is right there, ready to attack, I hang up, I walk away, socks are often thrown. Crying is affective, silent tears for no one else to see. They are all mine, just for me. It seems to soothe the anger, cool it down just a little, bring it back under control. For a little while, at least.
Somewhere deep inside me, where the anger finds its spark, there is a small satisfied part of me gently encouraging the flame, tormenting me with the knowledge that it is me that causes it to burn. I cannot lay the blame for it at anyone else’s feet but my own.
I wish I knew how to make it go away.