Throwing Tantrums

Yesterday I had a hysterical crying fit.  It was a familiar delve into a dark place that hadn’t happened since last year.  A few days ago, I was full of smiles and optimism.  I felt that after years of stagnation; I had finally begun on the path that was leading to some sort of betterment.  I felt that I had actually started seeing my life differently.  After all these years, I was finally being propelled forward.  I did not have ropes dragging me back into the dungeon of apprehension.  I knew that I still had shackles on my ankles but they were not as heavy and inescapable as they had been before.  I could move.  I could jump.  I just needed to learn how to leap and finally be free of the hard, metal confinement of my own dark thoughts.

I was in a rampant state of sorrow and aggression.  I thought about the power of this wild, unruly emotion and wondered what literary concoction could come of it.  I sat down to write, only to see a diarrhoea of clichés and a rehashing of something I’d already written.  My rage induced writing was a piece of shit.  It did however, serve as a tranquilizer.  I needed focus and calm to gather thoughts into something less infantile than a stream of angry phrases.  It was an unrestrained spewing of nothingness.  It was frustrating.  I was trying to herd my thoughts into something coherent.  It gave me more of an objective perspective of my juvenile rage but I still couldn’t make sense of it.  It remained ghoulish and dumbfounding.

Here is my attempt at grasping my hysteria:

Why am I so angry?  The emotion is waiting.  It is stirring.  It is seeping inside me, filling every corner of my being.  It is also evaporating out of my skin.  It can’t handle being contained in such a miniscule, insignificant vessel as the human mind.  It must act out outlandishly in all its force.  It must show itself in the scrunched up, rigid, tight-faced anguish of my facial expression.  It is even uglier than it presents itself.  The way a face transforms under the influence of a tugging hatred is fascinating.  It is worth pitying.  The emotionally neutral onlookers can look on at it condescendingly and also be amused by it.  It is the anger that life has not unfolded itself as it should.  That in all my trying, I must continue to fight invisible battles.  Everything that I think that I have accomplished can be lost in a second.  How temperamental the human mind is.  I have nothing worth warranting this anger but I feel it.  I feel it in all its heaviness.  I feel it raging.  I feel it burning.  I feel it boiling from the core, working its way up to my scalp.  It lashes out like an erupting volcano.  The lava rushes out and destroys me on the outside, once it is done leaving my insides as nothing but ash.  How do I do damage control?  How do I deal with the inconsistencies? 

So I act out my sensitivity with wild hyperbolic musings and confined histrionics.  Tomorrow brings with it new hope and new perspectives.  In the cage of anger and sadness, morning sheds a new light. 

I’m sorry to whoever’s picture I stole here but it’s lovely.  Here’s a link to the website:



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