ON ANGER

20 years.

Plus some days.

ON ANGER

Sometimes I really think my blood runs too quickly through my veins.  I'll get angry and I can't help but stay that way for a while. I don't like it. I know for a fact it helps nothing. That doesn't change anything, because the root of the problem isn't me trying to help myself. The root is an anger I can't explain.
The most annoying thing to hear when you are fuming with anger is, "Calm down."  Two stupid words.  At this point I've stared at these two words for too long, and they make no sense anymore.  No one ever calms down when they hear the words.  When I hear those words, I start thinking why I am mad in the first place, then I start getting angry for being angry in the first place. No, "calm down," a silly phrase.
Maybe I'm angry because since I was in sixth grade I've needed to do the best, make myself some perfect barbie doll that people idolize, and regard as real.  Maybe my 4.0 makes me mad, because it mocks the way I wish I was.  I wish I could make a B and not go home and cry.  In sixth grade I made a B in Ms. Woods class.  She was the most boring teacher in the universe. I liked science too.  I was in the flipping science olympiad.  I have the metals hanging on my closet door.  Anyways, Ms. Wood sent my mid-way report card home with a B on it.  I didn't understand it.  Why shouldn't I get an A?  I remember her having extra credit. It was all due before she sent out that piece of paper.  But all the forms were still hanging in her room, thats just pointless.  I remember the anxiety I felt at that moment. Staring at all the missed chances that could get me that A I wanted.  I got that A. I got all A's in middle school and I was the middle school valedictorian. I made a speech too.  I don't remember that, but I remember wearing make-up and straightening my curly mess of a hair for that day.
Or I'm probably angry because I hate my body. I always have.  I know. It's my temple and I should be blessed to have all limbs, and to not be paralyzed, and to be a normal height, and to be living and walking, and yeah all that.  But I still don't like it. I don't like how large my breasts are. I don't like the way my stomach has a pouch to it, I don't like how my arms aren't perfectly toned like my barbie doll cousin, I don't like how my eyes have dark circles due to the severe allergies, and I don't like how my shoulders are broad. I can say how I am fine with it all day long, and when people say that it's shallow to think these things I'll agree. I really agree, but I still think them. And putting these thoughts away because people don't want to hear them makes me angry.  I get angry that I can't not like my body.  If you talk about how you don't like your body you have low self-esteem.  We all have low self-esteem, can't we just talk about it? And stop starving ourselves, and stop obsessing over it, and I just talk about it?
Maybe I'm angry because I compete.. always. I don't even notice I'm competing anymore, it's just a part of me. A stupid part of me that makes everyone I know a player on another team. Maybe I am mistaking jealousy, and egocentrism with competition.  It's possible.  But I see how my sister has nice clothes, I want those.  I see how skinny both of them are, and they are five inches smaller than me they can wear tiny sizes.  I want to be that skinny, I want to be the skinniest sister. I really hate that about me.  Why do I always have to the best? It's stupid really, you cant be good at everything. Mom used to say, "You can't do everything." I knew that was true, but it made me mad that I couldn't.
Or maybe I'm angry because the last three years I've changed. I am depressed. I can't be happy anymore. And maybe I'm mad because deep down I can change, but sadness has an addictive sweetness that I can't escape.
Whatever the reason, medicine isn't fixing it, neither is my artwork, or the music on my Spotify, or the intense workouts, or the relationships I'm in, or the Bible, or all the sermons I hear, or my tear filled prayers. I'm trying, I know God is powerful, I believe he created the whole universe. How dare I think he can't fix my silly multi-cellular dirt made body?  Yeah how dare me.  But this is what I think.  I can't say I can't change that.  I can change what I think.  Guess that is how I can fix my madness. Change how I think and I'll be happy right?  Now how do I change how I think?  This is a rather hard question, yes. Hope is a start I guess.  Oh God, I hope you can change the way I think.

On better days,
Life is Good