Anger Rant

Today's blog is brought to you by a conversation that was more or less unrelated to the topic at hand, but that's how I roll.

Anger is a difficult emotion for me to express. Most often, it comes in bursts that quickly fizzle out, only to become sadness which usually seems like home to me. I'm used to being sad as I'm one of those Emo kids. No, I don't mean those AFI-loving, all black-wearing wussies who constantly threaten to slit their wrists. The Emo I'm talking about is the quiet guy writing shitty poetry about his feelings and the world as he sees it. I'm the Emo that hides many of his emotions by deflecting situations with humor, but could cry at the drop of a hat when my guard is down. But there has always been an undercurrent of anger in me. I like to think that it's my intellect that has kept me from being the violent individual I think I could become if I were less aware of the consequences of my actions. I never picked physical fights because I knew I was weaker than most guys, and I knew that I could vent my frustration with writing and moping about. Anytime I felt a physical fight coming my way, I would run like a motherfucker. Also, pain hurts, you know, so I tend to avoid it at all costs. There's that, and the fact that I've never seen much point in physically fighting when I could just belittle the fucker into a corner that they would just give up trying to have anything to do with me. I'm getting a little off topic, so I'll steer this fucker back before I veer too far off on a tangent. Like I stated earlier, when I get angry it would more often than not lead rather quickly to sadness. And so I've never really given myself the chance to adequately express the emotion of anger. I've been thinking about that for the past few hours, wondering if maybe I could find a way to express it more, to explore it. I need to find a way to keep myself from taking that next inevitable step into sadness to do it, and that's no easy task. But I can't help but wonder if maybe I'd find out something about myself if I focused more on what's making me angry rather than the aftermath of that anger. I love to study my navel, even if I'm about as deep as the kiddie pool in the backyard. I find my complete lack of interest in most anything rather interesting. I often feel like I'm observing myself from the inside out trying to get back inside. I love heavy music. When I listen to it, I don't really feel like I'm experiencing someone else's pain, I feel like I'm accessing some part of me I'm not normally aware of. When I watch movies, I love horror. I love the violence inherent in most of them. When I read books, I love reading about people in horrendous situations doing unspeakable things to other human beings. And I don't know why. I've got a great life with little to nothing to complain about. But the anger is still there. Maybe it's just the material I'm subjecting myself to. But maybe it's not. Further investigation is needed.

I'd say that I'm determined to find out, but more than likely later in the day, I'll happen upon a video of a kitten doing something cute, and I'll forget all about my anger question.