(Disclosure: Some of this reading may be triggering and sound childish. This piece was a process for me. Please read ALL the way through to the end before commenting. Thanks.)
As I’m going through the process of grieving my divorce I need to acknowledge the feeling I’m having today. This one feeling is one that I shy away from. I don’t like it. It’s the emotion that I grew up with. It reminds me of my step-father’s spontaneous rages. This emotion is the one I fear from both others and myself.
As much as I don’t like the feeling of anger, I have a way of letting it grow and fester in me. Instead of dealing with it, I let it eat me up from the inside. And, as it devours me, I get more annoyed that I can’t control it.
I want it to stop. I want to shove it deep down so I don’t have to experience it. I want to kick it to the curb. I want it out of me.
If you try to stop a moving freight train with just your two hands you’re going to get crushed. Holding in anger is like trying to hold back a 5,000 ton locomotive.
It’s like hearing the backfire of a car that’s not burning fuel evenly. My anger reminds me of the car in the movie Uncle Buck, right before he picks up his niece from the party with Gnat (bonus points if anyone remembers that boy’s real name). It’s detonation; where too much fuel is introduced into the carburetor and instead of a smooth-running engine, the engine pops and crackles due to mini explosions.
That’s what’s happening today; tiny outbursts that erupt over the simplest things.