Toilet Rumination #114

I am an anger man. There is anger in every part of me. How is it that I have not reconciled with this fundamental aspect of my being for so long? There is a tremendous amount of anger inside. I am saturated in anger like a cotton ball in a bucket of blood. My anger is the source of everything that has kept me confined. I have not been proud of my anger. I hide my anger in public in the same way that I hide my penis. I try to keep these things from the general public for fear of what would happen if they were seen. Anger does not flatter a person. Anger is like a stench. It is dampening. It is troublesome. Who is attracted to anger? Who wants to be around anger? Who sees anger as an enviable attainment or as the mark of an accomplished man? Who is turned on by anger? Who sees anger as a reputable state of being? Who will voluntarily give their money for services rendered by a man saturated in anger? No, it is best that I have kept my anger disclosed from the world. It is best that I have devised exacting strategies to keep my anger confined. My anger no longer explodes upon the world. My anger is subdued but it still boils. Where my anger once manifested as rage and panic now it is a general disdain and agitation. It is also an anxiety. Anger is what exists behind my fear. The fear of being perceived as the angry man that I am. The fear of not being able to be myself around others because I am an angry man. It is easier to hide away. To keep myself from the world. Acting as if I have little or no anger in me is a part that I do not enjoy playing because it is not who I am. This less angry person who appears in front of you is a manufactured part to keep you from seeing the angry and disdainful man that I am. I prefer to avoid all others than to play a part. The part I play angers me and I am often not in the mood for it. This is why I will avoid you if I see you in public. I am often envious of those who are proud in their anger and contempt for everything. These people have attained something I have been trained to deny and fabricate. I come from a long lineage of very angry men (great grandfather, grandfather, father) who pretend to be your best friend. I have been trained by the angriest of men who were and are very well liked in their communities because they are expert at disguising the fact that they are angry men. Anger must have played a part in my great grandfather’s suicide. I mean who throws themselves and their lover infront of a train? An angry man. Anger was a word seldom spoken in the home I grew up in even though my father was angry all the time. To be seen as being angry would mean he would have to admit that his life was just a made up part that he was playing to hide his anger. I am more willing to admit and confront this anger within me. Yes, I am an anger man. There is anger in every ounce of my bone. I don’t doubt that it is a toxic influence on those closest to me. My poor wife. She prefers keeping me stoned most of the time because this dissipates my anger and makes me much more pleasant and kind to be around. When stoned I experience the absence of anger. I experience what a life without contempt, indignation, hatred, jealousy and utter disdain feels like. I must admit that I find it quit nice. I find it liberating even though I am apprehensive about using that word. So liberating that I prefer the state of being stoned over the sober state. Stoned life allows me to feel much more pleasant towards my wife and towards everything I do. I am in a state of ease. I have less cares in the world. I can feel pleasure, which is the first thing anger subtracts from an angry person’s life. It is only when I am not stoned that everything will piss me off once again. Even now. I am not stoned and my wife is knocking on the bathroom door. Does she not know to leave me alone when I am in here? How many times have I told her that when the bathroom door is closed I am in a deep state of rumination and am not to be bothered? Why the hell is she knocking on the door? What could be so important? Why can’t she figure it out for herself? Why the hell is she disturbing me?! F………………..

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