I have been so angry for so long. Anger has powered me, has motivated me to get things done, and has made me feel worthy. It’s made me sure of myself and I’ve taken advantage of its empowering intoxication to achieve things I wouldn’t ordinarily have been able to do.
Anger used to be so rich for me, but I’ve been too angry for too long. I’ve drunk too deep, as the well has been amply supplied by every imaginable source, and it’s wrecking me.
When I get angry now, it feels hopeless. It feels helpless and pathetic. It does have any richness to it, it isn’t motivating. It’s hollow and crumbles into sadness, like sand running through my fingers. I pour down with it, streaming into pools and sinking to the murky bottom. Instead of struggling to pull myself up, I swirl in the green depths and the sounds of the world are muted, incoherent. I know there’s activity up on the surface – I can see the flashes of things above, I feel the ripples – but I can’t get close enough.
I worry I’ll stay down here at the bottom in the muck. I want to be excited and engaged and to feel like my energy is being applied to things that matter. I want to feel like I can make a difference, even in just my little bubble. It feels like it hasn’t happened in a long time.
Beloved 