I am furious.
I feel furious.
I don’t know which phrasing is correct for what I’m feeling. I usually temper my phrasing with feel rather than am. This owes more to my background in psychology, as a receiver of therapy and as a reader of books on the subject. I’ve conditioned myself to create a separation between an emotion and self. Substitute “I am useless” with “Right now I feel like I’m useless”, you know the drill. The first is absolute, the second allows for reflection, can be dismantled by a few logical back-steps. “Why do I think I’m useless” [write all the reasons] “Did something trigger this thought/feeling?”
I am going to forget all that for now. I want to explore this intensity of emotion.
I AM FURIOUS.
That feels right. It looks right. It is equivalent to the clenching in my jaw, the stiffness in my shoulders, my tight forearms and hard stomach. I’m angry. I want to vent my fury. I want to kill someone. I want to get revenge.
Even as I write some of the intensity has abated. I don’t know if I want it to. As a hard white light burns through my core, a nuclear rod, I am Fury. I don’t have to be anything else. There is an awareness that strong emotion is a finite resource, so I don’t want to burn out and be left with whatever comes next. From experience it will be apathy, maybe depressed spirits.
The why? of my fury is not relevant to me whilst I’m in it. Already it is passing. Soon I will have to reconnect to my thoughts and the power of the emotion will be a memory.
I’m furious because several things combined to piss me off at the wrong time.
Those things are the main points that have resulted in my furious aspect. I’m so sick of it. And I guess I’m resentful that I can’t get true privacy by being out of this house.
I’ve locked my door from the inside now, while I’ve been writing. A locked door is even more enticing to a would-be enterer, but I don’t care because if she had barged in again tonight I’d probably have committed sistercide; instead she is still breathing and I’m not prison-bound. Best all round, I think.
I vented some frustration at my friend, M, over the phone. I knew he wasn’t feeling good these past few weeks (has his own issues) so I tried to be patient. He’s been okay enough to meet up with other friends, go out and do stuff, yet he’s only just texting me? The emotions I’ve been through have been complex. I’ve felt worried, then annoyed (when I’ve found out he’s been okay enough to go do things with other people), then rejected (“why am I doing all the texting/calling?”), and it’s been like that for two months. Despite having a decent conversation tonight, all these weeks of mixed emotions have taken their toll. A few weeks ago I decided to stop doing all the running and said I’d be waiting for him to get in touch when he felt ready to/wanted to.
I didn’t mind being put on hold if he was ill. I’m more aggravated by not having a simple communication back to let me know he was okay; I veered between anxiety that he wasn’t okay and anger that he was, but hadn’t thought to check if I was okay (which I haven’t been, at times). It’s complicated. Hard to explain on here. It’s just been a lot of little things. One of my pet hates is when people talk a big talk about how they regard you as one of their best friends and then act the opposite.
I wrote this post last night. I’m not so furious now. Be not afraid.
I am furious.
I feel furious.
I don’t know which phrasing is correct for what I’m feeling. I usually temper my phrasing with feel rather than am. This owes more to my background in psychology, as a receiver of therapy and as a reader of books on the subject. I’ve conditioned myself to create a separation between an emotion and self. Substitute “I am useless” with “Right now I feel like I’m useless”, you know the drill. The first is absolute, the second allows for reflection, can be dismantled by a few logical back-steps. “Why do I think I’m useless” [write all the reasons] “Did something trigger this thought/feeling?”
I am going to forget all that for now. I want to explore this intensity of emotion.
I AM FURIOUS.
That feels right. It looks right. It is equivalent to the clenching in my jaw, the stiffness in my shoulders, my tight forearms and hard stomach. I’m angry. I want to vent my fury. I want to kill someone. I want to get revenge.
Even as I write some of the intensity has abated. I don’t know if I want it to. As a hard white light burns through my core, a nuclear rod, I am Fury. I don’t have to be anything else. There is an awareness that strong emotion is a finite resource, so I don’t want to burn out and be left with whatever comes next. From experience it will be apathy, maybe depressed spirits.
The why? of my fury is not relevant to me whilst I’m in it. Already it is passing. Soon I will have to reconnect to my thoughts and the power of the emotion will be a memory.
I’m furious because several things combined to piss me off at the wrong time.
Those things are the main points that have resulted in my furious aspect. I’m so sick of it. And I guess I’m resentful that I can’t get true privacy by being out of this house.
I’ve locked my door from the inside now, while I’ve been writing. A locked door is even more enticing to a would-be enterer, but I don’t care because if she had barged in again tonight I’d probably have committed sistercide; instead she is still breathing and I’m not prison-bound. Best all round, I think.
I vented some frustration at my friend, M, over the phone. I knew he wasn’t feeling good these past few weeks (has his own issues) so I tried to be patient. He’s been okay enough to meet up with other friends, go out and do stuff, yet he’s only just texting me? The emotions I’ve been through have been complex. I’ve felt worried, then annoyed (when I’ve found out he’s been okay enough to go do things with other people), then rejected (“why am I doing all the texting/calling?”), and it’s been like that for two months. Despite having a decent conversation tonight, all these weeks of mixed emotions have taken their toll. A few weeks ago I decided to stop doing all the running and said I’d be waiting for him to get in touch when he felt ready to/wanted to.
I didn’t mind being put on hold if he was ill. I’m more aggravated by not having a simple communication back to let me know he was okay; I veered between anxiety that he wasn’t okay and anger that he was, but hadn’t thought to check if I was okay (which I haven’t been, at times). It’s complicated. Hard to explain on here. It’s just been a lot of little things. One of my pet hates is when people talk a big talk about how they regard you as one of their best friends and then act the opposite.
I wrote this post last night. I’m not so furious now. Be not afraid.