I won’t snap

Dear Anger,

Words have eluded me a past couple of days, and that is always a precursor to you showing your ugly head through me, making my body a medium for your outburst. Not anymore. I’m beating you to your attempt, writing out all that needs written.

You are an unfair emotion. You come at the most inopportune moments, moments when I most need to be my calm, logical self. You are persistent emotion… gnawing at my insides, insinuating me to snap and gnarl at the simplest of things. I have nothing to be upset about. I have a fabulous job, a loving family, a sturdy support system in terms of friends, and a cute little place to call my own. Yet, you tease me about my lack of social tact, lack of romantic lucidity, lack of dignity to live like a pauper if my dreams asked for it, lack of determination and focus to write one good book, lack of this, lack of that… Believe me- I have tried to run away from you. I’ve ducked, and sprinted, hid and waited with baited breath for your shadow to pass me by, unnoticed but you have always found me, disguised as self-doubt, self-loathe, unpleasant in your closeness, hostile in your acknowledgement and always, always a cold shudder right to my soul. I have now realized that every time I ran away from you, I’ve tried to run away from myself. What a reproachful, dumb, impossible thing to do, right?

So I’m no longer running away. You and I will now form an improbable alliance. I’m going to accept you as a part of me. And I will control you, and not the other way round. You might resist, but I’m going to persist. I’m no victim, and no one- least of all you- is going to victimize me.

You can duck, and sprint, hide and wait with baited breath for my shadow to pass you by, unnoticed but I will always find you just before you can pull a trick. You can disguise as self-doubt, self-loathe, but I will be right there waiting to catch you at your very own masquerade – unpleasant in my closeness, hostile in my acknowledgement and always, always a cold shudder right to your existence. You are one sporty emotion. You strategize like a professional chess player and charm like the never caught robber in cops and thieves. But you don’t get to get better of the decisive, controlled, amused lady protagonist at the end of the story.

So what do you say? Do you want to play?



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