I don’t do anger.
I try. I really do try but I cannot sustain anger.
It evaporates on the wind and instead turns to tears and disappointment.
I buy a bottle of wine and intend to drink all of it with the intention of getting drunk in order to vent my feelings and maybe say and do things I don’t have the courage to do normally. I know for an absolute fact from my life experiences that alcohol fuels anger but not for me. After one glass it simply tastes futile and I lapse back to the tears and disappointment whilst the bottle remains full.
I don’t do anger and actually I am glad.
Yes life deals unfair, tough and hurtful blows.
Yes at times it seems that life and people are simply out to get you.
Yes sometimes so-called friends can turn on you or abandon you or just plain let you down.
But … for all that I don’t do anger and actually I am kind of glad.
Anger leads to violence and violence leads to hate.
A second, attempted, motor bike drive-by robbery last week created anger in my heart, an anger so fierce it instantly metamorphosed into hate and in that split twenty-second encounter I wanted to pull the kid from the back of the bike and I would have physically attacked him. This second attempt held no compassion, only pure, calculated and heinous intent.
Hate is not an emotion I want to allow into my emotions bank and I resent the two occasions in my life (one as stated above) where others have pushed me so hard that hate has risen in my heart like toxic bile.
I don’t do anger and actually I am kind of glad, I like happiness.
The lack of anger leaves me wallowing in a sea of frustration with the tides of despair softly pulling at my soul because I have no release for my feelings. Frustration and disappointment weigh heavily in my heart and all I have is my tears and this…
I don’t do anger but my characters in my book do commit murder and come to terrible harm.