Monster In The Box
Anger. For many others, it's a simple little emotion. It's one of many that people have to deal and cope with as a part of their day-to-day routine. It gets triggered via a number of ways but mostly it's due to some outside influence. Someone cuts them off in traffic with no signals. They may have their food order messed up at a restaurant or insulted in the slightest way by another individual. They get angry and quickly burn it out of their system when they unleash their rage.
...I envy these people!
This is not the case with me. I'm rarely ever angry. Wait! That's a lie. I'm always angry but have long since learned to suppress it publicly and slowly diffuse it privately. To the naked eye, I'm a carefree, happy-go-lucky character that doesn't have a care in the world. All the while though, people know not how close they are to a powder keg of emotions with a short and extremely flammable fuse.
If you know me and have ever wondered what goes through my mind when I get angry, picture, if you will, a monster in a box. There it lies in the deepest recesses of my mind; a dark room in the back of my psyche, it lays there dormant but alert. Sometimes awake but patient; listening carefully to what goes on in my surroundings. Under lock and key, I keep the monster under constant surveillance because the second I take my eyes off of it, it begins to plot. It makes quick work of the locks securing the box and, left unchecked, it will eventually figure how to disable the locks of the cage and will inevitably escape the room. It will roam and start feeding on every little injustice I've suffered or thinks I have suffered. Every wrong that has been done on me, to me or visited upon me will be revisited. It will feast upon all my hate and sorrow and become drunk with rage. And the funny thing is...it doesn't take much to set that little fucker off.
I got mad yesterday and today...at a freakin' video game. (If you know me, you know that's common.) OK. Now I'm a bit heated and I start dropping stuff. (Case of the dropsies. One of my pet peeves.) Then, slowly but surely, other little things keep happening that start making me lose my cool. The phone keeps ringing (Creditors.); the battery on my controller starts dying; the doorbell rings (Jehovah's Witnesses, who almost died instantly, mind you!); and that's when I realized I took my eyes off the box in the back room. That crazy little fucker is running around loose and I panic because I know that someone might get hurt if I leave him roaming free. The last time it did, I had that Bruce Banner moment where I said to myself: "Oh my God! I hope I didn't kill anyone!" Luckily, I lashed out at my best friend, who called me first thing the very next morning and asked me if I was OK. (Love you, Tyger! That's a real friend right there! A real friend knows how to deal with your crazy.) I go through my breathing techniques, all the while ignoring the flashes of violence that are not lighting up the corners of my mind's eye and slowly but surely, I can get the monster under control. Lure it back to that room. Put it back in that box. Close the lid. Lock it. Chain it up. Close the door to the room and deadbolt it. However, I know that the second I'm out of it's sight, it's already starting to pick the locks all over again. I rue the day when it manages to get outside the house. I say when because I know that day is inevitable.
...I envy these people!
This is not the case with me. I'm rarely ever angry. Wait! That's a lie. I'm always angry but have long since learned to suppress it publicly and slowly diffuse it privately. To the naked eye, I'm a carefree, happy-go-lucky character that doesn't have a care in the world. All the while though, people know not how close they are to a powder keg of emotions with a short and extremely flammable fuse.
If you know me and have ever wondered what goes through my mind when I get angry, picture, if you will, a monster in a box. There it lies in the deepest recesses of my mind; a dark room in the back of my psyche, it lays there dormant but alert. Sometimes awake but patient; listening carefully to what goes on in my surroundings. Under lock and key, I keep the monster under constant surveillance because the second I take my eyes off of it, it begins to plot. It makes quick work of the locks securing the box and, left unchecked, it will eventually figure how to disable the locks of the cage and will inevitably escape the room. It will roam and start feeding on every little injustice I've suffered or thinks I have suffered. Every wrong that has been done on me, to me or visited upon me will be revisited. It will feast upon all my hate and sorrow and become drunk with rage. And the funny thing is...it doesn't take much to set that little fucker off.
I got mad yesterday and today...at a freakin' video game. (If you know me, you know that's common.) OK. Now I'm a bit heated and I start dropping stuff. (Case of the dropsies. One of my pet peeves.) Then, slowly but surely, other little things keep happening that start making me lose my cool. The phone keeps ringing (Creditors.); the battery on my controller starts dying; the doorbell rings (Jehovah's Witnesses, who almost died instantly, mind you!); and that's when I realized I took my eyes off the box in the back room. That crazy little fucker is running around loose and I panic because I know that someone might get hurt if I leave him roaming free. The last time it did, I had that Bruce Banner moment where I said to myself: "Oh my God! I hope I didn't kill anyone!" Luckily, I lashed out at my best friend, who called me first thing the very next morning and asked me if I was OK. (Love you, Tyger! That's a real friend right there! A real friend knows how to deal with your crazy.) I go through my breathing techniques, all the while ignoring the flashes of violence that are not lighting up the corners of my mind's eye and slowly but surely, I can get the monster under control. Lure it back to that room. Put it back in that box. Close the lid. Lock it. Chain it up. Close the door to the room and deadbolt it. However, I know that the second I'm out of it's sight, it's already starting to pick the locks all over again. I rue the day when it manages to get outside the house. I say when because I know that day is inevitable.
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