I'm angry. Tightly knotted under my chest plate there is a writhing, burning ball of rage. I'm not sure why it's there or how long it's been strangling my other emotions. I feel it all the time. It manifests itself in self-righteousness, selfishness and the belief that no one will ever meet my expectations. I'm angry and it hurts.
Inherent in this anger is a sense of pride: I'm right and you're wrong and oh, it makes me mad, but what happens when you're angry at yourself? When I see myself failing I can't stand the burden of my own self-loathing. If I forget to bring a pen to class, then I'm forced to defiantly scrawl my notes in bright pink sharpie. I sense my peers recognizing my inability to come to class prepared, and I hate them for it.
I direct most of my anger toward those closest to me. My sister forgets to text me back and I seethe for hours, complaining of her irresponsibility and untrustworthiness. My boyfriend is a few minutes late and I do the same. With them I am haughty and unresponsive - not myself.
I am irrationally angry, and I am fully committed to this way of existing in the world. I do not like it when girls wear white pants in the winter. Yes, I spend time worrying about strangers' wardrobes. I flit fickly between road rage and pedestrian arrogance. I frown more than I smile, and I smirk at others' happiness because I assume the truly wise are just as misanthropic as I am.
Even though angry people tend to share their anger with the world, they are ultimately alone in their fury. With the recent discovery of my anger, I have also found my loneliness. She's resting right next to anger, asking for attention and getting it only from the insufficient sustenance of fury and frustration.
I'm angry about the world in which I live - the tiny bubble of a world, not the big one where people are furious about fossil fuels and health care, but the little one where I'm furious about my future. I'm bitter about money and the fact that I don't have enough, can't do enough, won't make enough. I'm bitter toward people who ask me what I want; it's not that I want and don't get, but that I simply don't want. I don't want to do anything next week or for spring break or after graduation. I see this flaw in myself, this stagnation, and I become even angrier.
A single emotion or feeling or essence has dominated various periods of my life. In my youth, it was awe and occasional hysteria. In my early teens it was confusion. There were bursts of joy followed by long periods of sadness. I felt a lot of hope when I started college, and I'm not sure where that's gone. Maybe I still have all those feelings somewhere underneath the anger, but what I fear most is that they aren't there.
I fear the only thing left is loneliness and if that's true, I'd rather be angry. I have bad dreams almost every night. In them I'm doing everything in my power to rid myself of the people I love. The irony that I'm creating my own loneliness isn't lost on me.
Anger is a dangerous thing, and I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. My mother always told me to forgive but not forget, yet I don't think I have the strength to follow her advice. If I don't forget then I'll cringe, cry out, grow despondent at every memory. Forgiveness is a powerful thing, but don't start in the wrong place. Perhaps I can forget my anger and be humbled by the feeling of its absence. No one deserves your own forgiveness more than you.
Connelly's column runs biweekly Tuesdays. She can be reached at c.hardaway@cavalierdaily.com.
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