I can be cruel. I don't know why.

[salinea]

There's ice knocking against my window. No snow for us this week, I guess.

When I'm angry, I usually cry. Mostly because I can't express the anger. I can't go and break people things. I can't shout at people's head, because they'd only shout back louder and I'd get even more frustrated and angry at the whole deal. I can't make people people listen or do things.

I don't like being angry, either. You lose all kind of perspective. All objectivity. Anger fuels itself.

Sometimes it's not enough either. So I'm pissed off and crying. Tired and cold. The funny thing is when my mother wants to be comforting and it's the least thing I want because I'm wrathful.

Then again, anger that you keeps tends to fester. Becomes cold, spiteful, disdainful. It slithers somewhere between your heart and your stomach and nests there. Ready to drip venom when it's got the occasion. You don't forgive.

You stop caring. For others like for yourself. You need to remind yourself all the time, all the bloody time, that there's more to it. Something larger, deeper, more resonnant.



I wanted to write something, at some point, this week. About anger and Remus, and Anthy (because they're characters I think are very similar in a way). About the fact that anger was a luxury, and passive agressiveness.
Maybe I'll have the time later. (Isn't it ironic ?)

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