Rage

Sometimes the frustration boils over so immensely that I completely lose the ability to contain it.
Sometimes the internal shouting fails to end, and these fits of rage take on a life of their own.
Words I both intend and don’t intend spew from my mouth for anyone and everyone to hear.
Words of anger erupt so effortlessly from my mouth as if it’s a rehearsed script.
This exasperation burns with an unknown intensity and refuses to cease until I collapse with exhaustion.
 
And when this rage abates, I return to my everyday life as if nothing has happened.
I lie when people ask why my voice is scratchy.
Shyly, “Allergies? I was a little too excited during the game last night? Maybe I’m coming down with a cold?”
I lie when, after an explosive episode, people ask if I’m okay.
Sheepishly, “Oh, did you hear that? Sorry. Yeah. It’s nothing. I was just fooling around.”
 
This smile you see is deceiving. It does nothing more than mask my pain.
This laugh you hear is prepared. Its purpose is to convince you that I’m doing fine.
This jovial nature is a disguise. Its intention is to get you to leave me alone.
But away from the world…in my isolation…that smile disappears.
I hide this grin with merciless purpose until circumstances force me to wear it again.
 
Laying on my couch for hours on end, darting holes at the ceiling with my eyes, unable to move, unwilling to try.
I am not bedridden or incapable of functioning. I’m just angry, and sometimes this is all I can do not to discharge.
Every little nuisance acutely penetrates my skin. This irritation refuses to let me breathe.
Alone, I stew over past wounds that refuse to heal; on how others have wronged me in ways that have ruined me.
Sleep overpowers me only after my body can no longer handle these destructive, self-loathing attacks.
 
And when the anger subsides, I return to my everyday life as if nothing has happened.
I lie when people ask me about my weekend.
Meekly, “It was decent. Low key. Just kind of relaxed more than anything else.”
I lie when, after a major depressive episode, I can hardly muster a smirk.
Timidly, “Oh, do I look sad? Sorry. Yeah. It’s nothing. I think I’m just tired or something.”
 
This smile you see is deceiving. It does nothing more than mask my pain.
This laugh you hear is prepared. Its purpose is to convince you that I’m doing fine.
This jovial nature is a disguise. Its intention is to get you to leave me alone.
But away from the world…in my isolation…that smile disappears.
I hide this grin with merciless purpose until circumstances force me to wear it again.
 
Surrounded by dozens of others, each one unnerving me more and more by the minute.
Wanting to lash out, wanting to tell them all to shut up; my annoyance with the world seeps out of my control.
Practicing my calming techniques so that I don’t unleash and go on a tirade I’ll soon regret.
Failing miserably as I curse everyone underneath my breath…why can’t these people just stop talking?
My dissatisfaction with my place in the world always seems to reveal itself at the most inopportune of times.
 
And when this bitterness diminishes, I return to my everyday life as if nothing has happened.
I lie when, after an agitated episode, I can hardly look at anyone face to face.
Hesitantly, “Lots of emails and phone calls in a row. I think I just got a little distracted for a minute.”
I lie when people ask me why I appear to be so upset.
Reluctantly, “Oh, did I look bothered? Sorry. Yeah. It’s nothing. I had something I couldn’t figure out.”
 
This smile you see is deceiving. It does nothing more than mask my pain.
This laugh you hear is prepared. Its purpose is to convince you that I’m doing fine.
This jovial nature is a disguise. Its intention is to get you to leave me alone.
But away from the world…in my isolation…that smile disappears.
I hide this grin with merciless purpose until circumstances force me to wear it again.