the written word is a lie

Under the veneer of my sometimes cheery, sometimes melancholy image, there lies anger.
I don’t talk about it much. Hell, most of the time, I don’t really feel it – even though I know that it seethes in there, shut behind mental doors of steel-like fortitude. But it IS there, and I need to acknowledge that sometimes. Ignoring it doesn’t help the situation.

When I used to get angry [from stress, usually] at work, I would go somewhere away from everyone else and find something harmless to kick, like empty boxes. If there wasn’t anything like an empty box available, sometimes I’d just jump up and down while channeling that anger, until I felt relieved.

Right now, I want to punch things. I’m in a situation where I can’t express what I’m feeling, and I can’t talk about it to anyone, and it makes me angry beyond belief. I’m tired, y’all. I get so tired of caring only to have that taken advantage of, or abused. It isn’t IN me to stop caring, unfortunately, so I’m stuck with feeling this way.

What do *you* do to relieve anger that can’t be dismissed by talking it out?

I write, as openly as possible, about my experiences with life, love, creativity, depression and not-depression. I share opinions. I promote compassion and change. I talk about music. I also write poetry and short stories. I like to share them here.

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