As I look at my life in recent times, I learn that I’ve become angry.
I used to be full of joy, enthusiasm, curiosity. It used to matter more to seek to understand a person before jumping into a rage of frustration. I wonder what happened to put me here, and thought perhaps this may gain some perspective.
Writing had always been an outlet. Running, near the same. Sitting alone under the dark, wide-open, starlit sky or in front of a deep, dark blue ocean at night in pure silence used to be where I’d sit and cry.
Over time, these habits shifted into cooking dinner with my partner, watching Netflix, scrolling TikTok, venting at 10pm about my frustration in life. I stopped releasing those thoughts, halted putting words onto screen or paper, sweating the frustration out or punching the earth beneath my feet to release the tension – and instead, it consumed me. Not consciously, but ever-so-slow seeping deeper into my memories, holding a strain on me.
It’s me. I created my own anger. I stopped feeling the feel, saying the thing. I’d successfully distracted myself, disassociated the meanings to such a point that now all I feel is frustration so quickly – it’s as if my tolerance had crashed heavily under the weight of my pressure to survive (something I’ve always managed well).
I want to resolve that.
I want to look at each life on this earth as a person, a human with a reason, a source-energy, an aspiration or inspiration to progress whether their story is small, uplifting or tragic. I need to let myself feel again.
So, writing it is. Maybe I’ll go back to the gym – I’ve been saying that for awhile now. I miss feeling inspired, motivated and ready for each day. I think this may be where it starts again.
Neesh Media 