Still feeling pretty shitty. It is increasingly obvious that all this anger that I am getting in touch with is really upsettting the applecart inside. I feel so much anger and bitterness and resentment and frustration and digust and contempt lately.

Basically, if it is anywhere on the anger spectrum, I have felt it in the last three days. It is straining (but not breaking (yet)) my faith that connecting with all this anger is a good thing and that it will lead to greater sanity and happiness and strength in the long run.

Because let me tell you, in the short run, I feel like I am losing my mind. I just want to lash out somehow. I really wish I could just go to a gym, put on some gloves, and beat the shit out of a heavy bag for a while, just to get out the frustration.

But the real problem is that my externalization function is broken. There are always plenty of ways I could be letting things out or getting things done, but deep inside I am still that scared animal that freezes at the slightest sign of trouble and waits for the scary thing to go away.

It is that anti-action bias that really dooms me. Without the ability to take action on nearly anything, with all my energies tied up in this insane self-strangling paranoia that even the smallest of actions will somehow bring terrible things down on me because then I will be noticed, all this navel-gazing is just so much mental masturbation bullshit.

I am just rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic, only this ship is getting nowhere. Just a long straight cruise to death.

Exciting, and new! Wait no… boring, and old.

So without an outlet, the madness just swirls and swirls around inside me. Maybe I will find some way to let it out at therapy tomorrow. Maybe not. I don’t fucking know and I barely fucking care.

I suppose rage is better than despair, at least on paper. Right now it sure as fuck doesn’t feel that way. I feel like I am on fire inside and the fire is just going to grow and grow until it consumes my sanity and all that is left of me is some sort of screaming, babbling, shrieking lunatic in a rubber room somewhere, locked away for good because of his heinous and bizarre crimes.

And all because I can’t seem to get myself going and so all that angry energy had nowhere to go. How pathetic would that be?

“Sure, I burned down that kindergarten, but to be fair, your honor, doing things is scary!”

It is like I have this deep inner hypnosis where I just stare myself into immobility. Like the stare of the basilisk, it turns me into stone, freezes me in place. It keeps me from ever truly growing or living a natural, relaxed, integrated life.

And it makes things so god damned cold inside.

So maybe it is good that some heat is breaking through the ice and all of this is just a reckoning between two sides that have been apart far too long.

Like mixing hot water and cold water, eventually, you will end up with warm water and all the steaming and cracking will be done, especially if you add some agitation to help the sides intermix.

The agitation in this latest metaphor would be therapy, I suppose.

But the pain while this mixing occurs is quite real and quite a lot to deal with. Like I said before, I have been saying in bed all day mostly just because I am sick and tired of dealing with my stupid pointless lameass pathetic life lately. Everything I normally do seems completely meaningless. I keep getting this urge to just smash everything I own in a giant orgy of self-destruction. Force some renewal on myself instead of this eternal filthy recycling.

I deserve so much better than this. I am a sweet, smart, talented guy. I deserve more than this pathetic $8K/year existence. But I am so blocked up inside that in a world full of possibilities for a guy like me, I just sit here and rot inside my shell and slither sadly towards an ignominious and unmourned death.

And I just want to scream and scream and scream until my soul shatters and my mind melts and there is nothing left of me but a jumble of broken glass and dirty half-melted snow and broken shards of tooth and a scrap of fake fur.

All the rest would be consumed in a white hot blaze from all that anger that I buried deep inside suddenly reaching critical mass and exploding like a supernova.

Hey, at least it would be visual. Right?

Maybe words are really the only way for me to express all this anger. If so, I am kind of afraid of the sorts of things I am going to write when I am in this kind of mood.

I am thinking horror. Or political screed, I suppose, but honestly, I care too much about politics to go ruining any future credibility I might have in the world by pushing out some crazy ass “kill the fuckers” manifesto that could only get me in trouble.

Or worse, have no effect at all. And when aggression has no effect, you escalate, right?

That is what I learned from my little buddies, the sparrows. Right now, I could totally rip the head off a bitch, too, just for crossing me.

Oddly, my dreams aren’t any more violent than usual. Perhaps that is to come, I don’t know. You would think that if there was any time for me to have one of my rare but memorable super bloody violent dreams, it would be approximately now.

But no, so far it has been the same old tired tropes.

Oh well. Enough angry regurgitation for today. I will bring this up with my therapist tomorrow.

Wish me well.