The Difficult Kind

The anger and frustration that follows me home from work each day makes me crazy, brings crazy thoughts to my mind, and I not only scare my wife — I scare myself too. The line that kept entering my head tonight, the sentence I thought I’d start this entry with, was, “The seventeen year old version of me, the last version of me that I have any respect for at all, would hate what I’ve become.” For all the things that might be good in my life, all it takes is eight hours at that office to make me hate myself and everything I’ve become.

And I go to the gym to try and fix it and I work hard. In the process I hurt my knee and I get angry at my body for failing me. I push myself through thirty minutes of cardio because I won’t let the twinges of pain stop me. I will not be a weakling. By the end, I’m out of breath and frustrated that I didn’t make it to forty-five minutes. I look at all the fat that remains on my body and I say to myself, “There’s one more thing you’ve failed at.”

When I was ranting in my head, thinking about what I might write tonight, I thought about how the sixteen/seventeen year old version of myself dealt with his job. Sure, he didn’t like working at the grocery store but he left that frustration at the door when he went home for the day. He didn’t let it affect him as a person. Over time the pent-up frustration with the stupid people you’re forced to serve at the grocery store did come to affect me, but at the time…

So, is it a choice then? Bottle it all up and be miserable later or deal with it as it comes and be miserable all the time. People have tried to convince me not to bottle things up but maybe I would be better off that way. Maybe I would be better off if I just tucked all the anger away and let it kill me later on instead of letting it kill me right now.

I don’t know. All I know is that I need my situation to be different and I have no idea how to make it different.