This word is dangerous, in fact far more threatening than any other that has ever slipped through my lips or crossed my mind. Rage is lightning about to explode, too close to the ground – the inevitable victim being me rather than the person who has inflicted the wound.
Taught that this emotion is not acceptable and that good girls do not get angry, let alone Rage; I have swallowed hundreds of pounds and medications to quell this unstoppable freight train. Once it has left the station, I cannot control it, rather it controls me. We hide from one another, like children playing a game – search and destroy instead of hide and go seek.
I do my best to avoid Rage. This includes tossing myself onto the burning hot train tracks in an effort to make sure that innocent bystanders are safe. Nobody mistakes my being lost for lack of direction.
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Fear of failure, of success, of mediocrity; all leave me with my foot hovering above the first movement towards tomorrow. I’ve been haunted and tormented by the present and past; questions that none of their business yet the softness gives in, my knees grow weak as I explain myself yet again.
In an effort to give my dream, my journey, a fair chance I must become a Rock. Aside from my best friend, an introspective hound with understanding, thoughtfulness and candor as long as his ears. I’ve explained to my husband that beginning Monday, I am going to keep “office hours” during the daytime. Staying awake all night, waking in the early afternoon to his whirlwind of needs and then once world peace is settled and I’ve restored the panda population; I may spend what I left of my time on my passion and future. In this case, today: 2:45 AM.
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I have joined to share my journey until today and this moment forward.
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