Full to Bursting with Apoplectic Rage

 

I was trying to pretend that none of the bad things were real. The bad things aren’t real, the bad things aren’t real, the bad things aren’t real,’ I told myself solemnly. After a while I actually started to feel better – my tactic was working! ‘How dare they say that the bad thing are real’, I fumed, ‘the nerve of them to go around saying things like that…’ I was feeling thoroughly indignant. Not that I was going to do anything about it – since I was still very timid – but I was definitely narky about it. I was as narky as hell. ‘What’s wrong with them’, I asked myself, ‘what’s wrong with them to say things like that?’

 

Eventually, after much effort, I created a whole new world for me to live in, a world that had to be painstakingly assembled, bit by bit, portion by portion. It was my greatest achievement and when it was done I felt justifiably proud of myself. I was flushed with pride. ‘Hot damn’, I remarked cheerfully, ‘and I did it all by myself!’ It occurred to me after a while that I deserved some kind of commendation, some kind of public ceremony to confer honours upon me in recognition of what I had achieved. I could wear a robe for the occasion, I mused. A special type of robe for achievers that no one else was allowed to wear. And a cap to go with it. A special velvet cap in light blue or mauve. Things were looking up for me, you see; everything was turning out for the best and I was entitled to feel good about that.

 

I knew of course that people might come along and say that I wasn’t entitled to feel good about it – I was aware that this might easily happen. I grew angry at the thought, I became dark and vengeful. My happy mood was gone in a flash – gone as if it had never been, for all the world as if it had never been. ‘How dare they say that I am not entitled to be justly recognised for my wonderful achievements?’ I screamed, full to bursting with apoplectic rage. If there had been someone there at that moment, someone within striking range, someone weaker and smaller than me, I might well have killed them, so consumed with rage I was. I was pure homicidal, although I’m not proud to admit it. I was overflowing with pure, undiluted malice.

 

Do you know that thing where you have become so very untrustworthy, so very slippery and tricky, so duplicitous, that you simply can’t endure living with yourself anymore? You have become a liability to yourself, you have become a horrifyingly deceitful enemy and you are at your wits end with regard to how to carry on. You have become a monster of insincerity and lies and you’re actually frightened of yourself. This is the question I pose. I wait for the audience on my head to respond but it doesn’t. I wait for the audience in my head to give me some kind of feedback but there is only silence. No one says a thing and instead of acknowledgement I am met with a wall of pure judgement. So much for the audience in my head, I think bitterly to myself – you find the courage to share and all you get for it is a wall of judgement. It’s enough to destroy your belief in human nature – if you had any, that is. I resolved never to share again. ‘That’s it’, I say to myself, ‘I’m never going to share again, not in my entire life…’

 

They try to make out that you’re abnormal you see, that’s what people always do. They will gaslight you at every available opportunity. That’s what society is – it’s a frighteningly efficient mechanism for gaslighting the poor defenceless innocent individual and making them feel abnormal. I know that from my own experience – I wasn’t born yesterday, after all. I didn’t get to where I am today, etc, etc. Impossible tasks can seem awfully hard at times, can’t they? We keep on trying however because we don’t want to appear weak, because we don’t want to be labelled a loser. The very thought! Any fate is better than this, of course, any fate is preferable to being labelled a loser. You just have to keep on pretending therefore and – if possible – fake it that you are making it. That’s what everyone else is doing, after all, and it seems to be working for them. You wouldn’t want to miss out on that good good buzz, after all…

 

 

 

 

 

1 thought on “Full to Bursting with Apoplectic Rage

  1. Jeff H Shampnois

    I just read this (https://medium.com/my-unpopular-opinion/im-done-55af0defca37) before reading THIS, and they both felt satisfying, even though THIS is far richer. But for a person from the United States (the former land of the perpetually cheerful and optimistic (which got on my nerves by 2nd grade)), these are heaven-sent. Of course, now the US is rapidly losing its pasted smile and good cheer and discovering narcistic rage, but even so, the fear of being a loser at narcissism has replaced the fear of being a loser at happiness as the driving force of this culture. Even depression in this country tends to be pursued like a health craze. We can’t seem to avoid enthusiasm, even if it’s enthusiasm for crashing and burning. Still, with humor, as you seem to realize also, some stink of promise clings to this disaster, it feels like a necessary purge, whatever is happening. The world is buoyant, damn it. If we could just cry or scream for a few centuries we might shake off this madness and finally realize the world is gently buoyant and needs nothing from us, just our living and dynig. Thanks.

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