Otherwise, the world would not go round. For shame!
I used to think it was only certain people: people that needed to have conflict in their lives to give it meaning or simply to have something to talk about. I was convinced my mother must always be mad at one of us four kids or one of her four sisters to survive. Someone always had to be doing something wrong. I felt the same about a former roommate—if you are one of my 13 former roommates, don’t worry, I’ve loved you all and it’s probably not you if you’re reading this—and several friends’ attitudes toward others. I thought it was a coping mechanism to deflect something these people didn’t want to deal with inside themselves, as it was unjustified anger more often than not.
Yet, I’ve found this dark side of myself lately where I like being mad at someone for no truly terrible reason. It feels so good to be angry. There’s some comforting release about having a (living) voodoo doll or several to blame everything on. I’ve been angry at people for real things, but now I find myself wanting to be, something I’ve only seen in so many others who like to stir the pot, and I kind of like it. There is something to be said for the passionate energy that comes from being mad. It makes me feel unusually badass knowing I’ve ruffled someone’s feathers and walked away.
I am starting to understand the thrill of it, not just the displaced anger part. People get their highs in different ways; I never understood this one until now. There is so much material, creatively, when you come from a place of anger. It can be productively advantageous. Also, more to banter about with your friends. It’s like I see clearly now, on the crack of madness. It is motivating, dramatic (we are alive!), and freeing. It is a scary thing. The feeling…and for all involved.
