writing angry

Tonight I'm struggling with anger, which is a politically correct way of saying I'm angry as all hell and doing a poor job of concealing, mastering or otherwise winning against it. The way I see if I have two choices here, or maybe three. First, do nothing. Second, give it over to God, but that doesn't seem to be working tonight. Third, vent it all here. The reason I'm going to vent it all here is so I don't act out on it, or lose my temper, continue to clench my jaw, grind my teeth, clench my fists, fight the urge to strike, throw, hit, kick or otherwise physically act out on my angry feelings. I can either be calm, cool and surgically, precisely, articulately angry, or I can explode and swear all over. I haven't decided which way to go yet, though I can tell you which one would feel better, and a bit of relief is all I'm seeking tonight.

I know I'm angry. I can feel it. I'm visibly tense. I have to take a deep breath every time the tiniest thing doesn't go my way. tonight, when I went to Wal-Mart, I wanted to smash a sunglasses display and kick open an automatic door because it wouldn't open all the way. No clue on why I felt like the sunglasses had to get it.

I wanted to smash and kick a projector at work, but they're expensive, so I can't. I'm frustrated with my boss, the poor training I've gotten and tonight's inevitable consequences of that. I had a crappy run for both the 7 and 9 o'clock rounds, and I made every single mistake I could, though not on purpose.

But it goes waaaay deeper than that.

I'm mad at some deeper things. Still. In no particular order....

I'm mad that I can't pass a background check for a police department because of something I did when I was 20, nearly 17 years ago. When I was 20, I had girlfriend that was 16, and we fooled around. No charges, no angry parents, not even a bad falling out afterwards - just one question on a background questionnaire, and a polygraph, and I'm not going to lie. I have to own that every time I apply, and every time I apply at a department it comes back to burn me. A few minutes of fun - nearly two decades of knowing every day that you'll never be able to live out your dream of being a career cop. And there's not a damn thing I can do to fix it, either, and I'm mad about that.

I'm mad that I can't seem to get ahead financially. That's an ongoing story, man, and I'm tired of it. I can't seem to find a higher paying job anywhere. My peer-level co-workers are generally more than ten years younger than I am. I haven't made this little money since I was 20, man, and yet here I am, working my tail off, financially screwed until further notice. I can't support my family on $15K a year, man, and certainly not when half of that goes to child support. I couldn't even support myself. And yet, here. I. am. And I have no fucking clue what God is trying to tech me. Patience? Humility? Humility? Shit - how much more humble do I have to be? I'm taking out trash, cleaning up vomit, poop and half-eaten candy. I'm pretty much at the bottom of the career food chain here, and I'm 36, man. If I was 16 this would be OK, but I'm Thirty. Six.

Yeah, yeah yeah - life isn't fair. this is the result of the choices I made a long time ago, blah blah blah. Blame me, blame my ex-wife, blame whomever you want - no amount of blame solves the problem, so I'm not interested in assigning blame.

I'm mad that I used to have a good job and I lost it. I'm mad I used to be a cop and I let it go. Damn it, man - I had it all, for a time there, huh, at least job wise, and I can't get it back.

I'm really mad that a guy at church told us that God was a God of miracles, and that if God wanted a guy to be an airplane pilot but the guy was a convicted felon, thus barring him from becoming a airplane pilot, then God could by-God make that guy an airplane pilot. You know what, though? I don't think so. I don't think God works that way, and I'm mad I ever thought He did. God's not gonna make me a cop, or even give me the opportunity again. He's not, because He's going to let me spend the rest of my life paying for that mistake, and relegate me to watching "COPS" on TV and armchair quarterbacking, knowing that I'll never really be in the club again. THAT's apparently how God works, and I'm mad about it. And I'm mad I got my hopes up, too, and I'm mad I thought God had finally forgiven me enough to give me a break on just one thing. Apparently, I've managed to mess up enough that I get no breaks for the foreseeable future, from God or anybody else.

I'm still carrying around some (or, apparently, a lot of) anger about my ex somehow, and I can't even begin to make sense of that, even to figure out who or what I'm even mad at anymore, much less why, by by God, there it is, staring at me, mocking me.

I'm mad I can't control my temper. I'm mad it seeps out through swearing, or one of the hundred little ways it slips out. I'm mad I feel like I constantly have to restrain myself. I'm mad I can't smack the punk kid I work with, even when he have it coming, most often when he does something that reminds me of myself.

I'm mad that my anger is likely going to eventually kill me, and I can't seem to get rid of it, and I'm afraid I won't get rid of it in time. It'll manifest itself in the shape of a heart attack or a stroke or an aneurysm, but nobody will be fooled, not really. It'll be my anger that killed me, and I don't know how to drop it, because it doesn't seem to want to go away on it's own, and God seems to be of the opinion that I need to deal with this one myself, at least for a while. And you know what? Some days, dying of a heart attack or a stroke or an aneurysm seems like it might be a bit of relief.

I know I stress a lot about money. I grew up with it. And I know that money isn't the be-all end-all of the world, but it sure makes it hard to keep the lights on when you only see $200 every two weeks and you want to eat, too.

By the way - if one more person says one damn thing about Financial Peace or Dave Ramsey I will scream. There comes a point when you're beyond that, man. Sometimes it just. Doesn't. Work. It works when you have money coming in and you can create a budget. It doesn't work so hot when all your money is gone before you get it, and the most extravagant thing you buy is pop-tarts or a clunker car.

I'm mad that my anger would show up on any psych test, and that would keep me from getting a cop job, too, because I evidently can't control my temper, or, even better, I turn it inwards, which only hurts me instead of other people. Somehow, I still think it's OK for me to hurt, just not other people, because that's what "Good Christians" do. And I'm mad my therapist gave up her practice and works elsewhere. Now I have to find a new damn therapist and start all over.

I'm mad I have no new coping mechanism whatsoever. No hobbies. No sports, at least not ones I can play angry.

I'm mad my anger is child-like, and how immature it feels, yet it's so easily justifiable as real pressures that adults experience.

I'm mad I'm swearing so much. I'm mad I'm going to have to take a pill to sleep tonight. I'm mad I'm going to be mad when I wake up in the morning.

I'm a little mad at God. I'm a little mad at family. I'm very mad at myself. I'm angry I'm going to have memories of my ex during my honeymoon and I don't know how to cope with that, and it's going to hurt my wife. Damnit, man.

I'm pissed that if I even bother to apply - feeling all the time I'm simply going to be shot down - I'm going to have to delete this entire blog and not write anymore, because let's face it - if a background investigator read this there's no way in hell they'd ever take me, even though I think everybody gets angry - they just don't document it.

I'm mad I promised my wife I'd try to get hired as a cop again, because I feel like deep down I'm going to fail before I even begin, an that's not fair.

Tonight, I'm angry, and I'm losing, and I feel like God doesn't care, or this is just what I get for being a a scrweup for most of my life.

I'm angry because my life hasn't gone the way I want it to. Not even close, and I'm mad about it. I'm mad my life is hard, and every so often, I get to bitch about it.

There - I said it.

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