Frayed Feisty Threads - Book IV

What Really Makes Me Furious 9/8/1992

         Personal insults, whatever their origins, serve to decrease self-esteem, belittle and would with a below-the-belt vengeance that no fighter’s punch could deliver. The anger I feel is unbelievable, followed in quick succession by pain and grief and always disbelief. It is this disbelief that fuels my anger most; I am consistently amazed at my own naiveté and incredulity. It is always difficult for me to imagine being really furious over anything. However, I have had my moments. One of those moments came at a time ten years ago when I was betrayed by someone I trusted. The scars of that betrayal I have carried with me and no matter how hard I try, those anguished feelings rise up in all their horrid ugliness, blinding mw and rendering me incapable of recognizing the source of provocation, holding hostage the element of clear reason. Being treated disrespectfully, being told that I “don’t know anything”, that I am “not with the program” and “Mom, I told you yesterday!” makes me feel angry and vulnerable. This personal attack is especially effective when it comes from impudent teenagers whom I brought into this world, have supported and raised single-handed and whom, at these times, I am ready to take out of this world, single handed, or at least temporarily out of my space while I try to figure out what happened to elicit “Wrath of the Teenagers Who Think They Own the World”, sequel 2000, into my already complicated life. The power of personal insults to touch that moment of betrayal opens a well-spring of emotion, that in a moment of disbelief, erodes my bank of trust and faith in mankind. It is this betrayal of soul eroding the fragility of one’s humanity that makes me furious.

9/8/1992

tuc

Note ▼

This rant was an advanced English class assignment at Penn State; my life events at the time were fodder for my writing.