For as long as I can remember, I’ve been an angry person. When I was younger, I couldn’t understand why I was so short-tempered or why I could never be completely and undeniably happy with anything I did or I achieved. My anger was also more than just impatience. It was also how I spoke faster and louder when I was talking about the misfortune of myself or others. A good few years of trying desperately, yet unsuccessfully, to quell that anger has passed. Yet here I am, still angry.
It took a few months of introspection and talking to people who were as quick to anger as I was to finally find a pattern in my interpretation of the world around me — my anger stemmed from frustration. My anger came from being forced into staying passive in the face of a distressing circumstance. My anger came from caring too much but being able to do so little. My anger came from wanting change so badly, but being powerless to inspire it. My anger came from feeling that the world deserves better, that people deserve better.
I don’t like feeling angry. It’s unpleasant and often painful. In the past few years, I’ve probably cried more times out of anger and frustration than out of sadness or grief. Anger is the most intense emotion that I feel and it’s the one I find hardest to compartmentalise. When I’m angry, it’s very difficult for me to think about anything else or do much else than stay angry or find a way to get rid of it. That usually leads to me feeling more motivated to find a solution for the problem that is causing my anger.
However, no matter how much of a positive spin I try to put on it, mostly to make myself feel better, anger is motivating to myself and myself only. Being on the receiving end of someone else’s anger is rarely motivating and often demotivating. The key, I believe, is to strike a balance between staying angry and keeping it under control just enough to motivate myself but not enough to affect others.