I don’t like being angry. I mean who does, right? No one likes being angry unless you’re a complete weirdo. What I mean is, I know what I’m like when I’m angry, and I don’t like me when I’m angry. Because even if I’m in the right, if I get angry I’ll end up being the asshole at the end of it.
I know me, and I know the venom I’ve spewed in bouts of rage. When I say “venom” I’m not trying to sound like some kind of hardass. It’s not fun, and I hurt people more than I intend to. I don’t know how to control it other than just biting my tongue and letting it pass over me begrudgingly as I fantasize in my head of 50 ways to kill a mofo and how to make them look like an accident.
I just don’t appreciate people who can’t commit to doing their job, especially if it’s a job that THEY committed to do in the first fucking place. If there was a valid reason, like a tragedy happened or a major illness, sure. But “I went out and got drunk with friends so I forgot” is NOT a valid reason. Get drunk with your dumb friends on your OWN time, not mine. Because that’s a surefire way to get me raging. Or in a bad enough state where I’m barely restraining myself from choking you out. Dummy.
Obviously, what I said above isn’t justification to wish death on someone. Hopefully no one thinks less of me for that.
For the longest time I’ve dealt with an inferiority complex. If the name didn’t give it away it’s basically a tic in my brain that tells me I ain’t shit because there are people better than me. And the sad thing is, that’s true. I mean, in the grand scheme of things, who in the blue hell am I?? Just some kid who’s trying to be like everyone else. Trying to be the next Bob Ross or Alex Ross.
At the same time I like what I do. Art is my thing. It’s given me people who I’d never exchange for all the money in the world. I like them, I like having them around. I’m grateful that they’re a part of me. But it’s just that some days I feel like all of this is an illusion. I’ll wake up anytime and suddenly I’m back in High School, no friends to be had, wishing I was dead and people wishing death on me because, “That’s as far as I’m going to get.”, says the tic in my head.