Peak Ross (from F.R.I.E.N.D.S) Energy

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I have a slight problem with my anger. 

It’s volcanic. 

Not in its scale, but in its manifestation; slowly simmering for aeons before a brilliant eruption that leaves everyone and everything scarred in its wake. Believe me, like a volcano, I have a reason for spewing my specific form of vitriol. Says every person with anger issues ever. 

But really, I do! My primary trigger is when, in a new situation for which there is no blueprint, something that is supposed to work, doesn’t for reasons beyond my understanding and no matter how hard I try. 

This morning, the offending object was a biro pen. The pen had been in my drawer for at least a year, and it refused to write. No matter how furiously I scribbled. No matter how passionately I smacked the pen against the wall, or heated the pen, in my misguided attempts to “jump start” its fluids. So, naturally, the pen had to go. It no longer fulfilled the purpose for which it was created, and I saw no harm in ending its existence on this planet in a particularly inventive way. As a result, the pen is currently in my dustbin. 

Now, I’m sure you’ve noticed a number of things that are a bad lewk. 

First, I took it personally. It’s like the pen chose not to work for me, rather than the fact that it was a very old pen that was doing its best. It also doesn’t help that I humanized the pen. Both unfortunately and fortunately, I am not dealing with a ”Beauty and the Beast-esque” situation. 

Second, I wasn’t patient. And to be honest, I’ve never had to be. I’ve been at the top of every attendance registry for as long as I can remember. 

Third, it wasn’t about the pen. It was about the lack of control I felt. No matter how hard I tried, the pen just would not WRITE! My GOD?! Who knew pens have a “best by date”? And, why isn’t that date written in HUGE BLACK LETTERS!? Peak Ross Energy here. 

Fourth, and perhaps most importantly, I leaned into the anger rather than listening to what it was telling me. They often say that anger is a mask for something else. Sometimes, fear. Other times, disappointment. Mostly, pain. But here’s the thing about anger, it feels a lot better than being afraid, or frustrated or hurt. It makes you feel powerful and in control, even as the universe humbles you. It makes you feel good. At that moment, as I disassembled the pen with the creativity of a serial killer working out their kinks, my anger felt good. It felt better than admitting that a pen had defeated me. Felt better than admitting that sometimes, there’s nothing you can do. 

You just have to let the wave wash over you.

I wish I could say that the pen would be the last victim of my anger. Or that it was the first. But I can say that I’m getting better at managing my anger and its role as a response to feeling out of control. I have a better understanding of my triggers too; making sure to eat, drink water and face the sun so that I have the necessary calm to respond to stressful situations, no matter how minor. 

Lest I become Ross *shudder* (although he had a point about the Sandwich thing tho)


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