‘ I noticed something interesting about myself over the past few weeks. I have been talking more and more when there is no one around to listen. I would say I’m talking to myself, but I’m not. In these moments of audible dialogue my speech is directed at objects: words on a page, pictures on a screen, or a slow driver in front of me. I think I speak out loud in these instances to simply let it out. I think this practice has a calming affect. It is a preventative measure thought not in all cases. In the past week or so I have broken my own phone, bike, book bag. Of course these destructions came at the end of a long denunciation of my wireless provider, Chinese ingenuity, or zippers that were engineered in China. The final cracks or rips of these objects are the only response I hear in reply to my tirades. I wish in these times that they had said something sooner.
I don’t usually have a problem with breaking things, just frustration. It may serve in my defense to explain my current situation. I will hopefully be graduating later in December, and my job has told me that there is no job for me when that happens. Each day I get closer to my last. It takes a lot for me to not say anything to my supervisors before the end of each day. The only motive I have to hold my tongue is to insure a favorable reference from these ungrateful bitches. This is the source of my frustration.
I am usually nice to people, at least while they’re in front of me. But I will rant to myself if need be, as soon as they leave the room. I need to learn to spare myself the inconveniences of my own frustration. Breaking personal items serves only to reinforce my hatred for when things go against my plans.
One thought brings it back to perspective. Since I have been talking to myself and slamming objects to the concrete, I imagine what it would be like to stand before my own line of sight. “This shit ain’t funny.” “Fuck you,” to an absent you. “Go fuck yourself,” which I have essentially explained how to do through frustration.” Or “fuck, this shit ain’t funny, fuck yourself and die,” are some of the phrases I have caught myself uttering and subsequently pictured myself following with a destructive act. I would think I was fucking crazy seeing myself in this state. This makes me laugh, and suddenly I understand my frustration.
It is destruction waiting to strike. My rants have since turned to a means similar to a negotiation, the mode being my own inaction. I’ll talk myself down from breaking something or telling off a supervisor who has angered me. I talk myself down from the ledge just before I jump. I used to wonder what would happen if I set this bitch on fire or how would this driver change their shitty habits if I slammed into the back of them. Now, I wonder what I would say if I did these things and saw them from an outside perspective.
“Angry young man” I would probably say. “He should relax.”
Now all I hear from people is “Who are you talking to?’
“No One at all”
Frustration isn’t worth the future frustration, so fuck it. Lets get high.
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