Rage

I apologise.

Unreservedly and totally I apologise for the ranting and the internal screaming and the wailing and the gnashing of teeth which has been occurring over the last few weeks. It's rather like a low level breakdown which is going on in the background of everything else. Not demanding attention, not creating a fuss, just ongoing and exhausting. Today I even had to leave Twitter alone for a bit so that I didn't drive everyone away with my impotent rage.

I'm raging at everything at the moment, life, inequality, female rights being eroded worldwide, Minis refusing to get ready for school on time, the grey and miserable weather, our relative poverty, the chance of me finding a decent job without moving house again, my horridly unhelpful stomach giving me constant pain and nausea, other people. 

Yes, other people. They've really been getting up my nose recently. Other people with their needs and emotions and offers of help and kindness and opinions. Oh, the endless bloody OPINIONS. 

(You can probably tell by the SHOUTY CAPITALS that I'm still feeling the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. I'm trying to contain it, but it keeps seeping out.)

I don't really know why I'm so angry, except that I haven't eaten properly for ages (coming into my 6th week now), I can't seem to get enough sleep, I have no energy, my job is physically demanding and financially not remunerative enough to counter the waves of dread which overcome me whenever I consider my bank balance. Are those good enough reasons to be raging? I don't know. I don't normally feel like this. It's alien to me.

There are other symptoms too; an utter lack of sex drive, interest in others or ability to follow the plotline of any book or film. In fact concentrating on anything is bloody hard at the moment and I appear to lack the desire to do so anyway. 

I am raging at the rage, impotently shouting into the great buffeting wind of life as it races over and around me, utterly impervious to my attempts to make it stop and consider my pain and anger. It doesn't care. That's a hard lesson to learn. That even when you feel that you are being broken into a thousand tiny matchsticks as a wooden house in the force of a tornado, life doesn't care. It doesn't even notice. I think that's when we know we're really grown up. When we can access and appreciate the uncaring, unloving universe and understand that it is intrinsically neither good nor evil, it has no weighted value system as we humans do. It cares not for my ability to pay my mortgage, get up in the mornings, care for my children, feed myself or any other petty and mundane normal lifelong chores to which we are all subject.

Still there is no answer. I shout into the distance and the trees and hills echo back to me the sound of my own pointless rage. I think at this point I need to stop. I must accept things for what and how they are. I must try harder to conquer my generally high level of irritability and see the beauty in the people and the world around me. 

I don't want to. I want to shout and stamp my feet and scream and scream till I'm sick. 

What price maturity??