13

For some time, plenty of thoughts and theories have been swelling in my mind but it resembles a beehive more closely than anything else. Burdened by illness, I have resulted to spending majority of my time on the internet and inevitably skulking around the dark spaces that should be off limits to anyone exiting a relationship - no matter how much time has passed. Facebook, that great evil that keeps people connected for the most improper reason, revealed to me and reminded me of an existence that I had ignored for so long now it seems. What occurred, or reoccurred, was that same seething anger I had felt five months ago. Almost exactly the same. I entertained violent thoughts and was filled with a deep sense of regret that I possessed and continue to possess some semblance of composure and etiquette. While the memories scamper off into the corners of my mind and my heart, when they are recalled to the surface, though less frequently now, they burn with the same intensity.

Now it hardly seems real anymore and therefore the anger feels much more irrational. But when I remember everything in summation and that no responsibility, no accountability, was taken... I realize whatever I feel is entirely warranted. Each emotion is its own beast in large doses but anger seems too great to cage and analyze while the sloth of sadness almost beckons to be studied as it languidly takes over your life. Anger, though entirely rational, causes one to mutate into something entirely unknown. I frown upon violence, my feelings about it are always made vocal. I think it imprudent and an immature way of resolving conflict. Not to mention, it is tiresome in the most useless fashion and rarely produces anything but more trouble. That being said - I have been plagued by waking dreams of allowing anger to completely envelope my limbs until I lose control of them and they make contact with the face of the intended. I imagine the deepest feeling of satisfaction arriving at the notion of a woman triumphing physically over such an individual. In reality, I am sure I would only feel shame and regret in addition to facing assault charges but I cannot help but imagine these moments. I regret controlling my anger that evening and ending the night on such a high note and sending such a positive message when one was never deserved. I regret that I was never cruel. I regret that I never took the opportunity to be the femme fatale I know I could be. I regret that ignorance and irresponsibility probably continues to rule. Heaven forbid that life should continue without me; and that it should be a happy existence not filled with self-loathing is only more maddening.

Perhaps this is part of a process. Once, I felt poetry but now I realize how pathetic that was. Nothing poetic could have ever been produced from that situation. Once, I had wished him on his merry way, hoping for the best. Now, I realize the improbability of the best actually occurring but that still does not hinder me from wishing the worst... just in case. My greatest regret is that I cannot supervise the worst while it occurs to make sure that it does. One day, I will regret this anger and these bitter sentiments. I will regret the cruelty that resides in my heart. One day I will harbor little to no ill will. One day, I will only feel pity for someone who probably deserves that more than anything else... but not today. Not with the memories and the stories that often result in others pitying me for my time served. I don't regret that time in the least, especially since it seldom feels like it actually happened anymore. Better now than never and better to know the nature of the beast before it was too late. This is all part of a process. It is all so surreal.