I hate being angry. I just really, really don't like it. Luckily, I don't get angry easily. There are only a few times in my life that I can remember being really, truly angry to the point where I burst and spewed that venom like a wild banchee. My brothers used to be able to make me angry to the point of screaming, slamming doors, and sobbing in my room for an hour. (The biggest problem is that they both enjoy the sport of argumentation. Me...not so much.) The only other time I remember getting that angry was in high school. I was sitting at the lunch table with a group of friends who I had come to realize talked behind each other's backs incessantly. One of them said something (jokingly) to another one's face, and I blew up. "CAN'T YOU GUYS JUST BE NICE TO EACH OTHER FOR A CHANGE?!?" I proceeded to get up from the table and stalk away, leaving behind a very shocked group of teenagers. ("Have you ever heard Laura yell before?" "No way, not like that." "Wow. What's up with her? She never gets mad.") I ate lunch in the band room instrument storage closet that day.
Up until last week, that was the last time I remember being really angry over something. To be honest, I knew that this fit of anger was coming. I had felt the annoyances and frustrations building up for months. I had hoped to contain it as just that, though: a feeling of annoyance and frustration, but not full-blown anger. But then something happened that just threw all inhibitions to the wind, and I got angry. I won't go into details, since this is a public forum, but basically I had had enough of a certain person's complete lack of responsibility and consideration for other people. This individual continually put things off and avoided problems they had created, causing issues for everyone around them and never bothering to say, "Hey, I'm sorry. My bad, I should have done that sooner." Instead, this person just blamed everything on other people (read: me). It wasn't the incident itself that so upset me. It was absence of any sort of consideration of other people's time, feelings, and schedules, as well as blatant lies told to cover up their fault.
But I digress. I got angry. I didn't blow up this time, as that would have been inappropriate given the circumstances, but I did fume. Everyone else who saw me knew I was spitting mad and stayed far away. I vented to family and friends, and eventually got over it. But one thing kept running through my mind: I really hate being angry.
I like to think of myself as a very laid back, easy-going kind of girl. It takes a lot to phase me to the point of agitation, and I get along with just about everyone. So if you succeed in getting me angry (other than my brothers, because that's just a sibling's prerogative {huh, never knew that had two "r"s}), you had to have done something pretty extensively anger-worthy. I don't like the unbalanced, irrational feeling of being angry. I think there's probably a good reason the word "mad" has a double entendre: anger often leads to a feeling of insanity. And that's just no fun. Also, getting angry accomplishes nothing. A friend told me today that a little anger is a good thing, because it protects your sense of injustice, which is an important aspect of anyone's well-being: no one wants to be a pushover doormat. While I see her point, I think frustration can take care of that, without resorting to full-blown anger. Anger will only lead to regrets. (Crimes of passion, anyone?)
So I guess my point to all of this is it's important to stay happy and calm. Anger is pointless and makes you feel bad. Whatever caused the anger in the first place will dissipate with a positive attitude and a relativity check. (In the long run, does it really matter that this person thinks my shirt is ugly?)
Stay happy, friends.
No comments:
Post a Comment