'Blog' – I'd look it up just to see, but why waste the energy? The dictionary isn't close enough to reach at this point.

Somone told me I should start blogging again. I haven't truly blogged in years, and then I deleted most of them. What I have to write isn't exactly positive or helpful – but yeah, who gives a rip, eh?

To begin with…I'm a mellow human being, quiet really. I haven't always been this way. I used to be a raging lunatic. Raging is the key word in that sentence. Not exactly sure what's changed, maybe it's just age. But really…

…I suppress the anger that I do have, the rage storm inside of me – it eats me alive. I read something about anger causing depression. Very likely in my case. What in the hell could I be so angry about?

Little stuff – the water dripping in the bathroom; one of hte cats playing with the blinds; the computer deciding to dump in the middle of a thought; the mail being late; the day being overly long; the desk and chair squeaking in an off tempo rhythm from the music playing; the neighbor kids stomping through my yeard – screaming at the top of their lungs; the dryer's timer not working properly; the outside freezer playing it's bipolar game; no food in the house (literally); the light not coming on; someone not calling back when they say they will; the bullies down the street chasing the kidlet; the water bill being so damn outrageous; no more AAA batteries; the tap water tasting a bit strange; running out of ink in my favorite pen;

The little things all so very insignificant, stupid really, but pile them up on top of each other…add the financial and personal issues…there you have a glimpse of the anger. It's silly to be so upset. The feelings seem so unimportant in the grand scheme of things. I have no real personal tragedy – no one's beaten me up lately – I haven't seen any dead or dying people recently (ok dreams do not count) – I have family that cares, they don't quite understand, but they care.

So why nothing positive coming out of me?

I'm working on it…

I'm thinking…

I'm alive. That's a positive for some folks. I am breathing air through my own lungs and not a machine. I can see the words I write/type. I can hear the damn blasting music from the speakers in front of me. I have a roof over my head. I have water to drink. I have the love of some folks.

But why then is there still depression? Chemical imbalance of course. Then really, ok, let's get right down to the real emotion of it, it's anger, plain and simple. Depression is secondary, cause and effect. How do I deal with this emotion?

I could run tearing through the house screaming at the top of my lungs. All that would do is scare the hell out of my cats and of course cause the kidlet to call his grandparents immediately. Who's that going to help? So, I used to do other destructive things to myself. That doesn't help, but it makes the pain and anger lessen just a bit, for a little while. I'm too old for this. Too old to cause physical self destruction anymore. Hurting myself didn't solve anything, or last long enough to really make a different, so that is out. I don't do drugs, and I rarely drink. As addictions might go, I guess mine would be music and trying to sleep without dreams. Where does that leave me? With a whole lot of rage and nowhere to spew it safely.

But then again, on the other hand…I'm a rather mellow person, quiet even. Frighteningly so.

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