The war within

Sometimes, it's hard to believe how long you can hold on to your anger. You forget about it, go off and do other things, have happy days and happier days still. And then something brings it back, digs it out of the deep canyon it has slowly been carving into the back of your conscience and triggers it into active demolition mode again. You're angry. About that same old stupid thing. You're surprised at yourself for still not letting it go but at the same time, you're angry.


It's a different sort of anger. You've had it within you for so long, that you're tired now. It doesn't flow in your veins like liquid fire, making you rebel against injustices and want to right what is wrong. It's like a thick bubbling tar, drowning you, lulling you under the surface of consciousness. It's not a natural human reaction anymore, it's a parasite.

If like me, you have an embarrassingly tiny capacity for forgiveness, at some point of time you will have hated yourself for letting old grudges fester endlessly within you. I've wondered if I'll ever be free of them, breathe easy and know that the wound has healed and will not hurt anymore. It is the most horrible kind of prison, one that is not locked. You can choose to walk out at any minute, except that you don't. You can't.

It feels like an obstinate weed growing in your chest. You constantly grab at it, try to rip it out and toss it away but it doesn't work. It continues its sinuous creeping, all the time making it just a little bit harder to breathe.

I don't want to be angry any more but sometimes it seems as though there is no solution short of wiping my memory clean and basking in the eternal sunshine of a spotless mind. There has to be mid-way. There has to be a way.