It'll soon be worth it when I get there.

People don't like anger.
They hide it away and keep it under the rug.
No, you can't yell indoors. No, you can't break that vase. Those are the rules.
And why wouldn't they put it in the dark place no one likes to go?
Anger is ugly.
People don't like ugly.

I'm an angry person.
Does that make me ugly?

My friends think they get it. They think my anger is when I yell every day or when I glare or threaten them.
It's not.
My anger is deep down inside me. It's a beast.
It's wild.
My anger is when I go silent. The kind of silent that sucks the color out of the world.
It's scary.
My anger makes me shake, makes me vibrate, makes me see red at the fringes of my vision.
It's bright.
My anger makes my veins burn with adrenaline. It sets me on fire.
It's hot.

When I'm angry, I run. Run until I cough blood and my legs ache. I pace and turn and inhale, exhale. The cold air makes it better, makes me remember I'm here and can control my anger.
If I break myself, I won't have to break others.

When I'm angry, reason fades away. There's only the now, the moment. There's the threat and the option of fight or flight. Anger makes me pick fight. Anger makes me hurt them. Makes me want take their ability to breathe.
My anger is explosive and frightens me.

Now please don't be afraid. Please, don't think I'm broken. I promise I won't hurt you. I promise I won't explode on you. No, darling, don't apologize. Never you, I'd never hurt you. Don't look at me with those eyes, those eyes that see that dark part of me. The ugly part of me.

Anger is ugly.

I guess that makes me ugly, too.

But I already knew that anyway.