Healthy anger (“Frustrations” Part Four)

This post is the fourth and final in a series called “Frustrations,” an unplugged retelling of some of the difficult circumstances I’ve endured in the past year or so. 

I’m taking steps back. Actually, they’re steps forward, but they harken back to the qualities of life I once enjoyed and now yearn for endlessly. I can’t wait to see what comes of it all.

I actually look halfway excited to be there!

I’ve taken to going out a lot when time and money allows. My friends and I hit the bar-ridden streets, check out the girls, bask in the youthful energy of it all, and try to act our age.

I spend some weekend mornings lazing in bed, something I’ve neglected for years because I forbade myself from them as part of some flawed workaholic philosophy. I watch movies that people talk about, alongside oddball ones that no one has even heard of. I take dips in my pool, having swam in it more over the past few months than I have in years of living at my complex.

I’m putting effort into my job like never before. I’ve synchronized the business phone lines and email addresses to my cell phone in order to truly envelop myself in the whole thing. I even think about it when I go home and get excited when profits are high.

Unintentionally posing for a sweet-looking portrait.

I am finally at one with myself, and in saying so, I allude to the endless Elite Daily and Thought Catalog posts that exercise melancholia masterfully in their narration of failed relationships and friendships that paved the way for revolutionary self-development.

But I’m still angry. I’m healthily angry at the fact that many of my colleagues have the social capital I once had and irresponsibly abused until it up and left me. I’m healthily angry that my phone isn’t blowing up with invitations to go here, to go there, to meet this person and to meet the other. I’m healthily angry that my experience in Miami-Dade College’s bachelor program has gone from satisfactory to middling to abhorrent in a very short time span.

Anger is not healthy. So when I refer to healthy anger, I realize that I’m actually referring to motivation. A heavily seated motivation that keeps me going on a daily basis, partially fooling itself with the uncertain guarantee that a light does exist at the end of the tunnel.

The motivation forecasts a jagged line towards a utopia where I have a good-paying job, a steady stream of friends and experiences that make me feel alive, and perhaps a dame with whom I click well and can give rise to that indomitable fire with again, with flames flying higher than they did with her.

The anger and frustration; they paralyze me occasionally, but with every passing day, they represent less and less of a threat. I know that my time will come, for I’ve enjoyed it once before, and nothing but my own infirmity scared it away.

I was tested and I failed, but like every able-bodied human being on this planet, I have a chance to try again.

The key is being healthily angry enough. I’m holed up somewhere I don’t want to stay and I want out. I want out as quickly as possible, and I don’t mind working hard to get there.

That’s how I’ve always liked my life. Fast, difficult, and thoroughly enjoyable. No sense in changing the beat now.

Thanks for staying tuned to the series. Hope you enjoyed it.

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