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Why do I feel so much anger all the time?

When I was younger, 14 or 15, it used to be desperation, a sense of clutching at straws. Just grabbing, clawing for some sort of vague recognition for who or what I am.

When my first girlfriend left me, it wasn't as bad as when I found the underlying reason. Loss turned to a sense of helplessness and it felt like being in a room with walls made of mirrors all turned in. I lost all routine and tried to drown off the pain in vodka and gin. I lost time, about five thousand dollars, and kinda lost myself along the way. Note to self, getting drunk at 2pm every week is a good road to bankruptcy.

I ceased drinking too much, took things into my hands and got a part time job. The cloudiness was dissipating, and the couple of girls on the side made me feel okay about myself. I never liked to talk about my problems, talking about them acknowledged their presence, and made me feel all the more like I wasn't normal.

And as life decided I shouldn't get too content with feeling alright, it sent me another girl to love who led me for a year into believing that she saw me as a who I am. Only, of course, to turn it all around and pretend she'd never been interested instead. Because, well, liking me would ruin her wouldn't it. Thankfully I left her in the past and fell in love with her friend instead. Must have been best couple of years in my life.

All this time though, I feel I've been trying harder and harder to overprovide. Like somehow overcompensating would make me lovable. Like it would make the monster a little more invisible. But some people like to point the monster out. They point at it casually with their hands outstretched and taunt it enough for it to rear its ugly head, and then chuck stones off its horns.

Sometimes a horn breaks off and takes weeks to heal. Sometimes it scabs over and never regrows again. The walls we put up to protect ourselves become a weapon against us.

There is so much anger. Pulsating urges to tear, rip and hurt. the ones closest are the ones you care about, so you turn against yourself instead. It feels like sixty rubber bands stretched taut against your chest, and every breath you take brings it closer to snapping.