F@#k You!

Bitterness is all the rage. It is an element of human emotion that destroys someone inside and out. I think anger fortifies a human being and cannont be realized until a woman stares herself in the eye and feels comfortable with that reflection. My rage is something that I work diligently to contain. I keep it locked up and hidden from those who surround me. This is not to say that I am some woman who ought to seek anger management, but to say that when I do infact become angry, it effects me severily. My body shakes with discontent. I do not eat properly nor sleep regularly and focus soley on a vexation which is never human.

So a man comes to me and says that I have upset him. This man is angry with me and confronts me soon after realizing his unhappiness. He says I have caused him great stress while I cannot seem to fathom how it is that I am capable of changing someone else's feelings. We have never been lovers: never been enemies.

I keep as much of my time locked up as possible. Perhaps this is why I do much of my writing and communicating with others via the internet. I don't need to go away to see them or talk, not that I am totally against those types of social interactions. Likewise, I don't need to open my door to them, allowing them to look at my books, the foods I eat, the bed in which I rest, et cetera. There is a tremendous comfort in keeping people at bay. I figure I can save time by refusal to share mine with anyone else. This way, I'm at least in theory prolonging my own time.

At any rate, I stand confused by this man's accusation. I have vexed him? I have irritated him? And how so? My very lack of presence? I feel as though people get angry at their connivance, as it is something to do. I feel sometimes that people don't know what real hurt is. I wonder how it is that a man can overlook the fact that the pain or aggravation in itself is a presence. People's arguments are often aimless and without grounds. In this case, I never said I would be somewhere and later was not. I never changed my mind in a last minute rush, I simply did nothing. Imagine that!

So this would-be-friend wants to ridicule me for an aspect of social longevity which I have never possessed. I wish often that I'd be more prone to get togethers and cute little encounters; unfortunately, I am probably in that classification of loners and hermits. I'm more independent on a serious note. I can have my brief encounters with people but they are no more intimate than brushing against a stranger in a crowded avenue. I simply like to stay in and theorize, imagining that one day, I may have thought something through enough to make a difference.

So go ahead, be bitter. Get upset. Lash out. I really am made of steel. It doesn't matter in this moment, hasn't been thought-provoking in moments passed and will not sustain into tomorrow. Keep your memory of me and all the stress I've created. I am a monster and even monsters are tangible.