Angry and frustrated
Enough was enough. I had come to the point where anything would have been better than where I was. I hated being scared and, to tell the truth, it was exhausting. I hated myself for not being able to walk out the front door and use my new skills. I spent a lot of time working on new strategies and techniques to rid myself of this condition, and I was too scared to implement them. What a waste. I really was a loser. I wanted to scream.
Thirty three years of crap came to a climax that day. I was so sick and tired of feeling the way I did, that I was numb – I thought I might have been having a nervous breakdown. I mean, you hear of people having this kind of manic episode, and I’d always taken comfort in the fact that I was so much stronger and grounded than that. But, here I was, feeling anything but grounded.
I hated myself for being so pathetic and weak. I had so much pent up anger that I felt as though I were going to explode. I was filled with such rage that I honestly felt like I would lose control and do something stupid – it scared me.
Anything would have set me off at that point. A rude stare or comment, someone jumping ahead of me in line, an intentional brush-off – Anything. Fortunately, I was alone at the time. I was grateful for this because I had no doubt that this anger was beyond my control.
I needed to be alone. I was in no mood to talk to anyone at that point. I was filled with such a seething rage that I swear I felt it coursing through my body like some kind of poison.
Out in the back yard there were several cords of wood ready to be piled for next winter. My parents used a wood-burning fireplace to supplement the heating bills in the winter. The wood was freshly split and still green – very heavy.
I needed a diversion – anything – before I exploded. I needed to take the edge off my anger before I did something I’d regret. So, I went to work, piling a thousand pieces of wet wood. I was so frustrated with my inability to deal with my condition that tears were streaming down my face as I stacked the wood. I had finally lost it – I hit the breaking point and there was no turning back.
Three hours later, I was a complete wreck. I don’t know how much wood I stacked, but I managed to get through most of it. My arms were like rubber, my hands were raw and bleeding, I was covered in dirt, and I felt like collapsing. In fact, I did collapse in the mud where the wood pile had been.
I must have sat there for an hour. Too numb, both physically and mentally, to move. It was at that moment that I though I might actually have a mental illness. Not just social anxiety, but a real classic, lock-me-up, straightjacket, kind of mental illness - Because this was certainly not normal – far from it.
I’ll be writing about anger in upcoming posts. This was directly linked to social anxiety and my low self-esteem.
2 Responses to “Angry and frustrated”
drew - i am much older than you but i understand totally where youre coming
from!!! i can empathize with everything
you’ve been through because i have been
through it too. the only thing that really helped me was pushing myself out there meeting people being with people even if i felt afraid!!! just doing it!! i now feel much less social anxiety though i know my that i will always be on the shy side. good luck
Caitlyn
Dear Drew, we seem to be having the same problem. My older brother always told me that it was because I was thinking too much, worrying. It needs to flow and to forget about everything for that second. The eyes of any stranger would win and would just look down to feel comfort. I’m 19, young and feel utterly lonely. I come from a hard working family where money has never been a problem. I’ve been weigh training since middle school and discovered that I was genetically gifted at that. I’m 5′8” 182lbs and have made even a couple steroid users seem weak. If someone saw me they would never think how I was dieing inside to let someone know how It felt to be in a room full of people and feel so alone. The desperation, screaming inside to give someone at least a HI and then … choke, nothing happens. Then, the anger that something as simple as that became a torture, drove me nuts. When would get home I would pound the hell out of a soccer ball, punching bag, or even run off to the gym, scream my lungs out, overlapped by loud music and get there to train for 2,3 hours until my arms and legs where stiff. Finally completely exhausted, I’d go to my room and cry until I’d fall asleep. Its been hard but I’m ready to look for help.
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