Angry


"...There were three entities that descended that day: sound, movement and pain--in that order.

He had never seen Godzilla (either version) so he wouldn't know that screechy roar--that terrible, metal-twisting howl that seemed all at once around him.

His attention would then shift from the plane of sound to that of motion. All around him, in him, every axis alight. He was shoved, tousled, pressed, pierced. Everything he was surrounded by--every element--was stampeding as if nuclei were suddenly repellent of their orbiting iota.

Then, for a split second, sound and motion ceased to be. Then, pain. Everywhere. He seemed to be made of it."

Had I known, two weeks ago, when I wrote the above about a fictitious car accident in a short story I was writing, that it would actually happen to me, I might have imagined something else. If I'd known that my life would imitate my art, I would have had my character win the lotto and fall in love with a gorgeous man. But you can't predict these things, not really.

Who would have guessed my imagination was so fucking accurate.

--------------------------------------

One thing I never would have guessed though, was the emotion that came from that trauma, the emotion I'm feeling still: anger.

Anger that it happened. Anger at some of the events that led up to it. Anger at the injustice of it.

I'm angry that I'm in pain that seems to be getting worse instead of better. I'm angry that my friends were hurt and are still hurting. I'm angry at the fallout. I'm angry at the hospital. I'm angry at myself.

I know that we all have to deal with these kinds of things happening. I know that people get hurt, just as they always have, and just as they always will. Fate will point a finger at you, and you won't escape it. You can't be angry at fate, because fate just Is.

But when I jerk awake at night, I get angry. I get angry sitting at the hospital talking to my friend, wondering at the fragility of the body before me considering the strength of the woman it contains.

I'm angry that my volleyball playing days are over, at least for the time being, the one thing I could always count on to be good at.

I'm not normally an angry person, and it's an emotion I normally have a hard time holding onto. But this time... This time I can't seem to let it go.

2004-02-04 5:19 p.m.

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