The relief of rage

Days are hard enough to get through when there are just the ordinary hustle to deal with--day camp drop offs, kids to harangue, meals to make, rooms to clean. Days with depression are like doing all of that with a muffling blanket, a strangle of tension that fluctuates in the quiver of emotion that lie just beneath.

It has been awhile since I was able to pinpoint what my emotional state is, in actuality. I can say I am fine but it has no relevance to being fine. I am neither here nor there; I feel unidentifiable. 

Sometimes, as with today, I can drown out the numbness but the only emotion that does so successfully is rage. And while snapping that fine line feels good--and by good, I mean I can feel it and that sensation pulls me away from the desperate void-it is not good in reality for anyone involved. 

It is a debacle of harsh words, bubbling like over simmered poison, hissing on the unsuspecting bystanders, scalding those unhappily on my periphery. 

The resulting withdrawal on all sides--lo, self preservation, arise and be present--simply lapses back into the shadows and my rage limps back from whence it came. 

And so it goes.