The devil inside

As the brittle wisps of the willow turn golden again, I am reminded there is hope for a better day. RMB

NOTE: This is an exercise in expressing some very angry and frustrating thoughts. The language and content may be offensive and triggering, particularly to fellow sex addicts. It is not to be taken literally or as a serious threat to myself or others. It is an attempt to rid myself of an anxiety that is plaguing me with unbearable frustration. Some people run, some people box, some people drink. I write.

I am filled with an animal-like rage ... an anger that seems to have no definition, no specific target, just a breathtaking power that leaves me screaming inside. As it screams it leaves behind dark, dark whispers of what a horrible person I am.

I am furious that I am trapped inside a mind that no matter how hard I try I neither escape nor understand.

I am enraged that every single day takes more effort than moving a mountain and that even the slighest variation in "plan" can cause each step to go all the slower, if there's even a step at all.

All I can think right now is that I would like to chop off a rock hard cock and slice it to bits, stomp on it and stuff it down some man's throat, then kick him in a sewage pond like the piece of shit he is.

With enraged anger, I want to bite off the horny tool of some asshole and rip still another off at the core using my bare hands, watching the blood drain right out of him.

I would like to slap the shit out of you -- whoever you are and scream and scream until all this anger is released. To kick you in the balls, to spit on you, to claw at you and scream "I hate your fucking guts!"

Then I'd like to turn to that high-talking buxom blonde you want to fuck and rip her hair out by the handfulls. To slap her the way I've slapped you and tell her to get a fucking grip. To punch her and tell her to stop acting like a twit, to kick her and tell her to stop pretending she is stupid and naive, to hold her beautiful body in front your dickless self and scream, "What are you going to fuck her with now!" To force her head between your bleeding legs and ask her if she likes to suck cock now!

I HATE you and I don't even know who you are!

You are everyone and you are no one. I find you in pieces in every man and every beautiful woman I see. I hate your power to decide who is good enough to fuck and I hate your body is the one that is always a lure for the hard dick radar. I hate your very existence.

And through it all ... I can't wait for all this anger to end, so that I can either live or die. I hate living with this anger inside. It scares me and causes me to feel bad about myself. The more I stuff it, the more it kills me ... but I'm afraid of expressing it for fear it will turn out just like this, that it will be out of control, that I will be crazy and never able to stop.

How does one person carry so much anger? How did it even get inside me? I didn't invite it! I feel its tension in my back, in my body, between my ears -- screaming in pain. It only takes a second for it to build, but it seems to be taking a lifetime for it to dissipate.

I remember an angry poet who once fucked me with wild abandon before I was married. I spent months being incredibly aroused as he screamed out words he called poems on a stage shared by other "performance" or slam poets, before one drunken night the opportunity arose for the anger to be expressed between us in full sexual force. Sometimes I wish I could take the rage that he had in his words and use it to just push all this anger out of me. Of course, the relief would only last a little while. It would all come flooding back when he didn't call the next day.

I'm not done but I don't know what else to say. I'm furious and there seems to be no relief.