It’s unendurable, the things that this white-hot voice says.
I think he says them I say them to myself just to sound scary, but I don’t know. Maybe sometimes I mean them. Hope not. It always seems more trustworthy when the tone has gone dark than while it’s giving off that pale, blistering glow.
I’m just mad again. Probably with me.
(I say probably like I’m not certain. Liar.)
I wish I were as verbally articulate as I am with the written word. Can I blame emotions for this inability to express myself verbally? They seem like the biggest hinderance. Either I get angry or I get upset and that makes me angry, or something like that. If I tried to verbally express myself the way I often do here, most of these words wouldn’t come out. I’d get too angry. Defensive, I guess.
I could say all of it like this though. Could say I’m sorry. Sorry I said that. Sorry I didn’t say all these other things instead and just stupidly, silently thought them and hoped maybe some thin shadow of everything I had really intended would be evident. It never is. I have so many things I wish I could say and cannot because I hesitate or I make it less than what it was or I say what is simplest instead of what I really want to say. Or I just say nothing at all and feel the smothering rage of that other me who could say what needs said if I would just let him talk to people…
Liar. He’s one, too.
I know that after I mess something up, that makes me as angry as anything, and to allow him to try and “fix” things would do no end of damage. He says the right words, yes, but with the wrong delivery. People always sense the anger and mistake it as being meant for them. No. It’s my own anger at myself, but who believes that?
I have so many things I wish I could say, and the best I can do is hold them in my mind where he and I turn them over and over and I wait to stop hearing the roar of the inferno. Dark and sad and warm as ashes, I wait to hear that voice say it is sorry. Liar that we are, I believe him, and I hope I’m not the only one.