A Million little pieces

The greatest thing James Frey taught me is to see my rage. Feel the fury of it, like a stream of volcano tossing down the hill to get me. Except that volcano resides in my chest, deep –down, visceral and ferocious. It gives me a screeching pain that refuses to go despite multiple negotiations with reason. The countless sobs that can’t be suppressed by a Gotye song, the need to cry my skull out on eternal sunshine soundtrack, the desire to grab a tree so tight inorder to feel safe and protected.

There is rage inside me, inside you. Whose form I don’t know but whose intensity I feel on days like these. It hounds my soul, like Siberian dogs. It eats me away minute by minute. I forget to feel like Howard Roark, I forget the ways in which he has inspired me instead I end up feeling like Max, ‘confuzzled’ at everything that falls in the domain of human relationships. I distrust my parents, my friends and most tragically myself. I distrust the power of creation, I distrust his fruits. I do not know what causes me this rage, I can’t even begin to know because finding a reason is too enraging a thought itself.

What I do is I look for solitude. Actually I don’t have to look for it, it crawls towards me and takes me by its grab. Sometimes it tempts me with alcohol and similar intoxication. I refuse. I pick up James Frey and measure the hole in his heart. It’s bigger than mine. It’s comforting to know the unimaginable ways in which universe can destroy you.

He survived

So will I