The Angry Box

I was a shy awkward kid, from about 4th grade to high school. I was never popular, to some I probably wasn’t recognized at all. Except, to be picked on by bullies who take pleasure in that sort of shakedown. 

School is all about cliques, I’m sure everyone probably agrees on that to a certain extent. If it wasn’t for music, I wouldn’t have survived. I’m sure of that, it connected with my soul, it was my best friend at times.

I’m a dreamer, folks. That’s first and foremost. Creativity, music, lyrics, those were secondary attributes. Dreaming is where I excelled, using my imagination to create my sanctuary. My safe place, where my heart was safe from the hurt.

I guess it’s important to state that everything was great at home. I came from a loving family. My parents took care of my brother and I. We were loved and provided for, it was school where all my problems lied. 

The dream of being a rockstar or being involved in music came from imagination. In my head, DeadLove already existed. With teenage angst being the second crucial ingredient to the mix, it acted as fuel that fed the fire. 

I was so angry that I was on a revenge tour of sorts. Every taunt at school motivated me to find the words to express my hurt and frustration. Once I improved as a writer, it became my voice. 

Screaming in ink I annihilated their existence for putting me and my small 2 person clique of friends through constant misery. I fucking loathed them, I was driven by that rage, I wanted to be successful and throw it in their fucking faces.

You heard correctly, folks. I could be spiteful, luckily I grew out of it. But the lyrics reflected that anger, I was a very dark writer at one time in life, not that I’m exactly rainbows and waterfalls in present form. lol.

When school was finally over with, and I moved into real life, I found that life gets better in some aspects. And some were even worse than I could have imagined. I was in a metal band, folks. Screaming guitars, a bass that’s thumping, and blistering drums.

I can’t sing people, not well. Metal allowed me to scream, snarl, and growl my words over aggressive riffs. Once I quit being in bands, I started boxing up the rest of my residual anger and tucking it away in the recesses of my heart.

It’s part of the pressure cooker theory, which means if you don’t vent and let the anger out once in a while, over time it will eventually erupt like a volcano. That’s why I rant, folks. It’s healthy in my opinion, that and laughter.  

Maybe, you have a box too, hidden under the scars of time? That’s what needs to be done with negativity in my opinion. It has a purpose though, that raw emotion.

When I exercise, which I need to get back to at some point. But that’s beside the point, people. When I need one more rep, one more lap, when I feel like I could collapse at any moment. I reach for that box, and I harness that negativity and forge it into positive motivation.

When I’m sick, or hurt, I pull out the box. It comes in handy in certain situations. It works well when managed properly. And that my friends, is the story of why I created the Angry Box.