Anger and Immobility: The Stench of What No One Wants to Hear

I write with mixed feelings tonight. Anger. Frustration. A tired, knotted kind of sadness that makes me feel sorry for myself.

I had an intense call. A lot was stirred. I’ve been unsettled all day, bracing for a session, caught between calls, caught in my body.

There’s so much I want to do — but everything demands mobility. The ability to walk, to move, to just be in motion. And yet, I’m here. Stuck. Not metaphorically. Literally.

And I feel it now — this sudden surge of frustration. This pent-up grief that’s shapeshifted into anger.

Not to justify myself, but we’ve been taught all our lives that anger = bad person. That letting it out makes you ugly, difficult, too much.

But for the love of a metaphor — imagine holding in wind that needs to pass. It’ll only end up stinking, polluting the space around you. Not graceful, not poetic — but painfully accurate.

This immobility, this uncalled-for event, this damned hopping that rattles both my brain and my walker — it’s exhausting. My head quite literally throbs with each hop, my brain bouncing in a skull that feels too hollow to hold it all together.

So yes. Today, at this moment, I ask —
Why?

To hell with victimisation. To hell with spiritual niceties.
Really. Why?