I'm Tired of Having to Explain Why I'm Hurting.
By Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
A Jerry’s Marginalia — by Department of Petty Affairs
There comes a point when you're so fucking angry that you don't even want to scream anymore.
You want to cry.
Not because you've given up. Not because you're weak. But because you've spent so much time being angry, frustrated, disappointed, and hurt that your body has apparently decided tears are the only language it has left.
And the worst part?
You're still expected to explain yourself.
Explain why you're angry.
Explain why you're frustrated.
Explain why you're talking to yourself.
Explain why your voice sounds the way it does.
Explain why you're not calm.
Explain why you're hurting.
Jesus fucking Christ.
How many times does somebody have to explain that they're in pain before they're allowed to just be in pain?
All I Wanted Was a Little Stability.
I had a job.
I had plans.
I had things I wanted to accomplish this year. Nothing particularly extravagant. My own apartment. A replacement for my aging computer. A little financial breathing room. Maybe the occasional luxury without having to calculate whether enjoying myself today means regretting it tomorrow.
I wanted to work, get paid, go home, and build something resembling a life.
Apparently, that was asking too fucking much.
Instead, I spent months dealing with workplace allegations, investigations, promises that never materialized, and eventually unemployment.
And now I'm sitting here in November, logging into an unemployment website that hasn't paid me a goddamn thing, trying to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do next.
I've applied for jobs.
I've attended interviews.
I've waited for phone calls.
I've received rejections.
I've watched my money slowly disappear while the bills continue arriving with the punctuality of a German railway schedule.
And somehow, I'm supposed to approach all of this with the emotional composure of a Buddhist monk.
Fuck. That.
Apparently, Even My Anger Needs an Explanation.
Today, I was talking to myself out loud.
Angrily.
Because logging into an unemployment website when you're unemployed, financially stressed, and still trying to rebuild your life is apparently not the soothing recreational activity some people might imagine.
My sister heard me.
She told me my anger was frightening her because she didn't know what was wrong.
And you know what?
I understand that.
She wasn't responsible for what happened to me. She didn't deserve to feel frightened in her own home.
So I told her I'd keep it down.
And I did.
But here's the thing that hurts.
I'm so fucking exhausted from having to be calm enough to explain why I'm angry, articulate enough to explain why I'm hurting, and considerate enough to make sure my pain doesn't inconvenience somebody else.
I'm not angry at my sister.
I'm angry at the circumstances.
I'm angry at the uncertainty.
I'm angry at having to fight for a little stability when all I wanted was to earn a living and mind my own fucking business.
And I'm tired.
Goddamn, am I tired.
Twenty-Five Percent Less Shit.
You know what I wish?
I wish people would be 25% less shit.
That's it.
Not 100%.
Not even 50%.
Just a modest, reasonably achievable 25% reduction in unnecessary human bullshit.
Keep your promises.
Communicate honestly.
Follow your own procedures.
Don't make somebody else's life unnecessarily difficult.
And when somebody tells you they're struggling, maybe don't immediately turn their pain into another problem they have to solve.
That's not asking for paradise.
That's asking for the human equivalent of a software patch.
Humanity v0.25: Reduced unnecessary bullshit by 25%. Known issue: Remaining 75% still operational.
And yes, I know people have their own problems.
I know everybody has feelings.
I know my anger doesn't give me permission to mistreat somebody else.
But understanding all of that doesn't magically make my own feelings disappear.
It just means I'm doing even more emotional work while I'm already exhausted.
I'm Not Asking Anyone to Fix Me.
I'm not asking somebody to solve my unemployment situation with a motivational speech.
I'm not asking for a lecture about positive thinking.
I'm not asking to be told that everything happens for a reason.
And for the love of whatever deity is currently accepting complaints, please don't tell me to calm down as though I haven't spent months trying to do exactly that.
Sometimes I just want somebody to understand that I'm hurting.
Without a debate.
Without a defense.
Without having to assemble a PowerPoint presentation titled Why I Am Currently Emotionally Fucked, Complete With Supporting Documentation.
I don't need to prove my pain beyond a reasonable doubt.
I'm not on trial.
I'm a person who's had a miserable few months and is trying to make it through another day.
And Sometimes, I Need to Cry.
That's the part I don't particularly enjoy admitting.
I'm angry enough that I need to cry.
Because beneath all the swearing, all the sarcasm, all the jokes, and all the little imaginary raccoons running around the Department of Petty Affairs, there's somebody who's genuinely hurt.
Somebody who thought this year would be different.
Somebody who wanted to finally move forward.
Somebody who is tired of watching progress turn into another setback.
And somebody who doesn't always have the energy to explain any of that politely.
I can take responsibility for how I express my anger.
I can lower my voice.
I can respect somebody else's boundaries.
But I cannot keep pretending that being considerate means I'm no longer allowed to hurt.
Those are two different things.
And I'm tired of people confusing them.
So today, I'm not offering a cheerful conclusion.
I'm not promising tomorrow will be better.
I'm not turning this into some inspirational lesson about resilience.
Today, I'm angry.
Today, I'm exhausted.
Today, I might cry.
And tomorrow, I'll probably get up and continue trying to find work, because the bills don't give a flying fuck about my emotional state.
But right now?
I'm tired of having to explain why I'm hurting.
And for once, I'd like that to be enough.
Jerry's final marginalia:
The Lawful Neutral Paladin has submitted a formal request for 25% less bullshit. Management has acknowledged receipt, misunderstood the complaint, and scheduled a mandatory meeting about his tone.
The raccoon has declined to attend.
He is currently sitting beside the Paladin with a box of tissues and absolutely no fucking PowerPoint presentation.