Everything I’m Angry About (personally)

So… it’s been a minute, huh?

What’s new with you? You good? I truly hope so.

How am I?

Honestly?

Angry. Frustrated. Bitter.

Which is fine, right? It’s one of the stages of grief. It’s sometimes a symptom of ADHD. It’s a very normal trauma response. It’s even one of the basic emotions in Inside Out.

It’s totally normal to be angry.

And I fucking hate it.

‘Why do I hate it?’ (I definitely hear you ask and am not just using you as an interlocuter to move the article forward)

Well, I mean it’s easy to say it’s because I grew up with a very angry man who directed that anger directly at teenage me. It’s easy to say that because it’s definitely the right answer but I also don’t think that’s the whole story.

There are a lot of reasons I don’t like being angry:

I don’t like being angry because it is the emotion I enjoy feeling the least. I don’t like being angry because there’s so many better ways to feel. Happy. Sad. Lustful. Melacholic. Curious. Overjoyed. All better. By a country mile.

I don’t like being angry because it affects other people negatively and that really fucking sucks.

I don’t like being angry because it is not at all sexy.

See? Bleh…

I don’t like being angry because my face gets real red when I do and it is not a good look.

I don’t like being angry because when I’m angry I stress eat and I’m trying to cut that shit out.

I don’t like being angry because, when I’m angry, I’m less on top of my autism and I make stupid social mistakes.

I don’t like being angry because it reminds me of him. And I don’t like to think about him. I sure as shit don’t want to be him.

I don’t like being angry because I don’t want my daughter in an angry environment.

So, you might be thinking, OK. So don’t be angry. Avoid triggers. Get help. Meditate. And I do. And it helps. I’m rarely angry.

But sometimes, rarely but sometimes, I am filled with, without exaggeration, feels like the the fury of a thousand angry suns. I can feel a burning rage growing deep inside my metaphorical parts that threatens to consume all in front of me. I can feel an uncontrollable rage building and building. It feels like a fire threatening to rampage out of control.

I’m being dramatic, of course. This is a blog, not a court transcript. My blind rage usually presents more like me being really quite ticked off. Majorly irked. Somewhat irritated.

But inside, the feelings know no bounds.

And I hate it.

It doesn’t help that I don’t have a good (and more importantly, healthy) release valve for anger at the moment. I used to just vent at my friends*, but obviously that’s not cool. I used to drink and party, but I’m in my 30s and have chronic pain. That’s out. I used to smoke weed. That stopped the anger but also the drive to go anything much in life beyond eating (admittedly the best) snacks so I gave that up too. I used to consume copious amounts of junk food (which I loved). But it turns out if you do that in your 30s, you will just feel like shit constantly and that doesn’t exactly improve the anger situation long term.

Some things kind of help. Going for a walk. Exercise. Sex. Video games. A good book. Making witty comments on social media and farming those likes. Getting lots of likes and comments and shares and subscriptions on Medium. They’ll take the edge off sure, but… I don’t know, it doesn’t seem to get it out of my system in the way I want it to.

And, the reason I know this, dear reader, is because it’s starting to show up in my writing.

I think the vast majority of writers who write a lot aim for a particular tone. They might want to be serious and journalist-y; they might want to seem like a friend you can gossip with and to; they might want to seem funny or witty or erudite. Some want intensity. Some want to be easy-going. Some want to be weird. It’s really cool.

I’m not one of those writers (and not just because I barely qualify as a writer).

I genuinely don’t really know what my voice is as a writer.** I don’t really know what I want to say or how I want to say it. I don’t think it’s a secret that what I write is vaguely edited stream of consciousness.

But, as much I don’t know what I want my voice to be, I do know what I don’t want it to be.

I don’t want my writing voice to be angry.

If you’re one of my four fans, you’ll be aware that you’re reading this after quite a large break between me publishing articles. I’ve been asked a few times why I stopped writing. I didn’t stop writing. I actually just stopped publishing. And I stopped publishing because I didn’t want to sound angry. And the articles I wrote in April and May sounded ang-er-y (with an extra syllable for emphasis and everything).

Here’s a taste of just some of the things I wrote this month (and choose not to inflict upon the world or my treasured audience):

• An article about how all pop music is bad now because noone makes bops anymore and how I specifically blame Lorde (and Billie Eilish).
• An article about time blindness which for 1,000 words digressed into a tangent about an uncomfortable interaction with my therapist (who I believe should know better).
• A digression about how dishonest neurotypicals are because they rarely say what they mean and I hate it.
• A thorough takedown of how people misuse the concept of the neurodivergent spectrum and how it’s a microaggression against my community.
• And many, many more.

You might read that and think, ‘ooooh, that could be interesting’. And I think it will be when edited into something less… raw-nerve-y. But right now, it all reads as angry, bitter and (the bad kind of) butt-hurt.

It’s not a good look, people.

Well, I’m not one to do something and not learn something from it.

So let’s learn something.

This section has two potential titles. Choose which you prefer:

Treating my Emotions Like Philosophical Logic — An Autistic Oxford Philosopher Fulfils His Destiny

or

Therapy is Expensive and Medium is Free — One Man’s Quest for Sanity through Rigorous Intellectual Jerking Off.

So, in an attempt to learn something, I’m going to do as my philosophy teacher taught me. I’m going to write down the relevant truths I know as propositions and see what conclusions I can make from them.

So what do we know so far?

Here goes:

Proposition 1: I don’t like being angry.

Proposition 2: My father was an angry person and I really didn’t like it.

Proposition 3: I have struggled and somewhat continue to struggle to process anger.

Proposition 4: I am currently quite angry at a lot of things.

Proposition 5: My anger is showing through in my writing.

Proposition 6: I am not publishing my writing because I don’t want to be perceived as angry.

Proposition 7: Anger is a totally normal and healthy emotion and there are healthy ways to experience, process and present it.

Do you see it? The intellectual mistake I’m making? It’s subtle. There’s a hidden assumption gumming up the works. Let me explain.

So clearly Prop. 6 flows directly from Prop. 2. My Dad was angry and I don’t want to be seen as angry. It’s obvious to see the link. I don’t want to be anything like him, right? And you don’t know him, but I’m right about that. Trust me. Maybe someday, I’ll tell you all about it.***

But here’s the issue. Prop. 6 actually comes with a secret hidden assumption, which I think is causing a contradiction. It’s the following:

Proposition 6b: If I am perceived as angry, I will make people feel like he made me feel. And I do not want that ever.

Or to phrase it another way:

Proposition 6b: If I am angry, I will hurt people. Or I will at least run an unacceptable risk of doing so.

Now we see the issue in my thinking, right? There’s a logical inconsistency.

Propositions 6b and 7 can’t both be true simultaneously, can they? Anger can’t be inherently and always (or at least usually) harmful whilst also being a healthy valid emotion.**** They are mutually exclusive. Something can’t be always harmful and generally healthy.

In other words, based on the information we’ve seen above, it cannot both be true that it is valid for humans to angry sometimes (in a healthy way) and that it’s too dangerous for me to ever be angry.

Right?

A Quick Aside — The ‘But I’m The Exception’ Cope

Now, for the sake of being philosophically rigorous (and because people who taught me to do philosophy waaaay better than this might actually read this) there is a potential way both of those statements can be true. I call it the ‘But I’m The Exception’ Cope.

The idea here is that, sure, generally speaking, something is healthy for all people. But it isn’t for you. The idea is that you are so broken (or stupid, or ugly, or unworthy of love, or you get it) that the rules don’t apply to you. Anger might be healthy for other people, but it isn’t for you. You are uniquely exempt from this general condition of humanity for some reason.

You hear it all the time. Here are some examples. And fair warning, at least 10 of you are going to feel personally called out by this:

(Trigger warning: suicide, self harm for the bullet points and the bullet points alone. You can skip them and it’ll be totally comprehensible.)

• Sure, everyone deserves a break, but I need to keep going!
• Sure, everyone is beautiful in their own way but who could fancy someone like me?
• Sure, everyone deserves love, but what if I’m just unlovable?
• Sure, no-one should self harm, but maybe I actually deserve it? Maybe it’s good for me, even?
• Sure, no-one should engage in negative self talk, but I’m pretty sure I am right that I’m the ugly, stupid person I say I am.
• Sure, pobody’s nerfect, but I expect perfection from myself and that’s OK, right?
• Sure, everyone deserves friends. But maybe I don’t?
• Sure, no-one should commit suicide, but maybe my life just isn’t worth living?

We’ve all done this to a greater or lesser extent at certain points in our lives. It’s a totally naturally insecurity response. Or, as the youths say, a cope. You know… ‘What if I’m secretly the only person for whom these philosophical truths don’t apply? Shit, what if it’s not a secret? What if everybody knows?!’

It’s a brutal trick our brains play on us at our lowest moments and it’s self perpetuating.

And, in my opinion and experience, it’s never true. It’s toxic nonsense our brain tries to smuggle in as a real thought and should be ignored. That’s obviously easier said than done (trust me, I know) but I do think it’s a thought you can overcome.

Now, I’m no psychologist or philosophiser but here’s some strategies I use, or have used, to beat the But I’m The Exception Cope:

1. Imagine the person I love the most says what I’m thinking — If my daughter or my Mum or my sister said something like this to me, I would call them on it instantly (with love). There’s no way I’d let it stand and I would offer support. That’s instructive, right? If you’d diagnose this as a maladaptive thought in a loved one, it’s maladaptive for you too.
2. Remember it’s never been consistently true, even for me or you — This cope has never been true for me in the long run. Truths are true. So it’s worth remembering that if you only feel this cope when you’re feeling down, it’s not the truth. It’s a feeling. And take it from an autistic, feelings aren’t to be trusted.
3. Share it with people you trust — One of the joys of being autistic is having to check what things mean. I have genuinely had people hit on me (LITERALLY FUCKING WINK WHILE DOING IT) as they suggest disrobing and I’ve had to check if it was a move or if I was seeing what I wanted to see. That’s not important in of itself but it means I’m used to having conversations checking my initial perceptions of emotional situations, and I don’t think most people are. And let me tell you, it really helps! So here’s what you do. You find someone you trust and you say, ‘does this thought make sense?’ or ‘does this sound like a healthy thought’. They’ll tell you. And you can even ask, ‘is this the But I’m The Exception Cope?’ (share the article if you’d like!) and they’ll tell you.
4. It’s bad philosophy — There are many philosophical truths I hold as universally true. I believe everyone deserves love. I believe everyone deserves space to be flawed. I believe noone is perfect or needs to try to be. So here’s the thing. It is shitty philosophy to say ‘Everyone deserves love, you know, except me’. What’s my argument there? Because I say so? Because it feels that way sometimes? Hokum. You know who does this kind of thing? Conservatives *spits on the ground*. No-one should get an abortion, you know, unless I know them and it’s cool.**** No-one should be gay, unless, you know, my daughter is.***** No-one should get divorced, you know, unless I want to.****** No-one should break lockdown, you know, unless I want to throw a party, snog my staff or sit on a public beach I closed******* I’m better than that. But the But I’m The Exception Cope isn’t. Be better than conservatives. Hold your universal beliefs to be universally true. And that includes you.
5. It just isn’t true. You’re not that special — How arrogant do you have to be to think that universal philosophical truths apply to everyone but you? A lot. Everyone deserves to be cut slack but I don’t? Everyone deserves to be angry sometimes, but I don’t? Everyone deserves to take a break except me? Shit, how important must I be to resist the universal truths of human nature? Or, is it actually more likely that I’m having a bit of a wobble and my brain is playing tricks on me? I’m no exception to the rules of the universe. I am not the chosen one. I was not put here to suffer for your sins. My philosophy should reflect that.
6. Therapy. Obviously.

In summary, you’re not the exception to universal truth. Neither am I. Unless, you know, you’re literally Jesus (or any other deity you’d prefer). In which case, um, hello Mr. Christ. Big fan of your socialist teachings. You know, your early work in particular. I’m sorry folks seemed to forget them along the way. And as always, feel free to like, share and subscribe.

Cool? Cool.

Let’s get back to it.

OK, so let’s draw some strands together here.

It seems true that I’m a normal person so I can be angry sometimes (provided I do it healthily for me and others). It’s also seems true that I don’t want to be angry publicly (likely because I’m worried I’ll turn into my Dad) because I don’t think it’s good for me to be angry ever.

So which is true?

Well it seems likely that the ‘I can’t ever appear angry’ is a version of the But I’m The Exception Cope, right? Something to the effect of, ‘What if I am too broken or hurt or traumatised to ever be OK to be angry?’

Fuck that. That can’t be right, can it? It can’t be right to say that I can’t be angry ever. I wouldn’t say that to my loved ones. My friends wouldn’t say it to me. It’s bad fucking philosophy and it puts me at the centre of my own philosophy of anger. It’s just plain wrong.

Let’s fix it.

Don’t worry, I have a suggestion in mind. You know, it being an article where we can’t actually interact and all that.

My pitch is this. Let’s do some immersion therapy.******** Or, what I think immersion therapy is.

I can’t find a pithy definition, so here’s mine:

‘In order to get over a phobia, you subject yourself to it’.

The rough idea (please seek actual advice before attempting this yourself) is that you in some way become comfortable with things you’re afraid of by exposing yourself to them.

No Mum, I don’t know why they’re laughing either.

Anyway, instead of letting the anger bubble up under the surface of articles, I’m broadcasting it. Publishing it for the world to see. Megaphoning it all.

Everything I’m angry about. Everything that’s making me grind my teeth. Everything that makes me walk along the coast of Reykjavík singing Fall Out Boy at full belt.

Excited? I sure am. I hope you are too. Terrified? I sure am. I hope you are hanging in there with me. Sexy? I sure am. Thanks for noticing. I’ve been working out and I think it’s giving me a glow.

OK. Enough of this.

See you on the other side.

Oh, and if you’re not in the space to read the thoughts of a very angry man, the article ends here. Thanks for reading. Like and subscribe. You’re awesome.

OK. Let’s do this.

Everything I’m Currently Angry At (Personally)

Before we get started in earnest (and not at all because I’m stalling for time and I’m currently metaphorically shitting myself at the idea of writing this) a few brief comments:

Firstly, when I say everything I’m angry at, that’s clearly hyperbole. I am mad at basically every aspect of capitalism, patriarchy, nationalism etc. but if we went through it policy by policy this article would be even more unreadable than it currently is.

Secondly, I’m going to trying to keep this personal. What I mean by this is that this is not meant to be universal or relatable (necessarily). I think I’m going to lean out out of the temptation to be an observational comedian here. There’s going to be very little of the ‘don’t you hate it when you’re in a rush and there’s no hot water?!’ shtick here. Because that’s not anger, really. It’s literally performance art. And this… isn’t?

Thirdly, I’m going to aim to do this in 5 sections because I’m still very much autistic (regardless of whether I can find a doctor to write it on a piece of paper for me) and I need a structure or I can’t write. The 5 sections will be autism, ADHD, chronic pain, Iceland and miscellaneous. Feel free to skip as needed or as interest dictates.

Fourthly, I’m going to try and edit this very lightly. I’m not super comfortable being this ‘raw’ and I think that if I start editing it heavily, it’ll defeat the purpose. So if there’s typos (I think it should be spelled typoes FYI), formatting errors and other errata, please forgive me.

Fifthly, Mum, I’m genuinely fine. This is probably going to come out pretty rough and raw but in reality it’s all good. It’s good to be angry sometimes and express it. I think. But genuinely, it’s all good. Don’t worry (as if saying that ever achieved the desired effect but you know what I mean).

Sixthly, this is a super fucking vulnerable moment for me********* so feel free to be exceptionally kind in the comments. I mean, obviously leave one, I crave the engagement, but make it extra lovely this time. I bet you all will. You’re generally lovely.

Seventhly, Future Matt here. I struggled to phrase anger well. Just to be clear, if I write ‘I hate that’ or ‘I get frustrated that’ or whatever it means I’m angry.

Eighthly, I’ve realised in the writing of this that some people might take some of this personally. Or they might think certain things are about them specifically. It isn’t. Honestly. This wasn’t written with anyone in mind and I am not angry at any individual in the slightest. If you see yourself in this, that’s likely a you problem. I could name names but you know who are. I love you and it’s all fine.

Ninthly, I want to be that these aren’t my usual opinions on any of the given topics. I don’t always or generally feel like this on any of these topics. This isn’t a mask off moment or anything. But if we’re immersing ourselves in anger, I’m going to get as much of it out as I can. Some of these things I do think a lot. Some of them I may have thought only once or twice. Some of these I do not think right now. Some of these are all I think about. No questions on that will be answered at this time. I appreciate your understanding in this endeavour.

Tenthly (!), this part of the article has a recommended music pairing. The following part of the article is best enjoyed with Limp Bizkit’s ‘Break Stuff’ on repeat.

Anything else? Surely there’s got to be some more framing or preamble or definitions to give or…. No? Like, not at all? You sure? Oh, you are sure. Totally sure in fact. On a scale of 1 to 10, how sure would you say you…

Right. Enough stalling. Here’s everything I’m angry about.

I just have to get angry.

Lol.

That’s my secret, Captain. I’m always angry.

Let’s. Fucking. Go.

Everything I’m Angry At — Autism Edition

It makes me angry that I don’t know what people are doing with their faces.

I hate not getting the joke.

I hate thinking I got the joke and then it turning out that I didn’t get the joke.

I hate thinking I finally got the joke after a prolonged explanation and still not actually getting the joke.

I hate that I’m terrified of making eye contact with strangers because I don’t know what to do.

I hate that customer service interactions make me so stressed.

I’m angry that autism makes it hard to make friends.

I’m angry that autism makes it hard to keep friends.

I’m angry that people keep telling me that I’m autistic, but not ‘that autistic’ (whatever the fuck that might mean).

I’m angry that I have to fill in infinite questionnaires to ‘prove’ I’m autistic when most health conditions have informed consent.

I’m angry that the path to diagnosis is so hard.

I hate all doctors. Especially the men.

I’m angry that I have to get diagnosed in the first fucking place.

I hate that self-diagnosis isn’t actually diagnosis, even if we pretend that is. Or you know, that it fucking should be.

I’m angry I wasn’t diagnosed as a child. The signs were fucking there.

I’m angry that I only learned what autism even is as an adult.

I’m angry that I only learned what an autistic meltdown was as an adult despite having them multiple times a year my whole fucking life.

I’m angry that I have alexithymia. It fucking sucks to not know how you feel.

I’m angry that I’ve had to ask for help so long and so often and still not received any.

I’m angry about all the times I’ve been insensitive and not realised.

I’m angry at all the times I thought being right about the details was more important than people’s feelings.

I’m angry at all the relationship I fucked up because I didn’t know how to human.

I’m angry that my favourite YouTubers keep using autistic as an insult. Sidemen, Danny Aarons, Chris MD, British football YouTube scene grow up and cut that shit out.

I’m angry how few media portrayals of autism there are and how cringe they generally are.

It sucks that I’m never sure what people actually mean.

Why don’t people just say what they fucking mean?

I’m so bored of clarifying everything people say because I can’t trust my own perception of things.

I hate being such a fucking know it all.

I hate that being right most of the time is seen as a character flaw rather than a skill.

I’m angry that noone finds my info-dumps as interesting as they demonstrably are.

I’m sick of seeing the world so fucking literally.

I’m angry every time I can’t let unimportant details go and hear myself going, ‘Um actually…’

I’m angry that I have this identity that I didn’t choose.

I’m angry that I feel so a-fucking-lone all the time.

I’m angry that I have to mask all the goddamn time.

I’m angry that people say ‘you don’t need a mask’ and then I do that and they stop being my friend.

I’m angry that my masks don’t work now I’ve emigrated.

I’m angry that autistic nonsense has brought me into conflict with every boss I’ve ever had.

I’m angry that I might have passed this fucking genetic curse onto my little one. She doesn’t deserve this.

Let’s be super fucking real for a second, I’m angry I’m autistic at all.

*deep breath*

See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? We all lived. I still seem super heckin’ relatable and likeable. Right? Right?

Ahem. Let’s push on, shall we?

Everything I’m Angry About (Personally) — ADHD edition

I hate that my body literally does not understand the passage of time.

I’m angry that two things on my to-do list results in a minor life crisis.

I’m angry that I didn’t know I had ADHD until I was in my 30s. It was pretty fucking obvious in retrospect.

I hate my floordrobe.

I’m angry that I kill all my plants.

I’m angry about the shitty diagnosis process.

I’m SO FUCKING ANGRY that I have to beg for meds. Meds that I fucking need.

I’m EVEN FUCKING ANGRIER that me begging for meds has so far resulted in me GETTING ZERO FUCKING MEDS! Imagine you needed anti-depressants and you got sent to a specialist with a year’s long waiting list that you can’t get on no matter how much you beg. It’s fucking ridiculous. I need fucking help!

I’m so angry that my thoughts are so quick I don’t get to hear them.

I’m also angry that my thoughts occasionally are so slow as to not exist at all.

I’m angry that some days I can’t get out of bed. Even though I want to.

I’m angry that I can never think what to cook and I end up eating nonsense and bullshit.

I’m angry that I can’t focus on one task.

I’m angry that my ADHD makes it really hard to play with my kid for a long time because I find it under-stimulating.

I’m angry that the only way I can relax is by doing 6 hobbies simultaneously poorly.

I’m angry that I have to have music on constantly to focus at all.

Why is the world so fucking understimulating?!

I’m so angry that I never finish anything.

I hate being such a perfectionist.

I hate that that stops me starting exciting projects. I’ve wanted to do stand up forever.

I’m so angry that my belongings disappear the moment I can’t see them.

I get so frustrated that I can’t keep my apartment clean.

I hate that I waste so much fresh food because I completely forget it exists and end up having to throw it all away.

I hate walking into every room and having no idea why I did.

I hate that I have to set an alarm for everything.

I hate that half time of football matches is so boring that I have to switch channels and then I never remember I was watching a sports-ball game and usually miss the second half.

I hate that I struggle to give people I love my full attention. And when I do that that attention is so fucking autistic. (It’s back baby!)

I hate that ADHD means I get bored of new hobbies quickly.

I’m angry that I struggle to focus on listening to people.

I’m angry at all the times my brain decides what people say just isn’t worth listening to.

I hate feeling vibes so intensely.

I’m angry that I always know I’m forgetting something.

I’m angry at the to do list of tasks that are too big to look at.

I’m angry that I feel vibes on a micro-level. It’s so hard to be comfortable in any setting.

I’m angry that I forget to do the things I promised to do.

I’m angry that I’m unreliable. Reliably.

I’m angry that I’m always late when I’m always desperately trying not to be.

I’m angry at my pile of unfinished craft projects.

I’m angry that I’m known as someone who doesn’t follow through.

I’m sick of losing all my shit.

I’m sick of being so fucking clumsy all the time.

I’m sick of breaking everything I own.

I’m sick of not being able to hold down a job.

I hate never being able to fully concentrate on anything. I don’t think I’ve ever full-assed anything. I think Ron would be super disappointed in that.

I hate never mastering anything because I can’t stick it out.

I’m angry at losing all the careers I might have had if I’d been able to concetrate on anything for five fucking seconds. Lawyer, charity fundraiser, hospitality manager, tour guide.

I’m angry that everyday life seems to be explicitly set up to punish me.

I’m angry that library fines seem to be set up explicitly to catch me out. And parking tickets. And late fees. And all of it.

I’m angry that our society seems to value consistency over excellence.

I hate having ADHD right now.

Oh. Kay… This is kind of fun. What’s next?

Pain? Fun…

Let’s get into it.

Everything I’m Angry About (Personally) — Chronic Pain Edition

I’m so sick of having a headache. All the time.

I’m angry that I’ve been in pain for 6 and a half years.

I’m even angrier that that pain doesn’t seem to point to any actual health issues. It’s just pain for the sake of pain. So fucking needless.

I’m angry that the first thing I think every day is ‘Ow’.

It sucks that every time my brain goes quiet that pain is that quiet.

I hate that my pain still seems to be getting worse somehow.

I’m angry I missed my late 20s.

I’m angry that I have to explain to people that I’m in pain all the time.

I’m so angry that I’ve missed so much time with friends and family.

I’m furious that I’ve received mostly bad medical advice for 6 years. Mostly from doctors.

I’m angry at the doctors who told me to rest when good doctors know that that definitely won’t work. Movement is medicine, dickheads.

I’m angry that we treat pain with opiates before we treat it with information.

I’m so sick of not sleeping well.

I’m angry that my headaches mean I had to give up coffee. I fucking loved coffee.

I miss caffeine. All the time.

I’m angry that I can’t remember what it’s like not to be in pain.

Spasms fucking suck and I hate them.

I’m so mad that I have to plan my life around my pain rather than just being able to plan my life. Or, you know, ‘plan my life’. Stupid fucking ADHD…

I’m so sick of how my pain literally feels. It sucks. It’s sharp and scratchy and GAH!

I hate how my pain makes me feel. I get so angry that I feel so weak, small and fragile all the time.

I’m angry that it’s so hard to express how this feel to people who don’t experience it.

I’m angry that my pain has stopped me working. I had such a cool little career. A few actually.

I hate being disabled, both as a label and as an accurate description of my current capacity.

I miss being ambitious so much. I hate that my pain has taken that from me.

I’m angry for all the side effects I had to endure trying one million pills that ‘might work’. Did they work? Did they fuck.

I’m so sick of advice. It’s so frustrating to constantly feel like you have to be open to whatever someone saw on Instagram or half read in a Medium article.

Yes. I drink enough water. Thanks so much for asking.

Yes. I have tried triptans. Thanks so much for asking.

Yes. I’ve smoked weed. Thanks so much for asking.

I’m sick of feeling responsible for my pain.

I’m sick of giving my pain this much brain space.

I get so angry when people compare my headaches to their’s sometimes. I can’t help but feel they are comparing being an amputee to cutting their toenails too close. Sure you’re missing part of you too, but you don’t really get it. You know, unless you measure your headache in years not hours.

It’s so frustrating to be told to look at the bright side of constant pain. What bright side? What’s good about this? It fucking sucks and has sucked constantly for years. Show me the bright side!

I’m sick of having to comfort other people about my pain when I can barely do that for myself.

I hate how people say it’ll work out. It might not. You don’t know what’s happening.

I’m so angry that everywhere seems to have bright lights. What happened to ambient lighting?!

I get so angry that I have to rehearse my treatment history every time I see a doctor. Don’t they write shit down?

I hate having to explain my treatments to other people a lot of the time. It feels like they’re judging whether I’ve tried hard enough to recover.

I hate waking up in the middle of the night because I accidently rolled onto the painful side of my head.

God it sucks when I can’t get comfortable.

I’m so angry I wasting so much time on doctor-recommended opiates.

I’m angry about all the extra pain I caused myself by trying random invasive treatments because I felt like I had to try everything. Especially the ones with needles. Fuck Botox. Fuck steroid injecctions. And double-fuck acupuncture.

I’m angry that I’m still nowhere near the end of this stupid pointless pain journey.

I’m angry that my pain makes me a much less patient person.

I’m angry that pain is still the central issue in my life these days.

It sucks being in pain all the time.

I hate that headaches make sex harder (and not in the desired way). That really isn’t cool.

I hate having to answer, ‘what are you up to these days?’ with ‘I’m disabled because I’ve had a headache since 2016'.

I hate the fucking head-tilty ‘how are you doings?’.

I hate having to choose between answering questions honestly and killing the mood of a gathering or having to lie about how I actually am.

I hate how tiring pain is when it doesn’t let you fucking sleep.

I hate being in pain. So. Fucking. Much.

I especially hate that this is my second fucking chronic pain issue and I’m 33.

OK! We’re doing it! We’re really doing it!

And I don’t think the world has stop turning just yet…

Now for a fun topic (and a topic about which I’m sure no-one will get offended): Iceland.

Wish me luck!

Everything I’m Angry About (Personally) — Iceland Edition

I’m angry that Icelandic is so fucking difficult.

I’m angry that Icelandic is a gendered language because it’s super fucking pointless and confusing.

Why would ‘the’ be a suffix? Who does that help?

Why is there more than one word for any fucking number?

Seriously… WHY. IS. IT. SO. COLD?!?!?! I’m writing this on the 23rd May 2023. I got hailed on today 5 times. It’s late May. Ridiculous.

I hate being asked where I’m from every day. I’m from here. I’ve lived here longer than I’ve lived anywhere else as an adult. Where are you from, dickhead? The ‘I can’t think of interesting small talk’ island?

I hate that folks explain basic shit about Iceland to me like I haven’t come across it in 5 years. As a tour guide who talks about Iceland every day and researches Iceland continuously. Yes, I know you have good fish.

Yes. Iceland men’s football team beat England 2–1 in Euro 2016. England also qualified for Euro 2020. And the World Cup 2023.

I’m angry that the freshest vegetables in Iceland aren’t.

WHY. IS. IT. SO. EXPENSIVE?!?!?!?!

I’m angry that I’ll always be a foreigner here.

I’m angry that it’s so hard to find a job here.

I’m so angry that you have to be on Zuckerberg’s Facebook to participate in society here. I’ve been wanting to delete it for years.

I’m so sick of fish. Both in terms of eating it and talking about it.

I miss avocados. And mangoes. And the sun.

I hate that I have to take Vitamin D tablets every single day of the year (yes, including the summer) because Iceland doesn’t really do sunlight.

Why not just have normal length days?!?!?! Four hour days in winter and no night in the summer? Ludicrous…

I’m sick of xenophobia.

I get so angry when I get told there’s no xenophobia in Iceland by Icelanders.

I’m so bored of living somewhere with like 8 people. I’m single and I already know everyone. Grrrrr…

I miss the theatre in English.

Why don’t Icelandic men talk at parties?

Why isn’t actually dating a thing here? I don’t want to go to a club and fuck a random person at 3am. Why is that the done thing?

WHY. IS. IT. SO. FUCKING. WINDY?!?!?!?!

I hate not understanding what’s going on.

I hate not being able to vote.

I hate the lack of news in English.

I miss going to concerts.

I get so angry trying to navigate a welfare system that provides no information in Icelandic, English or otherwise.

Þetta reddast (Iceland’s unofficial motto which loosely translates to ‘it’ll be fine’) is not any way to plan anything and yet we still fucking try.

WHY. CAN’T. WE. MAKE. PLANS. IN. ADVANCE?!?!?!?!

I’m angry at plentiful inauthentic cuisine.

I get angry every time we blame tourists for everything. It just feels like abstracted xenophobia to me. Without considering, you know, they make up 42% of our economy.

Stop saying tourists took over the high street. There’s like 50 people there. It’s fine. Calm down.

I get so angry when Iceland thinks its social problems compare unfavourably to other countries. They just don’t. For all Iceland’s fault, prevalence of violent crime, homelessness and rampant poverty aren’t any of them.

I don’t care about handball. And I’m tired of pretending that I do.

I hate that all the apartments are so small.

Why is every kitchen is Iceland tiny?

This country was not designed for folks who are 170cm tall at all.

BONUS ROUND — Everything I’m Angry About (Personally) — Icelandic Bus (Stræto) Edition

I hate that Icelandic bus drivers drive off before folks are sat.

I especially hate that Icelandic bus drivers drive before folks are sat when they are carrying children or pushing prams.

I hate that Icelandic bus drivers frequently skip stops to save time and get mad at you when you point it out. You know, because you want to stop there. At the bus stop.

I hate that no-one tuts at the kids playing Tiktoks out loud on the bus. British Nanas wouldn’t settle for that shit.

I hate the stupid ticket scanners and the stupid phone app that works 6 out of 10 times.

I hate that when it takes a few seconds to scan your ticket on the stupid app that the bus driver will start driving and leave you stood at the front of the bus.

I hate that bus only takes cash but doesn’t offer change.

I hate that the bus doesn’t take card payments, despite there being scanners to check the phone app. The equipment is there but we just don’t…

I hate how rude the bus drivers are to tourists.

OK, that’s not fair. I am actually angry about how rude the bus drivers are to everyone.

I hate how tight the schedules are. I was in a bus crash (Everyone was luckily fine) a few weeks back and the driver’s first response is ‘I’m sorry. The schedules they have us on are so tight, I just…’. That’s not OK.

I hate how sloppily the drivers drive. The buses curb on every single journey.

I hate that I have to log into the website to register my disability discount every time I want to buy a ticket (even with a subscription). Surely someone tested that functionality once or twice?

I hate that none of the power outlets work. Such a fucking electricity tease.

I hate that the bus schedule doesn’t mean anything.

I’m sick of pretending the Vikings weren’t a bunch of murder rapists or that they represent a culture to be proud of in any sense.

I’m sick of pretending that the Eurovision heats or semi-finals matter.

I hate Skaupið. Every year. It’s not even worth explaining.

I am so bored of the conversation about which years Skaupið and Eurovision were good. It’s none of them.

I’m over hearing Icelanders telling me they have no money. They all have money.

It’s so infuriating to be told ‘I don’t really speak English’ followed by perfect fucking English.

I never want to be told by an Icelander that it’s good to be a foreigner in Iceland every again unless they are quoting a foreign friend of theirs. And even then, probably not actually.

I don’t care about fish politics.

Iceland were the aggressors of the Cod Wars and I’m tired of pretending that they weren’t to be polite.

Do we just not know how to queue here?

I’m so over hearing which town has the best swimming pool.**********

I hate being a perpetual outsider when I’m trying so hard to make this place my home.

I hate not feeling like I belong. Because I really want to. I just don’t know how.

OK. Wow.

Apparently I had some things to say.

Weird question… but does anyone else feel amazing? Like on fire, but in a good way? Maybe it’s just me…

Anyway, we’re 5,000 words in. Let’s finish this.

Everything I’m Angry About (Personally) — Miscellaneous Edition

You know what really boils my piss? I fucking hate it when…

You know what? I’m actually over it.

Don’t get me wrong, in a good way. If I’m totally honest with you, dear reader, I genuinely feel fan-fucking-tastic.

Is this what expressing your emotions healthily feels like?! Electric? Cathartic? Borderline orgasmic?

Holy shit. Is this well-adjusted people do, like, all the time?

Wild…

I could obviously keep going. There are still many, many things I’m angry about. Like how being right about something rarely matters, or… No, you know what, enough now.

I wanted to do two things here in this little experiment of an article.

Firstly, I wanted to get over my fear of being angry by immersing myself in it.

Mission very much accomplished on that score, I’d say. I’m not scared to be angry publicly any more. Genuinely. Character arc complete. That was weirdly easy…

Let’s just not question it, maybe?

Secondly, I wanted to see whether the world would accept an angry me (if I did it healthily and respectfully). Was my But I’m The Exception Cope true? Is anger really healthy for everyone but me?

Honestly, I still don’t know. Or, I’m not sure. I guess the problem with this particular cope is that you can never be sure? Right. You just have to stamp it out when you see it.

No it’s not true.

You know, unless I offended all of you and no-one ever reads my work again? Maybe you can let me know in the comments…

Anyway, even though I still don’t know for sure, I can say one thing for sure. I’m not 100% sure I actually care.

I feel great. I feel like I’ve expressed myself well. I feel lighter.

So is it healthy for me to be a bit angry sometimes? Probably.

But, do I feel amazing for having shared my anger this time? Definitely.

It feels like I now have a new string to my bow. I’ve tried a new food and I like it. Or maybe I’ve unlocked a new skill on the skills tree of a video game. It’s a good feeling. A really good feeling.

I can’t wait to write something else for you folks. I’ll try not to leave it months again.

One thing I can tell you for certain is that if it’s angry, I’m not going to hide it.

Hopefully.

Thanks so much for reading, lovelies. Until next time.

Well, wow. That was quite the emotional rollercoaster, wasn’t it? Thanks so much for reading it through. It means a lot. Every time someone reads my work it genuinely gives me the biggest thrill and I can’t thank you enough for it.

If you enjoyed what you read, or got something from it, please drop me a like on the article. It boosts me in the algorithm and it means other people get to see my work. Oh! For some reason you can like Medium articles up to 50 times, so, like do that if you want? I definitely won’t stop you.

Similarly, feel free to subscribe and follow for more articles. I tend to write about neurodiversity, parenting, Iceland and society but there’s loads of exciting stuff to read. Some of it is even under a 20 minute read!

Here’s one I really like, if you’d like a specific recommendation.

If you feel like you know someone who might enjoy any of my work, feel free to share it wide. Post it wherever, share it wherever, read it wherever. I’d super appreciate it.

And, as always, I’d love to hear from you fine folks in the comments. What’s making you angry these days? What’s your favourite cope? How’s your day going? Whatever you’d like. I’d love to hear from you.

Oh, and I’d absolutely love to write for your publication. Hit me up!

Thanks again for reading lovelies. It’s a genuine gift and it means the world. Have an amazing, remember to stretch at least once an hour and be kinder to yourself than you might have been. Love you all.

* If this was you, I’m truly sorry. I didn’t really understand how I was acting but that’s no excuse. You deserved, deserve and will always deserve better than that and I’m sorry.

** I figure that kind of thing comes with not scoffing every time you write that you’re a writer. Which, if I’m being totally honest with you, currently seems like a far off fantasy.

*** Until then I’ll just continue to ugly cry while watching Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 like everyone else with daddy issues.

**** Fuck you Herschel Walker in particular.

***** Fuck you Dick Cheney in particular.

****** Fuck you Lauren Boebert in particular.

******* Fuck you Bo-Jo, Matt Hancock and Chris Christie in particular.

******** OK, when I say immersion therapy, I mean the vague concept I have of immersion therapy from TV, YouTube and Google. Consult your therapist before doing something like this unless you are absolutely desperate for internet clout like me.

********* I include this phrase in most of my essays and I’ve realised that like 5% of people will realise it’s a reference. This sentence is an homage to the queen we all aspire to in this writing/lefty space: Contrapoints. It doesn’t matter if you don’t get it but as I have you here, check her out. She’s awesome.

********** Unless you’re from Hofsós. Then you do have the nicest pool in Iceland and I’d be delighted to hear your thoughts.