a rubber duck in a bathtub with bubbles
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Legend often has it that Molière died onstage, but that’s not actually true. On February 17, 1673, the audience watching Le Malade Imaginaire (The Imaginary Invalid) at Théâtre du Palais-Royal in Paris almost witnessed Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, the writer and actor better known as Molière, die onstage. He collapsed in a coughing fit, but the show soon went on, and he finished his performance as hypochondriac Argan. Unlike his character, Molière was actually gravely ill with tuberculosis, and just a few hours later, he died from a hemorrhage.
This actually makes it harder to control your aggression.
The solution is to turn the relationship around. Acknowledge and accept your anger for what it is. Then, direct your efforts at control toward your aggression.
I’m weak and tired,
shaky and damaged.
Why does strength make me
weak?
Why every time I stand strong
do I shake and inside,
turn meek?
Strength rips off my flesh
and tears my insides
so the timid, helpless child
can no longer hide—
No longer hide
the tears, the screams
the slashing, the gashing,
the moaning the pain,
the ashes, the crashes,
the rain, no gain.
Strength grabs me, it stabs me
and sets me afire;
it slaps me, it snaps me,
running me down
to the mud and the mire.
I walk proudly
as strength kills me from the
inside out.
I scream and shout
but my pain reaches not one ear
while I fall and shake,
cry and break;
yelling for something to save
me,
for strength to stop raping me
and killing me
with every breath I take.
