Things that are out of control in my life leave me angry, but it’s an anger that has no place to rest.

I find that I can’t get angry at people; they are as human as I. The same fears, dreams, hopes and joys. After the first flash of anger my mind fills with their struggles and our similarities and it never sits right in me to let the anger rest on them. I get angry at situations and what’s going on and what is and isn’t happening, and, in the end, the anger comes to rest on me.

I don’t know where else to put it. I can’t leave it on someone else.

It’s my fault.

I was stupid. I should have known better. Maybe it was because I tried too hard or not hard enough. It’s out of my control, but it’s still my fault.

I’m angry at myself because I’m not able to stop history from repeating itself.
I’m angry at myself because I’m not able to suck it up and shrug it off.
I’m angry at myself because I’m not able to find an explanation for why things are the way they are.
I’m angry at myself because I’m not able to escape a constant state of low-grade perpetual failure.
I’m angry at myself because I’m not able to find a place or understanding for this frustration.
I’m angry at myself because I’m not able to find personal or professional perfection; because I have flaws, it must be my fault.
I’m angry at myself because I’m not able to make peace with a life of “doing right” and still seeing the wreckage in my hopes and efforts and dreams.

I’m angry at myself, because I’m not Abel.

In my anger, I’m Cain.