I’m angry a lot lately, but I really don’t understand the intensity or frequency of my rage.  I have never really been known for my patience, but at age 63, there are tons of infractions that upset me.

Bad drivers and traffic jams used to be somewhat upsetting to me, but now a selfish fool driving thirty miles per hour in the passing lane makes me irate. I visualize driving behind this offender of decent road rules until I hit the Mexican border with my lights blinking and horn honking nonstop.

All the while I feel so agitated and what exacerbates this situation is the awareness of how futile my anger is.  I won’t change any driving habits by acting out and I will get no relief from my behavior; only a tight neck and an upset stomach.  Yet I feel compelled to scream and shout. This is all a frustrating and pointless exercise.

Throughout my life I have always worked for social justice.  In the past my rage was in check and I would join others in protests. I empathize with other’s pain, but now I find myself vacillating between extreme anger and deep agonizing tears.  I can’t make sense of our indifference to other’s suffering.  I feel like a volcano about to erupt.

The Trayvon Martin case transmitted the shame of America’s illness past my pores and into my soul.  How could we as a country allow this young man to be murdered and then give the murderer a get out of jail free card?   George Zimmerman is laughing on TV.  That image shouldn’t exist.

Watching Eric Garner get murdered by the police made me cry and feel powerless.  It seems like we live in a dictator state where they set the rules and everyone else is supposed to fall in line. How could they get away with killing a citizen while we all watched this horror on video?

I am Jewish and started reading The Nazis next Door, a story that documents how the CIA and FBI recruited Nazis to spy on the communists. They were allowed to live comfortably in the USA. During this same time, after Hitler had fallen, Jews were not freed from concentration camps.  They were left to live in filth and continued to be mistreated by the guards under the supervision of anti-Semitic General Patton.

After reading a few pages, I felt like a geyser was erupting in my heart. I felt powerless once again to change the indignity, humiliation, torture and murder that was inflicted on my people.  At times I feel guilt and shame by believing that I am not doing all I can to improve the conditions of those less fortunate than me.

How many homeless people do I walk past without giving them any money or even acknowledging their existence?   Sometimes I wonder if I have given enough of myself to others. I ponder these questions and then get angry at myself at not measuring up to some insane expectation of how compassionate I am supposed to be.

Have you ever asked yourself why the wealthiest country of all time has millions of homeless people?  It makes no sense.

There are times when I share these feelings, but too much of  the time I keep them bottled up inside with the hope that they will go away, but they never do.

I know that I am dedicated to helping others on a daily basis, but don’t want to talk about that too much out of the fear of appearing conceited.  I expect myself to be present for others and anything less than that is disappointing.

I seem to lack the walls and self-made barriers I once had at keeping other’s pain from hurting me.  Now I am like a sponge soaking up everyone’s drama, trauma, confusion and angst.  I am supposed to be the elder here; the wise one.  At times I just want to be left alone and when I am, I don’t know how to be.  I look for ways to distract myself and end up looking in the mirror and not liking what I see.

There are moments when I get immersed in this shadowy place where tears want to flow, but stay stuck in my eyeballs.  I feel hopeless and worn out from trying so hard and for so long.  Trying hard to do what?  To be a good person and please others and myself-two desires that seem at polar opposites and counter directed.

I realize there are many people who get stuck in this ugly place for hours, days and weeks.  I am fortunate that I don’t reside in this space anywhere near that long.   It seems like the depression enters after the anxiety completely wears me out.

I hate it when I tell someone how they can improve their lives and they either ignore me or take a self-destructive path towards resolution.

I hate it when people don’t do what I suggest or tell them to do.  I need to get over this.

At times I am so needy, I have no idea what my needs are.  Sometimes I get confused on what I need from others and the perceived demands I feel from them. I carry this burden in a stoic, agitated manner. I wish someone would put their arms around me and say everything’s going to be alright. I desire this comfort, but won’t ask for it and then become angry when this human contact doesn’t happen.

The hurt grows inside like an untreated tumor if I choose to let the wound fester.  When I am in this dismal place, I don’t believe there are any alternatives to living in this hopeless, anxious, gloomy state.

I know that one of my purposes in life is to learn how to step into the darkness and gracefully pull away from its clutches.  I am a Jew and believe the main reason that I exist is to heal the world. Teaching others about this process is a big part of my identity.

Time to put on my running shoes and hit the ground at a fast pace. I know that moving my body will alleviate anxiety and depression.

I am listening to a recent playlist and songs about injustice flow through my headphones.  Tracy Chapman, Richie Havens, Marvin Gaye, Michael Franti and Ruthie Foster’s relevant words about today’s struggles travel around my brain.

I have a memory of last weeks San Francisco peaceful demonstration against police brutality. There were folks from all age groups and races.  There was no violence and it was run by young Black folks.  I felt a deep connection with all these people.

I’m into my fourth mile and I think about my wife Gail who has put up with my sometimes difficult personality and I hear these lyrics by Bleachers from a song titled I Want to get  Better:

“I didn’t know I was lonely till I saw your face, I didn’t know I was broken until I wanted to change.”

To let go of your anger click here.