Admittedly the most peculiar comparison is comparison itself. In a time we're expected to not pair our proses with another for the sake of sound self-awareness and confidence, the alternatively commendable trait is to make a personal mishap seem lesser by asserting that "things could have been worse." For fear of falling too victim to this habit, I slowly began dissecting who and what it was I was comparing myself to in order to bring resolve to my newfound chaotic state. My emotions and peace of mind became the hardest facets to corral; where previously easy to be sifted through I had to make the active decision to take better care, fine-tooth-comb style, in order to keep from what I could only recognize as spiraling. As I noticed a very precise change in not only my thinking but my own self-asserted action, there was no fall into oblivion. It was all figuratively splayed out in front of me, similar to a smorgasbord of battles to choose from, although I was the one who had already done the picking. By the time I had realized the comparison didn't fall within the standards of anyone else, simply that I was in desperate need to make room for all of my emotions, not just the ones that benefited both me and the spectator(s), I had begun to crack another code. One that assumed the tactics of self care I had avoided in belief that I was detrimental to myself were actually the tactics that kept me feeling like I had something to work for, not to be someone who just works. In lieu of favoring "one over the other," it seemed in all aspects of this dissection in progress, both hands came into play. Though any shred of positivity tends to flatter, my intent was to never feel better about how I was outwardly perceived, moreso inward. Given the task at hand, the question presented itself: why not both? On the basis of conflict resolution, whether an actively assumed position or involuntary, to have an idea such as replacing conjunctions in everyday conversation seemed to graze a level of insignificance that was truly not even worth considering. Nevertheless, the idea hung in the air long enough for me to encourage myself that any step, no matter the size, was worth taking and I began the test of switching "but" for "and" in order to better understand why it was so impossible to live soundly with my own attest. Instead of negating one feeling for another, by suggesting "and" was making room for both statements. In the event I habitually said "but" I made sure to write down in what context I used it and how I could obliterate the use of the word all together. Where I found most difficult was at work: the probe of most of my tendencies to push emotion to the side, only to make room for what was in my best interest as an employee, not a human being. The sound presented itself as excusatory and I tended to grow increasingly angry when I caught myself using "but" to negate any further protest of one happening over another. My intent was to bring myself into perspective less than formerly bringing other concerns into the light. To focus more on what it is I was projecting inward vs outward became more of a task than changing a pre-determined reaction from within. To suddenly welcome anything and everything I began feeling in place of what used to be constant consideration for everyone else first and foremost felt both like a wave of extra information and the opening of floodgates, neither one accommodating the other. Eventually the desire to keep everyone else at bay to not concern otherwise grew heavier and I felt an off switch power itself. Where I had assumed the acknowledge of my discontent with myself was only available to those I had told, my curiosity peaked in wondering if anyone could visually recognize something within me was missing.
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Secluded from the rest of what used to be a cabinetry warehouse by two black curtains and a certain amount of observancy stands a room cold to the touch when the temperature outside is below 50, but is hot with rage. These are the kinds of things that come with a pre-conceived notion and often follow through. As someone who seldom feels anger in any capacity, the idea of throwing glass objects at a brick wall or on a cement floor with no repercussions and no other obligation in the middle of what was an unprecedented declaration of rage at its most sensitive sounded like a day in paradise - even if it was only 15 minutes. Where I imagined this existence, too, would only be visible to the inward eye was met with an observation of "are you guys feeling better? You're certainly more talkative than you were when you came in!" Grievous Gallery has given an outlet to the workings of Salisbury, North Carolina and beyond, standing as the first of its kind in the area. Started by Tim and Elysia Demers following, simply put, a light bulb moment of their own, this rage room allows you to forcibly let go of what it is pent up inside you in a cathartic sort of way. Due to an accident that left Tim with the mark as a survivor of a traumatic brain injury and Elysia learning to almost single-handedly raise kids she had with a man she once knew as someone else, they're providing the public with the probability of curve balls and the knowledge that once that curve ball hits, the encouragement to let go of what no longer serves you in order to find what does will make sudden change - or pent-up-in-progress change - far more tolerable. I met Tim when we had cleared the first counter top. He came and introduced himself to me, apologized he wasn't present upon our arrival, and asked where we wanted to go from where we had just left off. In observing his conversation with those I brought with me, my conflict over "but" and "and" came back in a richly educating way. That our experiences were to be a gossip point if they were to be compared and because of that, they were to not be. Due to whatever circumstance I thought "he deserves this rage room far more than I do," brought a realization that as long as the circumstance was being taken care of, talked about transparently, and accepted as a plight that only brought us to this aforementioned cathartic moment, that the ability to co-exist was at its most vulnerable and its most powerful. The sound of smashing bottles was significantly more satisfying than the act of throwing them. To experience the sound of intent in a tangible way was similar to physically throwing your anger in the trash, and to be able to put your glasses down, walk away, and not think twice about it, is a release unparalleled to anything I've felt before. I can assure you, however, while smashing wine bottles and fireball bottles by their necks was the fun part, writing out your version of a dark cloud on a thick plate and frisbee-ing it into oblivion sent a shiver down my spine like the cloud never existed in the first place and the sun itself was warming my bones in the form of a Kerosene heater. As we headed to the door, we were encouraged to stay a little longer. The thick of this building was a common room of sorts, a bar in the far corner, couches, a stage for any local musician looking for a gig, and a DJ booth adjacent to it. Though having explored it upon entry, it felt like a different room following the rage portion of the evening. A few from the crowd with me took to bikes stashed in the corner while Hayley and I rebuilt the giant Jenga that called our attention in the first place. For a few girls testing out dance routines in front of the amps and guitars on the stage, Tim controlled the music from behind a Mac. Ali watched intently, having just ended a massive part of her Winter: coaching gymnastics where she herself used to take it. One of the girls skipped to the computer to restart the song as Tim walked back to the counter himself. "You're in control!" his booming voice echoed over the bustle of everything happening around us. Though speaking about the song choice, it echoed through my head as the perfect closer to this experience I expected to thoroughly enjoy anyways. The reassurance that I was in control, though feeling otherwise, of everything going on within me was the grasp I needed to flex. Having already lost touch with who I was two weeks ago, and who I was before then, I have no doubt this evolution will continue to evolve and my purest hope is for only a proactive form. Cracking the seal was only the first step.