Authored: July 14, 2025

There’s a version of me I don’t really share.

He never yells. He never hits anything. But he burns… quietly. He writes paragraphs in his head. Imagines walking out, saying nothing, never returning.

That’s rage too. Not loud. Not visible. Just… private.

And no one — truly no one — talks about it.

We only recognize rage when it explodes: yelling matches, slammed doors, broken plates, car horns. But some of the most dangerous forms of rage never make a sound.

No one teaches us what to do with the quiet burn. The kind that shows up at 1am, pacing in your chest. The kind that builds because you never gave it language. The kind that becomes personality.

I’ve started thinking a lot about this; how we perform anger when it’s visible and hide it when it’s not. How we’ve been taught to either “manage it” or ignore it.