Anger.

Right, so, bear in mind that I'm a highly introverted and ugly man, but what started as the standard testosterone fueled annoyance with the "dumb yet super attractive" guy, ended in quite a not foreseen conclusion.

Now, to get to the conclusion I eventually arrived at, I'm going to have to walk you through my train of thought in watered down detail. This is extremely terrifying for me, as my train of thought is the most embarrassing thing I can think to share, hence I'm still watering it down. It's utterly ridiculous and silly. And what's really fucked up about it, is if you for even the slightest of split seconds find that one of these connections make sense to you, well, you may be as weird as I am.

What began as a classic troupe of human existence quickly turned into an existential nightmare. Masculinity was challenged, and weariness gave way to deep intrusions into, not so much the thoughts themselves, just the reasons behind the thoughts.

Enters another male to the group. Said male is considered "attractive." Then a feeling of being threatened takes hold, and anger courses its way through every part of your being. At this point, a breath is taken, because it's very hard to arise anger for such a ridiculous reason, let alone the entirety of my being, and then the existential nightmare begins.

Was I jealous? Was I angry because I was jealous I wasn't a pretty boy? Was I angry because I'll never know what its like to have a female look at me and think, "I want that"? These were thoughts that were floating in my mind, but, no, thats not why I was angry.

Why was I angry? Was it because of some other circumstances? Plausible. Yet upon further investigation, no. Other circumstances had no play in the matter.

Was it a simple natural selection instance? Was I angry because I felt threatened?
No. Still no.

Was it because I'm constantly told to be more confident cause females like confidence? Yes.

I'm angry because confidence is tricky.
You can't just will self-confidence into being. It has to be bestowed onto you as a gift. It's not an easy gift to be given to quiet people who keep to themselves. It's much easier to give to the people who are outspoken and don't seem shaken by meeting new people and are aesthetically pleasing.

I'm angry at myself.

It had nothing to do with any of the above mentioned cases for anger. And even thought I thought I knew what it was, I was wrong. I don't like being wrong, but no one is ever "always right." I was angry at myself.

No, I don't have confidence in my looks, and for good reason! I believe the term is a "face made for radio," but thats even a stretch because I severely lack a sexy voice as well. But I am confident. I'm confident in other ways.

And this is where things get a bit existential, but I'm angry because I'm confident in my strengths. But my strengths are not things females are drawn to these days, or at least at this age it seems. Well, you know, I'm really not trying to generalize here, because thats my point I suppose.

Am I confident in my appearance and my physical attraction to females? No.
I accept that, because sometimes, I am right.

I'm confident in my ability to know when someone is not happy. I'm confident in my ability to make that person laugh, or feel better for even the smallest second. I'm confident that I can make almost anyone feel safe and comfortable around me. I'm confident that I'm intelligent and innovative. I'm confident that I'm a dork and cheesy. I'm confident that I'm not very good at a lot of things, but one of the only things I know I'll be good at, is being a father.

And there it is. Anger.

When coming from a long line of family that has a history of being married and having kids by the age of 23, a 28 year old male can start to feel a little worried about his reasons for failure. Now, everyone is different. It's utterly ridiculous for me to assume that I am the only male who thinks this way, and again its pretentious for me to assume that all males think this way. The point is I can't speak for males. I can speak for me. And I feel worried.

I don't like worry.

I get angry when people I care about are not happy. I'm confident in my ability to make people I don't know that well feel safe and comfortable, so people I care about I especially want to assist. If there is nothing I can do. I get angry. I can't sort marital problems. I can't sort relationship problems. I can't fix financial hardships. I can't raise people from the dead. I can listen and I can comfort.

I'm a dad.

I'm angry, because I feel like I'm terrible at a lot of things. Because I have failed so many times in my life. Because I've made so many mistakes. I'm angry because the one thing I know I can succeed at, is a ridiculous thing for someone in my current state of life to think about. I have no doubt that if I'm ever so blessed with the opportunity, I'm going to be a good father. And I'm angry, because of the pressure I feel to make it happen. I'm angry at the self-criticisms I place on myself. I'm furious at my lack of self-confidence in my physical appearance. I'm livid that I make myself feel bad for knowing I'll be a great father, but am worried about being attractive. Now don't get me wrong, I certainly need to attract a female for the father thing to happen, but I want a good mother too.

I'm angry because I've been lied to. I was told that life was a certain way. I was told you go to school, and graduate college, and get married, and start a family. That's not life.

I'm angry because I feel ashamed to want to be a father.
I feel embarrassed to think thoughts of wanting to be a father.

And there, an existential nightmare, spins and twirls in my brain.
I hate when I get trapped in my own head sometimes. I think about things too much, too deep. Growing up takes time; we don't get to choose the speed.

I'm angry because sometimes the acceptance of reality means sacrificing the one thing you know you'd be good at.

Sometimes reality is accepting your destiny. If such a thing as destiny exists, it is a cruelty for one to know their destiny at a young age. Cruel indeed. Angry words.