I Scream, Therefore I…

Two months ago I yelled at someone over the phone. I can’t remember exactly what I said—something along the lines of “Stop talking and listen to me.” Only in all caps, full volume: “STOP TALKING AND LISTEN TO ME!”

It was one of those moments you’ve probably experienced yourself at work with a boss or colleague. You’re discussing the schedule for some huge project and the boss makes a statement that’s unfounded and untrue about one of your deadlines. You interject to set the record straight, but the boss keeps speaking, extrapolating out the consequences of the “problem” you’ve caused and he’s condescending and righteous in tone and won’t let you get a word in because he never once pauses in his diatribe—just continues talking AT you and OVER you and THROUGH you.

So I screamed. I did the thing most of us want to do in such circumstances (sans the strangling—I was on a phone, after all) and yet it didn’t make me feel any better. Just different.

I’ve never screamed at anyone before. I’ve raised my voice in passionate discourse, but never aimed it AT someone. I’ve always attempted civility and control in my communications.

Now it feels as if some part of me escaped with that scream. Some important piece of my identity flew into the ether, never to return.

I don’t know what I lost, but without it, I’m not who I was.

[Art from Maxamania.]