The other day I sat on the bus after a long day of work as it crawled through central London. It was no motorway drive where the lights blur; the pace was tragic and the lights stayed mockingly in focus. We would creep forward then jolt to a stop causing a collective forward sway of everyone on board. The air was thick and the windows had steamed up from too much breath in an enclosed space. Someone at the back was playing their music out loud. My tailbone hurt from sitting at my desk all day and I could feel the underboob sweat growing on my shirt like a blood stain. After forty minutes I dragged myself through the crowd a stop early, desperate to breathe cold air. As I walked I wondered why it took so long to go such a short distance. Why were there always so many people in London? Why does everything take forever? Why can’t getting the bus just be easy? I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired. When I got in I threw all my bags down and realised that what I felt wasn’t exhaustion or self-pity, it was anger. Then I did something that I’ve only done a handful of times in my life, I started yelling.

Not at anyone, I don’t think it’s kind to yell at anyone, but yelling out. I can’t remember fully what I was saying now. I hear a lot of ‘fuck you’s and ‘what the fuck’s which seems about right. Everything came out forceful and clipped like a verbal slap. I remember the bones in my hands risen and skeletal from splaying out my fingers as if I had anger coming out of my fingertips. It only lasted a few minutes but when I calmed down I felt incredible. I had a shower and then that was that, all squared and tidied away. I’ve felt angry before but not realised only to let that anger seep out all over my day. I’ll seethe inside while slamming my teacup down too hard, sighing, and being strangely quiet. Obviously that’s followed by being upset that no one’s realised something’s off nor asked if I’m okay. I always thought it was better to keep it all in. Best to let the steam blow off gradually like sucking up water through a pinched straw, no? Now I’m starting to think I was mistaken.

Part of the excitement of yelling was its novelty; I never yell. Girls are brought up being told to be quiet, sit still, women are better seen not heard, and all that Angel in the House Coventry Patmore bullshit. A ‘fuck you’ would be followed by a little inward giggle because I couldn’t believe I was yelling. Look at me, exclaiming at a level where you could hear it in the flat below! Look at me, stomping heavily, pacing back and forth as if I’m a highly-strung CEO. It felt like breaking the rules, it felt like skiving off school, it felt like eating cake for breakfast; what a rush!

I read online about primal therapy and primal screams. Primal Therapy was developed by Dr. Arthur Janov in the 1960s. Janov believed that the only way to solve psychological issues was to express them through actions like talking, crying, shouting, and making sounds. He also believed that unresolved psychological issues can lead to physical symptoms of illness such as headaches and ulcers. A primal scream is when you scream as loud as you can to relieve stress. I’ve tried this a couple of times but got too nervous just as I opened my mouth, so the scream was loud but didn’t have my heart or guts in it. I’ve been too nervous to attempt again since. I worry the neighbours might think something terrible is happening if I scream multiple times in one evening. It’s frightening to do. To be loud, carefree, and to verbally let out all your frustration. It feels against civilised society, it feels like I’m living beyond my means. I feel like I don’t have the persona or the command to express anger and for it to be taken seriously. I have a round-cheeked, child-like face and it’s hard to imagine that baby face scrunched up in anger. It’s hard to imagine myself being angry without picturing it like a child’s tantrum. It’s hard to feel all that and then do it anyway because it’s not a child’s tantrum, I’m fucking pissed.

I’m resolved to try primal screaming again, maybe on a hilltop or off a cliff. I’m going to the beach next weekend so maybe I could try screaming into the open waves and see how it feels. I only hope there are no dogs on the beach as I would hate to scare them. In general, I’ve decided I want to yell more. I went to see the women’s football yesterday and I thought the stadium offered a great environment for yelling. Cheering and clapping for goals was fun but weirdly I wished the opposing team would score so I could have an excuse to grunt in exasperation. The next time I go I will make sure I take every opportunity to yell, sigh, put my head in my hands, and all that jazz. I’d love to primal scream into the empty stadium.

This week I had this pistachio swirl from Miel Bakery on Warren street. Pistachio is really blowing up right now and for good reason. Very delicious, sweet and a bit salty. Highly recommend.

Goodbye for now x