Still Mad

I tend to shy away from the parts that make me feel vulnerable. From the memories and experiences and feelings that make me uncomfortable in my own skin. The ones that are maybe hard to admit. That I would rather skate over than spend any actual time IN IT. Living it, remembering it, feeling it.

I have no problem sharing the stories and adding some humor to show how healed I am. How evolved I am. I AM a strong and independent woman. I have overcome much adversity and heartache and lived to write about it. Go me.

My last therapist told me that I use anger as my default emotion. Anger is easy. It's easy to be pissed off. To use that energy as fuel for whatever comes next. To keep harnessing it as a superpower. Anger can be motivation. Motivation to do and be better. When it's getting hard and you want to give up, you can reach back down to summon up some rage to push you through. Works like a charm.

My anger doesn't even need to have a target or person of interest. I can pull it right from the knowledge that I have endured more than most and certainly more than I thought was fair. I can be angry all over again for any number of previous grievances. And, it doesn't hurt to write about it or discuss it. I will make jokes and laugh at the absurdity of it all.

THAT, I can do.

What is harder for me is to admit to the pain. The hurt. The absolute devastation that took place. Turned my entire world upside down and left me in shambles. The anger is the only damn thing that saved me. Maybe that is why I can't let it go. I'm afraid of what might happen if I do. Will I disintegrate like salt in the rain? Melt like sugar into tea?

I struggle to put into words the hurt that I felt before I embraced the anger, to save myself. I see it in movies, I've read it in books, and heard it in a song. But, I have never witnessed anyone actually crumble in real life. Until I did. Until I was so sad and destroyed that I literally could not force myself out of bed. When the hopelessness would crush me and I would either wail so loud I was sure the neighbors could hear or silently seethe and claw at my own skin, itching to be free.

Have you ever felt that? Like you could claw off your own skin? Like you would do anything to escape yourself, even for a moment, if it meant you didn't have to face whatever it was that was wrecking you?

I've seen Inside Out, I know that sadness is necessary. It tells others that you need help. But, what happens when that help doesn't come? Or when nobody really knows how to help you? What then?

Crying never accomplished anything. But, I moved fucking mountains once I let the anger take over. Once I realized that I was, in fact, on my own.

Many have judged me for this. Many have taken their own insecurities out on me over my reaction to having the rose-colored glasses lifted from my eyes. For a while, I turned my anger back on them. How dare they abandon me? How dare they turn a blind eye to the truth that was laid bare for all to see.

Here's what I know...

The people who love you. YOU, not the idea of you, not the "you" they created in their heads to play a role in their life saga. But, the people who genuinely love you for you, they won't turn their backs on you. They will not reach for the easiest conclusion or story that fits their narrative. They won't believe whatever they're told, because it's easier. They won't just accept the lie as the more comfortable truth.

True friends ask questions. They listen. They wait. They don't toss you aside the moment your life implodes. We are all just part of the human experience. We make mistakes. We hurt people. We fail. We try again.

I think if there is one sadness I can admit to, it is the loss of friendships that I thought were forever. Bonds I thought couldn't be broken. How quickly sides were taken. How fast the ground beneath my feet turned to quicksand. One by one, the support system I thought I had, became a bottomless pit, pulling me under.

I think of the grace I had given and the love that I offered unconditionally and it makes me bitter. Which leads back to the anger. Creating this cycle of never really allowing myself to be sad. Because I still have so much to be pissed off about.