Angry

I've never really been super comfortable feeling angry, although it's not uncommon for me to feel pisssed the hell off when I'm stressed out...so it's interesting that I'm so squidgy and uncomfortable with it. I have some theories, but who the hell knows. It could be because my dad and step-dad were angry, violent men.  It could be because I've chosen to have relationships with some angry and occasionally violent men in my adult life and I've come to see most anger as a hurtful, cruel emotion. It could be because oftentimes I feel that my anger is resented and supressed by the people in my life. It could be because oftentimes women aren't allowed to express anger in general without being accused of being raging harpies, and I'm well aware of that. It could be because I've just never learned how to constructively express myself when I'm feeling pissed off and fucking frustrated; I tend to either freak out and randomly yell at someone, or turn it inward and let it boil for awhile until I break down in furious tears or become physically ill. Neither outcome is helpful really to the whole point of being angry, which I've come to realize is just a way of letting us know that something is very, very *wrong*. Discontent and frustration become a fiery hot furnace of irrational outburst when allowed to fester, and that's never (ever) really a good thing. If I could somehow learn to use my anger as a set of directions to get to what I need and what I'm lacking, I think it could be a wonderful thing.

But seeing as I'm not quite there yet let's be honest, shall we?

RIGHT NOW: I would like to smash a series of breakables in the road. I would like to throw red paint all over the place and then roll around in it. I would like to scream and kick and cry and then curl up and sleep and have dreams about dropping huge stones off a cliff and watching them grow tinier and tinier until they slam into the ocean and send up flying bullets of water. I'd like to have someone show me the right way to weild an axe so I could chop logs for a few days until I have a mountain of firewood I could burn in a campfire while tossing dishes against an old stone wall. I would like to bellow and howl so loudly that the whole world hears and pauses for a moment before carrying on.

There are many reasons I'm feeling this white-hot rush and I don't even wish to discuss them at this point. I'm mostly just fed up, driven repeatedly into the same dead-ends over and over again. Experience tells me that it'll pass soon though, and I'll begin to feel better. The anger will either dissolve into some passionate momentum that will push me toward a new beginning, or it will exhaust me into a hibernating period where I'll figure out exactly what I need, want, crave, and then I'll quietly begin to make plans for my rebirth. I'll push forward somehow, whether it's with a bang or with a whimper. And in the meantime I'll try to learn how to live with this anger, how to accept it and love it and nurture it and help it grow into something new, something good. Somehow, I'll accept it and it'll find it's place in my heart as fuel rather than dead weight.

And somehow, I'll look back and be grateful.



Like this lady probably did, right?