I am angry.

Imagine a little girl who was never allowed to feel what came naturally to her. Her mother took personal offense, her father co-opted the emotion as his own. See her grow up never believing in a single emotion she had because retribution was swift when she didn’t feel what they wanted her to: joy, appreciation, anger, hurt, upset. As she developed into a young woman she feared removal of their love lest she do and be exactly as they hoped, but it was always a struggle. She never seemed to get it right.

She began to drink at 13, raiding the liquor cabinet and drinking herself to blackouts because the hole inside her heart was so vast, so deep, so overwhelming she just wanted to disappear. At 18 she was introduced to drugs. She felt like she’d come home. The hole was filled with power now. And then she left her mother and father and moved 1500 miles away. Finally, she could be who she was, feel as she did the beauty of the world, her body, the magical gifts the universe had to offer her in whatever package it was delivered: drugs, sex, friends, laughter, love, life.

But she still couldn’t feel certain things. She was too lost, too afraid to lose all her new family she’d forged in a strange city all by herself. She would pour her heart into her friendships and her relationships; give everything to everyone in hopes that they would return even one drop of her waterfall. But they never did. They understood that they would lose themselves in the process. So she learned to pull back, evaluate, and not equate doing with love.

With time and practice she learned to feel in the right way, without fear. To feel herself through the eyes of others and, most importantly, her own kind eyes. She was happy, sad, joyful, loving, exasperated, kind, boisterous.

She relaxed into her own skin, invited in only those who wanted to stay and love her as she was — a larger than life woman now with a never-ending energy and capacity for more. Her friendships blossomed, she grew stronger. But still, one emotion eluded her: anger. Self-righteous, loud, powerful anger.

When her husband gave up on her she felt only sad. When her mother rejected her adult self she was bereft. When her best friend abandoned her time and time again she was dejected. When her boyfriends failed to be the men she wanted she was tearful. When her sister didn’t trust her she pooled into a watery mess. She was incapable of being angry at these people who didn’t see her, didn’t listen to her, didn’t get her.

She believed she had no right to it. An angry person is allowed to feel, to be, to scream and punch the wall. A genuinely angry person is taken seriously. She was no one. She was wrong. No one ever wanted her to be angry. Ever. And so she never was.

She folded in on herself, swallowed the black snake of rage down her craw and let it slither in her gut until one day it wanted out.

It roiled and flipped and fucked its way back out her body with cruel precision, bringing her to her knees. Her body quaked, her heart raced, she thought she was dying. She admitted it was there, but swallowed it again. Until now.

She is finally angry.

It makes no difference to her that her anger is snarling indiscriminately at her old lover. She believes he broke open the scar of her childhood and he, she has decided, will be the recipient.

She’s angry he won’t love her. She’s angry that he has fled to her. She’s angry that she lost control.  She’s angry that she hoped.  She’s angry that she didn’t believe him. She’s angry that he never lied. She’s angry that it hurts so much. She’s angry that he didn’t sleep at home last night. She’s angry that she had to beg him to stay with her. She’s angry that he didn’t leave her alone at the start. She’s angry that he won’t leave her alone now. She’s angry that he wants her friendship.  She’s angry that he left her.

She’s angry for this moment, for right now, because it’s all she can handle. The world of hurt, the volcanic pain that comes pulsing up whenever she feels abandoned, is still there, but she’s stronger. She’s finally looking at it. It’s a Mount Shasta of cruelty, a cool, dusty blue on the horizon capped with frothy, cold white tears founded through years of heartbreak and worthlessness.

A loss is a loss like any other, but she finally understands why she cut herself. It is the dark, steaming creature that has lived and grown in her belly since she was small and golden with innocence. It’s not that moment. It’s what it reminds her of: She is not fit for love. She is wrong.

This anger she feels for him is only the start. He will not get one part of what he loves about her like this. She must preserve her dignity, her heart, and her body. He can have her, she will have herself. She will wrangle the beast in her core, eye it down, flay it. She will rage and yell and beat back those who have hurt her with a pure and just heart. Wildly at first, then with discretion.

This isn’t about him. It’s about her and the new language she is struggling to understand. Anger is foreign. It tastes like salty aluminum bubblegum, feels like a stinging nettle ant bite, looks like a tail-thrashing chainsaw.

But still. Fuck him. Fuck her. She will master this new language and move on.  Angry.

47 thoughts on “I am angry.

  1. Anger, when harnessed and focused, is like riding a tornado that clears a path through your gut. When unharnessed and let loose, it can kill parts of yourself or kill people you love. It can be a great tool toward clearer self-realizations. I think it’s good that you are learning it’s contrary language.

  2. Wow hy… I REALLY identify with this post. I mean, i identify with a lot of what you say, but fuck. This post was like you crawled inside my head and camped there a while… Creepy. In a good way.

  3. I “get” this, right down in the pit of my stomach, I “get” this. Peace and love to you, my dear, beautiful, anonymous friend.

  4. This is a very powerful post for us. A bit of an unveiling of the curtain,. We know you a little better. And you know yourself more. Yes, you were very wrong. Not only are you fit for love, you are made for the greatest kind. It will happen for you.

    This anger is a very positive response. I believe the emotion is a very good tool for you, a weapon to use for protection, and aggression when needed. You will NEVER hurt like this again. Recognize it, nurture it, use it … but wisely.

    I suspect the old Hy was somewhat stilted emotionally … capable of great love and caring, but missing something. Now you are more complete.

    Mike

    • It’s strange bearing my soul like this. This anger thing, the right to feel my own emotions, has been my lesson in this life.

      I’m by no means a master, but definitely a pupil. I hope I can continue to grow. Talking to TN about all of this last night (I’d written the post yesterday morning) was liberating. To say, “I am so angry at you and here are all the reasons why,” was unbelievable.

      I feel immensely stronger. As always, Mike, thank you for your words. xx Hy

  5. Anger like a river, its course altered by man and dammed, after a hurricane, when it busts through the dams and bursts its banks, carving its way toward the ocean trying to recreate its original path, the way it was intended to travel.
    The river like a woman, having learned what it is to be changed by others, seeks its true course again.

  6. I love this. The situation sucks. (yeah… sucks is an understatement) But damn I love this post. For me there’s a strength in the rage, a power in the harnessing of the anger. I literally feel like I could shoot scorching fire out of my eyes if I chose. Again. I love this.

  7. Anger is like a forest fire… it burns bright and fierce and when left unchecked destroys the innocent. Be angry, embrace it, but be sure to focus it where it belongs.

    After it burns through you, new growth will flourish.

    All my love …

  8. As painful an experience as this has been for you, I think you did need to go through it. You didn’t really understand what was on the line when you give your heart to someone when you got involved with TN. I call it paying the “idiot tax” when I end up in a situation where I unwittingly screw myself over. I make it a point to never pay it twice, however. It seems to me that you have learned a lot from this episode and are going to be a much stronger woman as a result. I’m not worried about you paying the tax again.

  9. It brings to mind the “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”..but that is trite and not entirely true here. I understand this all too well…and there is great advice here about using the new anger to not harm yourself or those you truly love…unleashed and unbridled it can turn to bitterness…..and that would put a prickly coat on your beautiful spirit. Heal and be whole new friend :)

  10. Wow that was powerful, for a moment I thought you were writing about me. It really hit a nerve and almost made me cry…isn’t anger one of the final steps of letting go so that one can move forward? Looks like you are your way, just be careful that it doesn’t change the core good person that you are…and thank you for stirring up some things that I haven’t dealt with that are holding me back from having a fulfilling loving life…I just love when things happen like this, as you help yourself, you end helping people you don’t even know…please continue to be strong.

    • I’m not sure what step it is. Everyone’s different. It certainly is for me and people like me. I’m glad and sad that you can relate. It’s a tough cross to bear. Thank you for your lovely words. xx Hy

  11. This is one of my favourite posts ever. Anger is ultimately about what you’ve been denied, it’s about recognising your needs are important, instead of always giving, of always focusing on what others want. In this sense, it’s empowering, it’s a way of growing into the new you. It might even help you understand that it really wasn’t you, it was them, and forgive yourself.

    Lots of hugs, Hy! You’re special and awesome.

  12. i’m sitting here, blogging and catching up with all my favorite blogs whilst stealing mcds internet, and i come across this post…hy, why did you make me cry in public, at fucking mcdonalds of all places?
    but i did, i cried unabashedly; i know that girl you speak of, all too fucking well…except i am not a good enough writer, much less brave enough, to speak of her, write about her, the way you did…
    thank you for not making me feel as alone as i have been for months now; so lost and alone out here…trying to quiet this nagging little girl that i see in the mirror everyday…
    i hope that you take extra care with your daughter, as i have tried so fervently all these years with my own, to make sure she never feels the way we did (and unfortunately still do, i guess)…if i do nothing else in my life worth shit, that will be enough for me to feel accomplished…
    and hy, i don’t think we are damaged beyond repair, at least i hope not…i think we have to just keep giving ourselves permission to feel it all and let it all out, and eventually, hopefully, let it all go someday…

    • Aw, thanks so much, June. That really warms my heart :) And if I recall, this post resonated with a couple of others, too, so we’re definitely not alone. xx Hy

  13. deep greiving… try the deep greiving process. own that little girl. go back to her. appologize to her. be there for her like no one else was. this is such an amazing healing process.

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