Monthly Archives: August 2016

The Waiting Place for Anger

A week or more ago I received (not for the first time, of course) a profusely codependent message from my mother. She was ‘anticipating’ my trip home this week and was saying things like, “Since you said you were coming I have been “like a little girl” excited that your coming and hoping with all my heart that we will have “some time together alone (now that I have a place), to re-get to know each other as two adults…”

Messages like these really, really affect me… They tear me in a few different directions at the same time, but after the moments and hours pass I have left with feelings of anger and assault. And then feelings of guilt for feeling so negatively. And then feelings of anger on top of the guilt for having voices in my head (my mother’s) that make me feel guilty for feeling angry.

It’s taken me a long time to recognize and trace these processes. And a long, long time to be able to stand back in a way that I can feel that there is life outside of that emotional travesty of a negative loop.

Last week I observed myself get angry, and for one of the first times in my life I knew that I needed to outlet the anger that came up. I didn’t do it right away…I still haven’t, maybe because the self-awareness I had was shock enough for the time-being. It was celebration time for the sole reason that a) I knew how I felt b) and I knew that I was supposed to and could express or outlet the anger with the knowledge that I was not a tit or weak, or mean, or selfish, or stupid, or inconsiderate, or crazy for doing so…

I tried to imagine my anger expression…what I would sound like, look like…and what the relief would feel like. And I’ve been waiting days for myself to outlet. Well, here’s some…

Being on the receiving end of my mother’s passive aggressive efforts to communicate with me feels like a punishment for something. It feels excruciatingly frustrating because…maybe because I feel backed into a corner. Like I feel like I have to do or say or act like something that makes me absolutely sick and like I am going to lash out in some explosive rage at any moment. The message ‘traps’ me…The message is insulting, and assaulting, and manipulative, and fucking psychotic. What makes me so angry too is everything that I understand about the message that I didn’t before. I see how I acted the way she is acting. I see the depth and history and ubiquitousness of the craziness…

I want to fucking swear my ass off, and be loud and look angry and move angrily and put all of that out there!!!! GGggggrrrrrrrUUHhhhhh!! You know what?!

That is completely normal and completely human. That is the way, when you receive shit energy, to let it out, especially if you don’t know other ways to deal with negative vibrations… I don’t want to let it out at or on anyone. It is absolutely useless, futile, ridiculous to let it out at my mother…because she is like a brick wall…or a mirage…one or the other. My words and feelings don’t compute, or just pass right through as though she doesn’t see hear, or feel anything.

Satisfaction is the release. And release is my prerogative. Fuck it. I release. And I get used to what that means.

FuckitLand. I good place to be when I realize that my feelings are mine, and I can do what I like with them, expecially since I know that my feelings are mine to do something with, and especially since I know that I don’t and haven’t ever wanted to hurt others with them like others have hurt me with theirs.

There is a place for my feelings. It is here. And then it is gone.

 

I Can Feel Everything…

Hi. Blog entries are supposed to be planned out and polished and cater to the reader, right? Well, I am still bucking that…after almost 4 years of writing on this particular page my desire to plan it and review it, and make it ‘accessible’ or pretty or attractive or entertaining feels like a real joke to me. What the hell would you read this for? If I tried to make it into something that was about you and not me?!

This is about me–all about me. Just like we learn when we go through some serious shifts or challenges or traumas in our lives, we eventually learn that our involvement, our experience, our choices, our emotions…They were and are all us, and only us.

I continue to write in this blog, kind of indulgently it feels like, in the way that I do because I myself, not necessarily you are anyone else, have not accepted that I exist, that I exist to experience and express and exchange and earn and enjoy and push away and make a mark.

I’ve been lost since my childhood in minimizing, even disappearing myself. Dying to get out there, dying for attention, dying to be seen and heard and to feel valued through what I have and give of myself. But I am still learning to indulge in those things. Still learning what that means. I am 43 and every day I learn such mundane little things about how one ‘lives’ in the world. How to take up space. How to make noise. How to react (or not) around others all the time. I have been caught, like in a video game, however, like on level 7 or something. I just can not get past an obstacle… Whatever fear or pattern or decision or presumption I have about what will happen if I live, if I be seen, if I take something that I need, that I want, that I enjoy…If I don’t act like I am so unworthy of something.

I think it feels like, as if I was in a video game, like I am in a room with no doors. Challenges or tests pop up but I think they may mainly be in my head, and I finally know that I am confined in a room (I lived before like I didn’t know that), but I am at a loss as to what to do in a closed box with not openings (that I can see)… What does one do in that situation. Where you are trapping yourself, you realize finally that you are the one who is trapping yourself, and even in the most ‘present of minds’ you can, can’t for the life of you figure out what the key is to getting out of here.