This post has been hard for me to talk myself into writing. I know I’ve written about my depression before, but I’m currently dabbling in depression mixed with heart break. It is quite the cocktail for loneliness and overeating. I don’t want to get into the messy details of said heart break. My brain has gone over it enough for the rest of us.
My rose colored glasses are currently smeared with crimson red, as if I am the next PETA victim. Anger is an emotion that I will openly admit I don’t feel comfortable with. In fact, I joined an anger management group in middle school because I was so worried about my inability to express my anger. Perhaps, this is the reason I give 2nd, 3rd, 5th, chances to those that may not deserve it; I cry when someone yells at me; my heart races when I even think I have upset someone in any way. It’s funny because as I write this, I think of all my posts I have about how we, as a society, need to sit in our feelings. Yet, when I would say feelings I meant sadness. Sadness I feel comfortable with. Sadness is a close friend of mine.
I have not shown the same appreciation for anger. Anger, a natural emotion, has somehow become my enemy. The Nicholas Cage of emotions if you will. I need to learn how to sit with my anger and then I might be able to move on from it. Even if we don’t think we are expressing our feelings, they come out in other ways.
My anger tends to come out, inwards: “You deserve this. You did something wrong. Look at all the mistakes you have made. You are gross and you don’t treat your body well. No wonder nobody likes you. Your skin is disgusting. You shouldn’t even bother getting up today.”
This list could go on and on and on. This horrible, horrible list. “Would you say these things to your friends?” No, I reply. “Why do you feel okay saying them to yourself?” Because I can. I can be so angry at myself and beat myself up and at the end of the day the only person I hurt is me. I don’t hurt anyone else which feels that safest to me.
It isn’t though. It isn’t safe to have these thoughts. These thoughts are harmful to us as a society. Anger is okay; anger displaced is dangerous. I need to find a way to take my anger out, without harm to others or myself. I know what these things are, but then depression comes swooping in making it hard to move.
What I really need is to get back into running. It was the one space I could feel the anger drip away. Not just the anger, the sadness too. I felt safe when I was running. I also need to get back into writing, starting with this post. Blogging is the place where I feel like I can sit with my emotions and not run from them, but face them. I can look my anger in the eye and tell it to give me a hug because that is exactly what it needs. I need to type it again: Anger is okay.
So, to honor my anger, I would like to write a letter based off the latest trending teen rom-com, coming-of-age movie: To all the boys I’ve loved before (but with a twist).
To all the things I’ve loathed before:
I need to express how absolutely pissed off I am. I am pissed off to the point of wanting to throw glass plates at brick walls. The red that I am seeing is allowed. I don’t want to see rose color all the time [unless it is rosé, okurr]. I also don’t want to see red all the time. So, let me just get these specifics off my chest:
ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW? I KNOW I DESERVE BETTER THAN THIS. WE ALL DESERVE BETTER THAN THIS. F*** OFF. I AM SO SICK OF THIS BULL. I CAN’T.
I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME?!
PLEASE STOP SINGING. YOU MAKE MY EARS BLEED.
IF Y’ALL DON’T PULL YOUR HEADS OUT OF YOUR BUTTS I AM GOING TO CALL THE DOCTOR SO SHE CAN SURGICALLY REMOVE THEM.
I HAVE HAD IT WITH THESE MOTHERF****IN’ SNAKES ON THIS MOTHERF****IN’ PLANE.
Okay, that last one wasn’t actually something I am feeling, but Samuel L. Jackson’s anger is equivalent to mine, so I felt it necessary to include for reference.
As I wrote each one of those, I yelled them (hence the caps lock). And I could go on, but honestly the release I feel right now is good. The red is starting to fade and my head is starting to clear. This too shall pass.
I don’t forgive everything just yet, but I am starting to feel that I can and that is all I can ask.
With rage and peace,
P.S. I know the things that I have loathed, will likely not see this letter, but I don’t need my anger to be received by anyone or anything to let it go. This is what I am learning.