flying fists of rage
Flying fists of rage*
I find myself going back to the old anger, the old fists of rage persona. I'm calmer about it this time, and able to control my anger a bit more, but I realized something. No matter how much modern medicine can do for your cross-wired brain, no matter how much Paxil and therapy you can shove down your throat and brain, the world will still make you hate it. The world will still suck great big, fat balls.
It's a myriad of things that are getting to me these days. It's the hypocrisy of our president. The endless war that seems to have no point anymore. The abuse of power so rampant across the globe. Arafat. Saddam. Ann Coulter.
I should not take these things personally, but I do. It's interesting, because if someone calls me a bitch or their dog shits on my lawn or someone rams a shopping cart into my car, I do not take personally. I get pissed, but I don't bring the anger into my heart.
Things happen around the world, things like some kid starving to death 3,000 miles away from me, a person being opressed in a country seemingly a billion miles from here, someone being beaten by people who were meant to protect him, I take those things personally. I don't consider an insensitive person who won't pick up after their dog an affront to my personal beliefs. But abuse a kid, start a war, dress your babies up as suicide bombers and you've caused me heartache. I digest the anger and store it in my heart and let it fester until I want to scream so loud I break windows on every contintent.
Then there are things a bit closer to home, a bit more personal. You can shit on my lawn, but don't shit on me. I get angry when people pass judgment on me, when they bitch because I am not living thier lifestyle or their standards. I get angry when people think they have some kind of ownership over my personal life, that they can try to direct me and berate me and steer me in the direction they would rather see me go in. And don't give me that "we have your best interests at heart" line. It's not that at all. It's that there are people who think that their way of life, their standards and reasons and actions are the epitome of what the great American life is all about and I should not stray from the path they set before me.
I get angry at people who look at me sideways because I've decided to stray from that path. I get angry that they can't accept the fact that for every person on the face of the earth, there are that many different ways to find happiness. I get angry because they say they accept me for who I am but then question why I chose to be that person.
I'm angry that decisions in my past still haunt me. I'm angry because there are people who cannot and will not let things go and insist on infusing me with their anger just when I was about to let it all dissapate.
I am angry at myself for letting people make me feel this way. The only way you let people make you feel angry or small or insignificant or shamed or pathetic is if you give them permission to do so. You give permission by accepting those feelings as your own when they are not.
If I learned anything from therapy it was to not let other people's issues become yours. I forget that lesson sometimes and take everyone's issues with me and the world and the universe and shape them into a fist and punch myself in the heart with it.
I wrote this on June 10 of last year:
I am through apologizing for who I am. I am through defending my life and my decisions. If it doesn't affect you, then shut up. You have no right to judge me, no right to tell me how to act, how to talk, how to dress, how to behave. You have no right to question my choices and belittle me for them. My life is fine the way it is. I am probably a lot happier than you. Why? Because I followed my heart and my sensibilities. I didn't let other people dictate to me what path to follow. I made every decision the past few years with only myself and my children in mind. Not you. Not my family. Not my friends. Not the world at large. I live with my choices every day, and I have yet to regret any of them. What I do in the privacy of my home, what I do with my days and nights, and who I spend them with are of no importance to you. The car I drive, the clothes I wear, the job I go to, the books I read, the music I listen to, the movies I see, the friends I have, the people I love...they are not open to interjection by you. They are not yours to discuss and dissect as if you have some ownership over me. Concern yourself with your own life. Are you happy? Are you content? Do you like yourself? Do you consider yourself a good person? I can say yes to all those things. Can you?
I have to remember those words. I have to live by them every day.
But what do I do when the things that make me angry are things I cannot control? Where do I put my feelings towards Ashcroft and Arafat and child abusers and water polluters and crazed journalists and corporate cheaters? I cannot take this rage I feel and put it in my heart any longer because it makes me drive like a madwoman and give the finger to little old ladies and kick puppies. It makes me dream every night of war and famine and disease and ugly racism. Last night I dreamed that Arafat was in my living room and wouldn't leave. He smelled really bad.
I want to purge myself of all my bad feelings but instead I embrace them. In a way I suppose that is a good thing. To deny my feelings or push them aside would end up in feeling nothing. Trust me, feeling nothing is a kind of emptiness I never want to know again.
I just wish I knew what to do with all this besides puke it all out here in way too many words every day. I wish I knew how to stop clenching my teeth. I wish I knew how to shut up when the subject of politics or religion comes up, just walk away and not start something that never seems to get finished.
And I wish that Eminem song wasn't so damn catchy.
Cause we need a little controversy. Yeah.
*sorry about the length. I woke up feeling fiesty and wordy today. But if you read this far, you know that already.