My anger has been buried for way too long. This morning I had a burst during an episode of crying and the blinding rage, was something so new. Something cleaner, something real. Something not hazed with a worry of what it means. Something not restrained out of fear of losing things, or people, or me. In place of this worry that’s usually there, was a confidence and a power and an embracement of this part of me. The blinding motherfucking killing part of me. We all have it. And so I wrote it out. I wrote it and I realised how HEALTHY this is to give the blinding hating part of – the part that just wants to kill everyone – a voice and a space to be here. Mindfully and wholeheartedly here. And this is what I wrote (and hell I think it coulda been a whole lot worse!):
I’m so fucking bored of ‘triggers’. I’m so bored that I hate that word and I rarely write it anymore. I’m bored of the wealth of fucking memories that surface and are here. Yes, to heal, but they’re still here. I’m bored of the grip they have. I’m bored of the past having such a presence in the present. I’m bored of my middle name being ‘trauma’ and my surname being ‘fucked up’.
I’m pissed at the amount of rage I have and I’m pissed at how hard it is for me to feel. I’m pissed at how deeply the weight of my past drags behind and beneath and around. I want to tell it to FUCK OFF. I want to yell and rip and shred and rage at the entire history I’ve had, and start a-fresh, start a-new. I want to yell in the face of the fuckers who wriggled their way into my life and landed in a pit of destruction and despair. I want to yell in their faces and tell them “I’m me now.” I want to burn down their houses and bury them deep. I want to destroy them with acid and pour petroleum on their bones. I want to set them on fire and watch them burn. I want them to burn the way that my childhood did. I want to get revenge, I want to do what all the Buddhist text books say you should: I want to take an eye for an eye. I want to do to them, what they did to me. I want to kill them. I want to kill them, I want to kill them, I want to kill them. I want to kill all the motherfuckers. And I want to embrace and allow for this fury, this blinding rage, this bursting hatred that has festered beneath for WAY too long.
Of course I’d never do such a thing. I’d never even do one of those things. But in order to heal, I know I need to allow myself to feel these things. I need to allow myself to have such fantasies. I need to imagine myself and allow myself to metaphorically burn down each and every house, to burn down all the people too, to pour petroleum on the bodies of the beings that did the shit to me in my life and set them on fire…I need to know that my vitality and my life is worth it. I need to know that I am worthy of destruction, metaphorical destruction. Not real destruction – that is not what I’m talking about. I need to know that the fear that holds me so tight, in therapy and in my other bits of life, of really honouring my anger, my rage and performing such visualisations with my therapist is only that: fear. It’s a little gremlin who knows fuck all. It’s time for that gremlin to get a kick in the nuts too. The past has a grip on my anger, making sure I know it’s dangerous and should never be felt. The amount of trauma that comes with anger is overwhelming, but now it’s my turn to get to know the healthy way to be angry and hating.
In order to heal, this rage needs to be welcomed and be here. Mindfully and wholeheartedly. And that, my friends, is beginning to happen. And my energy comes like nothing I have ever felt before, when I do give it space – the rage space. Talk about HEALTH.
A while ago I did this cartoon as a representative of all the adults in my life that needed me when I was just a kid, and now it’s time for me to tell them all to fuck off. To do what I never did when I was young, and to have this time for me.
I have a five hour shift now, at my new job that I started Friday. Fuck knows how I’m going to do that!