I had to step out of group for a minute tonight and just pace and rage and boil. We were talking about how most rape victims and abuse victims have problems with people touching them, and are incapable of sex. And I started thinking about how I went in the opposite direction, and became a slutty McSlutslut, and how that made me weird and different, even in a room full of people that are weird and different. And I got angry at the situation that did this to me, and I got angry at myself for not EVER being a normal person, and I got angry at myself for choosing that kind of destructive behavior in response to a shitty situation, and I got angry at myself for being so fucking angry all the time. The co-facilitator tried to calm me down, by asking me if my anger was an animal, what it would be. I said a panther, because it was the first thing that came to my head, and she said that was good. I wonder what an incorrect response would be. Is there someone out there who has a penguin as their rage animal? An angry little cottontail rabbit? A mean and vengeful pigeon that shits on people? Whatever. She told me to think of that panther the next time I get angry, but I have no idea how that will be helpful in any way at all. When I'm angry, I don't have any coherent thoughts, and I can't imagine how thinking of a large black jungle cat will make that better, but I said I'd try it anyhow. Sometimes I feel like the field of psychology is a bunch of hippy mumbo jumbo, but like I said back in my drug days, I'll try anything once. Except heroin, but that's mostly because I hate needles.
Off-topic again. Sorry. My therapist seems to have more realistic methods to cope with the rage, other than connecting with my spirit animal. She suggested Krav Maga, which I'm going to look into. She also said it seemed like most of my anger is stored in my hands and arms, which, while being kind of mumbo-y, is probably true. She also suggested I do some exercises at the gym which involve my arms, because I only really work on my lower half. However I do it, I need to get some of this aggression out. I have to stop walking into a room and immediately planning my escape, I have to stop being constantly psyched up for a fight, I have to stop dressing in such a manner where I know I can fight. Little unhealthy me. My core is rotten.
I wanted to put something else at the end of this, but it turns out this is the last piece I had on Facebook, and as I said in my first post, that was really the whole point of this blog. Which means that I had nothing more relevant to put here, and also means that from here on out, everything will be brand-spanking new. Or really really old, but I'm going to shy away from those, because they all kind of suck. I guess I can make the stretch that I talk about being angry and crazy in this piece, but really I'm just talking about a boy. Which is number one on my list of reasons why my writing sucks, immediately followed by lack of content, too much metaphor, overt sexuality, over-dramatization, and dumb in-jokes. If I make fun of me first, it takes all your power away! I win!
Braveheart
My body is a little space heater, with no one to warm. Can I put my body next to yours? You elusive haunting motherfucker.
My minds flits past you, (not even the curve of your mouth, the poetry of your jolted movement, the strange sadness hidden in your eyes, your velvet rimmed song; just your name) and my chest caves in, instantly killing the invalid yellow canary that lay inside. Tingling fingertips stretch towards you, only to find you maddeningly out of reach, and the anger rises. I avoid all mention of you, while at the same time I steer my thoughts, my car, my legs towards you. The fuse to my sanity, one beam of light glinting off your curls and it sets off the train until my mental stability explodes. All sense of reality and sanity are lost, I've become a villain in my own world.
I must have you, or you must be destroyed.
My body is a little space heater, with no one to warm. Can I put my body next to yours? You elusive haunting motherfucker.
My minds flits past you, (not even the curve of your mouth, the poetry of your jolted movement, the strange sadness hidden in your eyes, your velvet rimmed song; just your name) and my chest caves in, instantly killing the invalid yellow canary that lay inside. Tingling fingertips stretch towards you, only to find you maddeningly out of reach, and the anger rises. I avoid all mention of you, while at the same time I steer my thoughts, my car, my legs towards you. The fuse to my sanity, one beam of light glinting off your curls and it sets off the train until my mental stability explodes. All sense of reality and sanity are lost, I've become a villain in my own world.
I must have you, or you must be destroyed.
Fun Fact: The ladies in my rape group did not seem to like my use of the term "Slutty McSlutSlut". Apparently they didn't realize the Tosh truth that rape jokes are ALWAYS AND FOREVER funny.
ReplyDeleteOK, it's a sockpuppet journal I'm using to post, but I'm concerned about the privacy of the comment I'm making, so um bear with me I guess? And this goes back a couple blog entries, I know, but it was linked in the most recent one so fair game, right?
ReplyDeleteI totally get what it's like walking around with a shitpot of rage every day. And I mean the kind that you scare yourself with, the kind you keep bottled up because you know EXACTLY what you'd do if you let it out at the people you're angry with.
Backstory. I was working for my uncle in NY. I was promised half the company for completing that project of his. It took 3 years and he was paying me next to nothing. I went broke and my house went into foreclosure. Towards the end I asked to just go on straight wages because of that. Instead he took my work and locked me out of the company. I lost my house and had to move back to San Diego. My mom's side of the family sided with him. My aunt is hosting my stolen work.
Back in San Diego, I'm working for my brother and putting up with this asshole of a business partner. I quit because tis guy is abusive, can't find other work, and go back there again. While I'm there, there's a workplace accident. My right bicep is fucked up. The company (illegally) doesn't have workman's comp. My parents side with my brother, and make me say it was not a workplace accident.
So, um, yeah. I'd been going around with enough of a rageboner that it helped end my relationship, because I'm spending far more time pissed off than being loving. I'm sure that with the right provocation I could have snapped. And it's not random people. It's knowing EXACTLY who I want to hurt and why that scares me. That if I ran into my uncle randomly, I would beat him until he couldn't stand or walk or talk. Whether I could control that. Whether I would WANT to control that.
And that isn't any way to live. It was losing my relationship that snapped me out of it, that I was hyperfocusing on being pissed off all the time and things were never going to get better until I snapped myself out of it. Like, living for anger isn't really living for anything except self-destruction, and in this case hoping to take a few of them with me in the blast.
Instead, it's like, OK, I'm better that all that shit, I'm better than what's been done to me, and every bit of anger I pour into it is giving over more control to the situation and what's been done, than actually moving forward.
Because part of it is, like with my parents and their part in it, I'm so mad I don't even know what to say or how to just ambush them with how I feel about the whole thing. Or whether they'd accept that I'm angry or not. But I think I'm going to write some letters to these people and say the stuff I need to say, and go public with it if need be.
I mean the more I look at it, the more I realize that I need to do this for ME, and not give a shit what the people who've hurt me think. They don't have to accept the anger, and may look away, but at least my relationships with them will no longer be based on covering something up.
Because anger, I think, like good, real honest anger, is just something saying that shit isn't right and something needs to get done. Rage, on the other hand, is bottling up all that anger, and feeling like there's nothing that can be done about things. I mean, with the whole damn situation, I don't know what CAN get done. For me, it means saying that I'm not OK where I am, and I need to get the fuck out of the situation.
And don't put it on yourself too much. You deserve to give yourself some goddamn slack because stuff never gets better otherwise.
And sorry if I came off as preachy or, god forbid, like an Oprah life class or something, because geez. It's just like OK, you had me thinking about anger for awhile, and these were my thoughts on it :)
Darling dearest,
DeleteI am so sorry for all of the fuckups of other people. You and I have a very understandable rage, at the very least. I totally understand the way your rage has ripped gaping holes in your personal life. It's done the same to mine. Apparently, according to a spy I had at the party, someone referred to me last night as "that girl in band that hated everyone". With the response, "ohhh, her!". We talk a lot about this in my group, and the facilitator talked about how rage was the dissociative state of anger, anger being normal, and rage being an out of body kind of escalation of that. Which is weird, because I usually skip right over the anger and go straight for the blinding hot rage. And honestly, your situation parallels mine in a lot of ways. Most of the rage I get is from situations where I think, "I hate this, how can I get the fuck out." I hope you have people you can talk to about all of this. I bottled mine up for years, and it ended up eating holes in me. You can always talk to me about it, iff'n you want.
And dear god, don't feel like I think you're being preachy at all. Have you read my blog? It's a mess. Maybe I NEED an Oprah life class. I tried to write something new last night, at the behest of a good friend, and the last line was, "I gave him a high-five for his dick". Me = god-dmaned hack.
<3
hahahahahah OK, my love, I think that "I gave him a high-five for his dick" is an awesome line. At the very least, it has more sincerity than things that get bandied around on facebook that have the word "forever" in them. But of course, I've traded off lines with friends like "As a card-carrying boner doner I gotta tell ya" so maybe I'm not the best one to ask.
DeleteAnd thank you for understanding!!! I mean, I've talked to a few friends about this, kind of in that way where I either sugar-coat it a bit, or grit my teeth and hope they don't think I'm some kind of monster because of it. Er, probably both of those things at the same time really. I talked to my ex about ALL of it; she listened, bless her, but at the same time she didn't really know what to do with it. And agreed, after reading your thoughts on everything it felt to me like we had parallel situations, which is why I decided to talk to you about it. It seemed like it's a chance to talk with someone else who GETS what this feels like and knows all the shit that goes along with it, and I'm sorry you're carrying all this around too. I appreciate it, and you can talk to me anytime as well. <3
And you know, I think I skip the anger part too and go straight into suppressing rage. Like, my situation is so godddamned cliche it's sad, my dad had the ragemonster and I was his 2nd favorite kid, plus grew up as a chubby weird kid in San Diego where being overweight entitles EVERYONE to comment. I learned to repress anger early and often, go on pretending it's all right, but then go on to wonder in adulthood why I'm holding back so much rage all the time. And because I'm a fucking nerd, I'm actually going to tie this in to Avengers and say "that's my secret, Captain...I'm always angry." I think going directly to rage is just lifting the lid off the pot that's already been boiling for a long damned time.
Especially when I'm thrown back into the situations that caused the anger, and I'm not feeling bold enough to confront what's happening/what happened. I mean, you also seem like me in the sense of you don't want to just give in to it or let it run your life anymore, which for me starts with getting the fuck out of the situation by any means necessary.
Because this whole thing seems to be about OK, I may not be sane, but I'm also not a monster. It's important to keep telling yourself that. This is just the situation, and probably anybody would feel similar if they were in it.
Oh and I think mood swings are the key to creativity. If you're out of serious writing, try something funny, and vice versa. Like an Ode To Steve Perry or something. "Even though the rest of Journey hates you, Steve" and just go from there. And again, thanks for listening <3
Yeah, one of the biggest hurdles for me as always been thinking of myself as some crazy rage monster. My therapist actually had to sit me down recently and say "You are not crazy". Which was bizarre, as every other therapist I've ever seen has tried to medicate me or lock me up. It's strange, because for the first time in my adult life I can look at my possibilities in life as a not crazy person.
DeleteAnd thanks, maybe I WILL post my absurdities. I'm sure people are getting sick of my super serial posts anyway.
Oh no, perish the thought that I'm sick of anything you post. Although fuck yeah, bring on the absurdities :)
DeleteAnd I've been totally afraid of going to therapists (I mean, I also can't afford 'em) for fear of getting medicated or locked up. But yeah, I think there is a HUGE difference between "crazy" and "had to deal with an inordinate amount of shit". And that is totally good to hear about the possibilities, because you are fucking awesome and deserve some damn happiness.