Thursday, June 19, 2014

Anger 1

I want to be able to say "Fuck You" again.  I'm not allowed to, for the sake of having any peace in my life.  It's a choice I've made, no one is holding me to this.  I feel stuck in my own choice, though.  

Once my prickly hairs have been soothed and the situation that made me upset is gone, I don't ever regret the words I said anymore.  Because I didn't say anything too foolish or angry.  

But those moments of pure red heat and fire in my eyes....I wish I could have some kind of better outlet than to stuff my feelings into my gut and bite on my lips.  My body shakes and my breathing becomes so shallow in those moments. Even though I want to be calm and let certain situations roll off my back, my body writhes and wriggles in anguish for how ever long it takes to calm down.  

I was never able to stand up to my dad when I was little.  I have always been curious, questioning and a little rebellious.  I've always wanted to question authority...especially if that authority was oppressive in any way.  I knew that my dad made my mom feel like she was inferior from the day I could remember stuff.  I never thought it was fair how their relationship panned out.  They never divorced, even though as an adult I would ask my mom questions that were meant to lead her to independence.  She didn't want to be alone and my dad had made sure my mom had zero self esteem.  

My mom used to stuff her anger into her gut and bite on her lips.  Then, she would stuff tons of sugar into her mouth to try to feel better.  Her pancreas couldn't take all the stress and sugar, so it turned on her and took her away from me.  Sigh.  I have a hard time not being angry with the person who made her life a living fucking hell: my dad.  

I really want to tell him to fuck off.  I really want to tell him how I feel.  But, what would become of us?  We probably wouldn't speak to each other ever again.  I'm not even sure if I would really care from where I'm at right now.  I just don't want to deal withy the trauma of having my dad try to justify any of what he did to my mom.  He never supported her, even though she was changing peoples lives, busting her ass, worked 3 jobs, and still making him dinner.  All he cared about was the fact that she didn't get off of work at a decent enough hour so she could feed him before 10pm.  What. The. Fuck.  My dad still begrudges that he had to do his own laundry and put up with a messy house because my mom was too fucking busy working her ass off to do household shit.

See.  This is where the rage comes from.  Not the issue that I thought I was mad about before I started writing this.  But, THIS. 

I will still try to forgive, somehow....because my body deserves peace.  Not for any one else.  For me.

No comments: