I’m in a perpetual state of anger. This isn’t strictly accurate but the feeling is persistent. It’s always been a struggle for me as a childhood abuse survivor. But the last four plus years have made the origins of the anger hard to pin down. Is it an article I just read? Was it a comment I heard? Am I annoyed by something from work? Is it that I’ve been in pain all day? Is it that my mom’s alive and I can’t talk to her? Another great life mystery.
The next question is what do I do with this anger. What’s it’s use? Is it personal or political? How do I spend it, dispel it, or relieve it? Is writing, talking, or walking the dog a good plan?
I wish we learned at a young age how to appropriately address anger. Call it “AAA” for addressing anger appropriately. If we were to teach children this, might they call us into account for our bad behavior? I could only hope. This leads me back to my own problem. What am I angry about and what am I going to do about it? Depending on the answer, I can give money to a cause, talk to my partner, dance to music, or if the season is right, watch baseball. Watching baseball doesn’t dispel anger but it gives me time to cogitate on how I want to treat myself.
How I want to treat myself is another way to think about dealing with my anger. The way I treat myself inevitably affects the way I treat others. One night this week, I couldn’t sleep until 3:30 in the morning. When I woke up at 8:30, I knew I pretty much hated everybody. I didn’t think that was a good state of mind to go to work. I called in sick. Calling in sick is a part of self care which led me to a lack of hatred later in the day. I don’t know what’s driving me tonight. I almost don’t want to know.
I saw on Facebook somebody who genuinely loves their aging mother, hangs with her, and cares for her. It might have made me angry that I don’t have that. My mother is alive and self sufficient 55 miles away. She might as well be on Pluto. She’s inaccessible to me. She can’t be civil or kind except in the space limiting confines of a birthday card. It is an unending loss. She’s alive unlike the mothers and fathers of so many people I know. There’s not much hope for change here. It’s been over 30 years since we had more than a card relationship. Even that has been rocky at times.
What a tragic loss. What a primal loss. I could drive there and see her right now except that I won’t. The person who answered the door when I knocked would become mean after the first 30 seconds of surprise. It breaks my heart to have her close but unsafe for my mental health. It’s a burden that does not go away. It brings tears to my eyes—always.
It’s a simple thing reading someone’s joyful Facebook post. Yet, it triggers this whole response of anger, reassessment, and grief. Had someone taught my mother how to address anger appropriately, we might have been in a whole ‘nother place. It’s not to be. Now, I’ve gone through my process tonight. Next, I can walk the dog, read a book, or do the dishes to music. I’ve got options. That maybe the biggest thing I’ve learned. I don’t have to just stay in one place, frozen, because I’m angry.
Joceile
3.18.21
[Abstract picture of confusion. 2019]
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