Jun 18, 2007 20:27
i struggle with rage in my recovery. it haunts me. it nips at my heels like evil, disembodied spirits across moonlit, dewy fields; it climbs into my mind like a murderer through an open window and wrings my brainstem in it's calloused claws. someone once wrote that depression is anger turned inward on oneself, and i have been depressed for much of my life. like little stones i have swallowed my anger and swallowed my anger again and again until my stomach was elephantine, sagging and splitting at the seams. the pale scores across my ass and hips and thighs and breasts bear witness to every stretch i was forced to make to be big enough for all this anger. and now i have been lanced through and am bleeding it. it bursts from my belly covered in gore and skitters menacingly in all directions like little crabs. i was never depressed. i was angry.
how dare you treat me as "lesser than"?
how dare you insinuate that i am worthless?
how dare you use me like a non-entity?
how dare you try to make me feel bad for just being me?
oppressed and oppressed and in my family we don't do anger. i ate and didn't eat, i did drugs and cut and cried instead. i stayed in my room, alone with all that anger. it pulled a sack down over my head and smothered me.
it's free now, and flits about me like a whirlwind of leathery bats.
like every other phase of my recovery, i know it will pass. but in the meantime it makes me feel like a horrible person.