On Anger

I’m angry.

Not your typical argument with your spouse anger or the usual someone cut you off in traffic anger.

I’m volcano explosion see red kill someone angry. I’m full of more rage than a balloon stretched tight ready to burst is full of helium. I’m heavy metal screaming angry.

The problem is, I can’t feel it. I’ve shoved it down with denial, stuffed it even deeper with drugs, buried it with years of self-destructive behavior, tossed in some shovels full of dissociation and emotional detachment then planted a stone with the word happy scratched into it and went on with my life.

The problem with buried anger is that, as Dr. William DeFoore says in his book ‘Anger, Deal With it, Heal With it, Stop it From Killing You’, “…Buried anger always claims a victim, and the victim is often the person it’s buried in.”

In my case, anger began showing up in different ways. Exciting things were happening. I was free – creating art, writing, loving and being loved by a wonderful man.  I’d moved from the States to a beautiful village in South Africa with purple mountains, a rocky shoreline, penguins and baboons.  I felt that all the terrible things that had happened in my life were in the past, and I was looking forward.

But I wasn’t happy. The dark wet cloak of depression began to surround me and I didn’t understand why. My life was so good. It didn’t make sense.

Then fear started sneaking in…health fears, anxiety issues.

Not long after that I went back to the States on holiday.

And while I was there, as so often happens when you are around your family of origin, the past came to visit me. It came in the form of old photographs – there he was…my mother’s ex-boyfriend, the one who sexually abused me – for years. And there in another photo was my oldest half-sister, whose boyfriend at the time raped me. I must have only been 9 or 10-years-old then.

Why, I wondered as I looked at these old sepia photos, did I never tell anyone? Why wasn’t anyone there to protect me? How could these things have happened? And why did they get to live their lives free while I had to live with a lifetime of consequences from what they did?

I decided that I wanted to try to find my abusers (which will be a story for another post).  However, the results of my search made me realize with a needle sharp clarity that I am seriously angry. I am full of rage.

And it made me scared.

“Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.”  Often attributed to Mark Twain, however it perhaps was written by Lucius Annaeus Seneca.

I’ve read enough to know that stuffed anger can turn into depression, anxiety issues and more. It can turn into life threatening illnesses and diseases.

In his article ‘Emotional Suppression Causes Serious Damage to Bodies, Minds and Spirits‘ Michael Sky says “Life spans shorten and creative potential declines. Sickness, disease, and general unhappiness all take a larger-than-necessary role in the human drama.”

I know now that the anger is there. I’m afraid to open that box. But I want to be well.

I have committed to therapy and to releasing this anger in a constructive way. I will let you know the processes my therapist and I use and how I am doing as I go along.

I spoke to my sister this morning. She knows about the abuse and she is angry too. I specifically remember a time when my mom’s boyfriend came into my bedroom and my little sister, in the next room began jumping up and down on her bed. She knew he was in my room and was trying her best to protect me.  She has the old photographs and asked what I thought about burning them. I think it’s a great idea. She’s going to send me copies and we are going to burn them on the same day.

I don’t want to give any more power than I already have to people who have hurt me.

I want to be well. And I want to be happy.

And as my beautiful friend Kathleen reminded me…

SHOUT, SHOUT, LET IT ALL OUT!!!!