I write. I've filled a myriad of one-subject notebooks, journaling about being depressed, being manic, being lonely, being afraid. I've taken some of this frenzied journaling out of the dark and imposed it on a mostly bored public.
But I can't write when I'm angry. Not publicly. Not privately. Not at all.
Actually, I can write but all that comes out is, "OH MY GOD WHAT IS THIS I CAN'T EVEN GAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!11111!!!!!"
Seriously, my brain stutters.
The thing is, the thing that I still struggle with after too many years of therapy is that I don't allow myself to feel angry. What I allow myself to feel is:
I'm angry!
Crap! I can't be angry!
I have nothing to be angry about. EVER.
Because people who are angry are not happy.
And I can't let people know I'm not happy.
I might hurt their feelings.
They might think less of me.
Because I'm not happy.
And I'm supposed to be happy. ALWAYS.
And now my therapist is a millionaire.
So I'll never be able to send my kids to college.
You're on your own, kids!
And don't get me wrong, I know. I know it's unrealistic to expect myself to be happy all the time. That it's ok to feel angry, every one feels angry sometimes. No one expects me to be happy all the time, just as I don't expect others to be happy all the time. That in expecting myself to always be happy, I set the bar for myself so impossibly high that Superwoman would never reach it.
But all of that logic doesn't stop me from hurling myself back down that shame-spiral time and time again.
FYI: I'm not particularly angry about anything. I just wanted to explore my hang-ups about being angry while I'm in a relatively stable state of mind. And you get to read it! Lucky you?
Ok, fine, I'll get angry about something. Growing up I ate Jello Pudding-Pops all summer long, and then they stopped making them. Now they make them again, but they're not the same. If the same thing happens to Nacho Cheese Doritos and Clue (board game AND movie) I'm going back and getting a new childhood.
Bastards.
