a Scarlet D

Today is my 2-year anniversary of a suicide attempt. I was going to write about that, but it’s been a quite a day, and my therapist loved this anger piece so much that I’m just posting that instead.

When I feel anger it’s like a fire has been suddenly lit.  It simultaneously spreads from my head and my chest to envelop my whole being.  It makes me irrational.  It makes me want to direct that fire somewhere.  It can come out of my mouth, through an arm and fist, or simply through words I might not otherwise use against someone.

I was told I can’t use my voice.  So I close my mouth and swallow the burning air.  The anger doesn’t go away.  When it dissipates it’s really just seething into me.  Flattening out the last ire I placed there so the new one can fit.  Making the pile of unreleased pain even denser.

I was told I can’t slam doors.  I flail, not having something to slam.  It feels like I’m being tossed around the room looking for something else that’s been detached from its base and thrown to and fro like a puppet.  I end up in a chair, feeling the angry marionette strings tangle and crumple into a ball.  I will eat that ball and let the strings and wires sit in my stomach and make it hurt.

I was told I can’t break things.  My arms want something they can smash against a wall or snap over my knee.  Instead, they push me off my chair, stand up and pace.  The movement poorly redirected finds its way back to me, and I use those ingredients and make anxiety.  The remaining anger and the anxiety make me feel like I’m in a cage, angry at the people who put me there.  Even if it’s me.

Now I’m told to express my anger.  The “can’t”’s still apply.  My screen tells me I should go for a run.  Break something, but not the thing you want.  Sing, or dance.  But there’s no music in the anger I feel.  No control over what’s being broken, and surely no foresight to put on my running shoes.

So now I’m pushing the anger down deep inside, but also feeling I’m not doing what I’m supposed to when the fire lights.  I’m wrong again another way.  Eventually something is likely to break.  I hope it doesn’t piss me off.