Anger – that emotion elicits more fear in me than almost anything else in the world. Showing it to others terrifies me. Even admitting it to myself is a struggle.
Letting someone know that I am angry – perhaps even furious – with them…that is that most horrifying of all.
Bottled up angry has welled up inside me for years. Carrying it around only makes me bitter and hardened. Yet, I am at a loss of how to deal with this intense emotion.
Many of the people who hurt me have no idea that they did so or of the impact that they made. The man who belittled me for sending him a friend request on Facebook when I was struggling to understand the social norms of that site, the girls in high school who smirked at everything I said and the outfits that I wore, the boys who teased me with fake flirtation and then crude jokes – none of them understand the scars that are left on my heart and seared into my brain.
How do I confront them? Doing so seems trivial and reactive. And what would their response be? Likely, they would answer with surprise and a touch of disdain or disbelief that would only harm me more.
So I go back to the beginning, not knowing how to heal. These memories can be worked through in therapy, and I can try to forgive those who injured me. Yet, releasing the memories is something that I have never been able to accomplish.
That brings up another situation – what if the person that I am angry at is still in my life? What should my response be then?
Every time that I look at them, frustration builds up until I want to scream. Pain, deep-rooted pain that probably is not all because of them, surges through me. My attempts to reach out in kindness or be a bright light only seem to make them close me off more. That would not even be so hard, but they still manage to prick at my heart with a strangely kind remark or biting comment with a quick look in my direction.
Well, that is how I feel was some people I am angry at right now. When I read my words, they seem so cruel and unkind. This angry is not a beautiful or happy thing. As hard as I try, I cannot force myself to have graceful, sweet anger. There apparently is no such thing, or I am just not a good enough person to achieve it.
This is a debate that I believe many people have: to confront others about their feelings or remain silent. For years, I have opted for keeping my mouth shut. Yet, the thread that binds my lips together is beginning to fray as it is softened by the tears that no one sees.