Depression is anger turned inwards. And sometimes, during high levels of stress or a flip of an internal switch or an unsuspecting trigger, that anger turns back out. And out comes anger. And out comes everything bottled up.
Keep in mind, anger can be healthy. There is such thing as Justified Anger. It is a natural human emotion, just like sadness and depression. It proves one is alive. We are not Xanax zombies. There are ups and downs in life.
And, i’m not talking about self-harm, which is a form (for me, anyway) of depression visible on the outside. My self-harm, that I’ve discussed extensively, has and likely always will be cutting. However, I can’t say I’m always depressed when I cut. Often, I’m more anxiety-ridden. Emotionally overwhelmed. Feeling too much. To release that energy inside, I let the blood come out. Leech out. Maybe if I used actual leeches it would have the same psychological affect on me. Food for thought.
Then there is my anger. My anger is not common for me. Here is what causes me to be angry.
- Repeating oneself over and over again so I cave into doing what I don’t want to do. Give me liberty, or give me death. I don’t like authority. Authority has always fucked me.
- Overwhelming me with stressful information (like medical problems) the moment I wake up or before I go to bed.
- Having unrealistic expectations of me. There is support (which is great!) and then there is denial. I put a lot of stress on myself and pretending life is going to get magically easier upsets me because I can’t live up to that dream.
- Making excuses for not protecting me during my childhood.
That last one really, really makes me angry. Nothing can hold me back. Move away from me.
My Anger As A Child
I was angry. I was angry that I was being hurt. I knew it was wrong. I knew I shouldn’t be screamed at till I fainted. I knew I shouldn’t have my life threatened. I knew having objects, sometimes 20 lbs in weight, being thrown at me while I was sleeping was not normal. Water spit at me. I knew sexually deviant things being told to me and revealed to me by an adult, a parent no less, was not normal. I knew I shouldn’t be locked in a bathroom while my father screamed, threatened and physically assaulted my mother. I knew having a house with holes in the walls from fists was not normal. I knew it wasn’t right and there was not a damn thing I could do about it.
I did try to reach out. My paternal grandmother and grandfather would hang up the phone on me when I’d call for help. Cry for help. Tears streaming down my face. They lived only blocks away. They could have saved me. Now they are dead. Only the good die young. Those bastards lived well into their 80s. The only thing that gives me solace is that I believe in a great and powerful Hell. And that Hell, I can assure you, is a destination stamped on their passport whether they like it or not.
I was also shuffled from therapist to therapist. Often they would go on the side of my father, saying I was unruly (Unruly? I barely even spoke). I was afraid. I was 7. He lied to them. They can all go fuck themselves.
In my opinion, there is no greater sin than hurting a child. And when I was a child, I didn’t know how to vocalize myself and, in any case, I was powerless. When I was younger, I cut. I pulled the hair out of my head. I screamed into a pillow. Lots of suicidal thoughts and “at risk” behavior (not sexual at-risk stuff. I never left the house). During these episodes, I’d feel my eyes narrow. Get more focused. And a black and dark red shade would go over them. I was pure aggression. And if you got in my way, you were going down. If he got in my way, I put up a fight till the end. If it meant me passing out, so be. If it meant me getting put into a corner on my knees, bleeding, so be it. I didn’t care. I wasn’t caving. I was anger. I could see me, above me. I could wave hello. I’d watch. I felt a little sorry for myself, but cheer me on even knowing I wouldn’t win.
My Anger As An Adult
I try to keep things even. I try to keep to my routine. And then my childhood is brought up- always by a family member. And, for whatever reason even knowing it’s my anger trigger, excuses begin to be said.
The biggest excuse to date is, “I didn’t leave your father because he would have gotten visitation.” My response to it, “I would have reported his violent, perverted behavior to child services and that visitation would have ceased.” She badgers on. What makes it worse is that others agree with that bullshit short-sighted excuse. I grew up in what a call a House Of Hell till I moved MYSELF out when I was 15. And don’t let anyone tell you someone helped me make that decision or pushed me to it. Because my mother kept going back. And she felt guilty leaving him. And she wasn’t going to leave him. And she pushed me to have a relationship with him, as did most of the rest of my family. I’m the one that said NO MORE. I’m the one that left that hospital when I was 15 and refused to get in that car. NOT HER. She stepped back into that car and kept going back to that house.
I saved myself. And I’ve been saving myself ever since.
Thinking about it even know- all the stress, pain and feelings of resentment boil in me.
So, if someone brings it up, all hell breaks loose. Back up. Get out. You’re going down. I’m a lot bigger. I got weight on my side. I may be short, but I got meat on me. I lock myself in my room. I take a few anti-anxiety pills. I take what I need to take to calm me down. I lay down. SHE DOESN’T STOP TALKING.
Excuses, excuses, excuses. All excuses. There is no excuse adequate enough. I understand no one is perfect. But then fucking drop it. Don’t bring it up. Don’t try to make YOURSELF feel better. I was the child. Not the adult. YOU WERE THE ADULT.
If my parent was not equipped to protect me from unspeakable hell, why purposely bring me into this world?
These are my thoughts. Sorry for the grammar. I need sleep. And, now I’m depressed.