So what am I angry about? I wonder if I can try finding the words for it.
I’m angry that I feel uncared for. I’m angry that I know how to take care of others more than I know how to take care of myself. I’m angry that I feel like I am owed something. I’m angry that I keep trying to find care in all the wrong places.
Ouch. Ok so I guess this anger is about care. I didn’t realize until I wrote this. I thought I was writing about being angry but I guess I’m writing about that instead.
That instead. I don’t even know how to call it. This lack of care thing. This neglect feeling thing. This what I feel doesn’t matter thing. This I don’t feel that I matter thing. This trying to forget that I feel that thing. This trying to care for myself with drugs or control thing. This difficulty to do what’s good for me thing. This resistance, inability, fear of taking care of myself thing.
I don’t even know what care means. Dictionary oh dictionary, show me what you see… Solicitude. Attention. An object of worry. To look out for. To have an inclination, fondness, affection. To feel concerned about. To watch over.
Holy fucking shit now I’m crying. So yeah I guess this is about that.
I had a rough childhood. It’s still so hard for me to say. And right away I feel like I have to say that it just happened that way, as it usually just does. But I guess that is why I’m a shitty caretaker of myself now. Because my learning of that got compromised. Twisted and repurposed. Disregarded and overlooked.
And I’m angry about it. I wish I could say that I‘m not but that would be a lie. I’m also terribly terribly sad about it. But I guess it makes sense. I look around and I see a hell of a lot of people with the same problem. And I can’t help any of them. Cause I can’t even help myself.
And I can’t blame my parents either. I know they did the best they could. I can’t blame circumstances because they couldn’t help themselves either. So I just have to figure out a way to be angry and sad without anything to blame it on. Just hold space for how bad I feel without being able to transfer the brunt of it on a reason or a target. Ha. Wouldn’t that be great, to have a villain to hunt down and kill which would forever free and heal me. Yeah, it would be great. If only I believed in such a thing.
It’s much harder to be heartbroken without anyone to blame. Not even yourself. Because then there’s nothing to distract you from the pain. Like this I have to brace myself and let it take over, let it ravage me with nothing other than the hope that I will remember who I am on the other side.
I’m so angry at what happened to me. I’m so angry at what happened to my parents. I’m so angry at what happened to my sister. I’m so angry at what happened to the world. It makes me feel like a tiny human brandishing my fist at god in the middle of a hurricane. Totally pointless. But even worse would be to sit there pretending nothing is happening.
I don’t know if what I’m writing makes any sense but tears are still rolling down my face. Like a tiny hurricane to match how small I feel. The only good thing is that now I can go to sleep. Because I’ve cried, because I’ve actually touched how I feel, I know that I will feel better. Not yet, but soon.