A Woman’s Anger

Q would ask me to describe how I feel. What are the words that I feel on the inside right now? Are the positive or are they negative? 

I feel ashamed.

Shameful.

The act of being humiliated, publically. I feel sad. Not just sad, I feel like a part of my heart, a tiny stitch that keeps my broken heart sewn together has come undone. I’m not broken, nor am I broken hearted. But my heart throbs with pain, the stitch is loose. Blood leaks out causing infection to creep in. I feel a sense of self-hatred. Like an angel with broken wings, I’ve fallen from Heaven. My pedestal has been cracked. I’m beginning to tar. There is no one there to come and gingerly cup my molting feathers, to sew me back together.  In the Arctic I stand, alone letting the frost kiss my cheeks and nose. Saying a prayer for comfort and warmth, hoping that a friendly presence will come by.

Anger.

It is a feeling that we all have. It can be a productive feeling. It can be a righteous feeling. Yet, it can also seep through your veins like poison. Anger is like a snake the way it slithers throughout your body. A tornado, unpredictable it arises and within minutes tears through your life leaving behind a trail of destruction. I’ve fallen victim to anger. It’s hard not to. You can feel your temperature rising, your heart racing, blood pounding in your ears. You want to yell, scream, cry you want to make the pain your feeling known to the entire world. You’ve been wronged you’ve been hurt and you want to hurt those that have hurt you. Is that fair? No. But do you care, in this moment, do you care? No you don’t. You are blinded by your tears and colored by your hurt. You’re hypnotized, clouded, in a fog of rage and pain--only considering the self. Not the people that you care about the most. 

When you wake up the next morning. When you reread or replay the words you said, the actions you did. You’ll feel sick to your stomach. You’ll feel that guilt begin to blossom somewhere deep inside of you. When you walk past a mirror you’ll avert your gaze because your don’t want to look at your own face. Who knew you were capable of such evil, of causing such harm.

You did.

You are just really good at hiding it. You sinner. You don’t like to confront your sin. You like to bury it in a deep, dark place inside your soul. You know that it lurks there like a dragon. Its fiery breath waiting to come out and burn anyone who dare step in its path. You try to quench its thirst with wine and bread, but you are no saint, you fall victim to its embers. You must go lay down at the bottom of the cross, you face on the ground and cry out to the Lord--your Lord for forgiveness. 

Forgiveness.

You have to put your phone on do not disturb. Your heart aches with each passing minute. You tell yourself, don’t. Don’t look at the phone. Don’t check to see if they’ve responded. You’ve said your peace. You’ve apologized. You recognized your wrong. All you can do now it wait. Wait, and hope, and pray that they forgive you. But what if they don’t. What if what you did was unforgivable? So horrendous, so out of character that when they think of you now they are disgusted. They see this hideous monster with claws and fangs where they once saw a small innocent lamb who was willing to sacrifice themselves for them. Once you’ve already fallen, can you arise again? 

Is this worth loosing them? You know the answer. It comes to the tip of your tongue so quickly. No! You shout aloud! No! It was a mistake! Aren’t I allowed one mistake? I’m human after all. I crawl on the ground with the rest of the broken, the weary, and the bottom treaders. I try to ascend, but I’ve not reached ascension. You’re lightheaded, your heart pounds. You’re filled with fear as minutes turn into hours and you’re faced with--silence. You think. This is it. I’ve done it. I’ve lost them. I’ve done the worst of the worst. The fire was too hot. It incinerated those I cared about, charred them, blackening their hearts towards me and leaving me burnt in the process. No one wants the burnt piece of toast. They toss it in the garbage and get a fresh slice of bread that they know will come out golden brown this time. 

You have to pause and ask yourself, are you being driven by fear? A part of you says yes you are. There is this chasm of fear inside of you. Fear of what? Fear of loss? Fear of failure? Fear of imperfection? Why is the measure of love loss? You messed up and that terrifies you. You lost control and that terrifies you. You are afraid of the consequences--they are dire. They could be irreversible and you caused them. It is your fault. Let that sink into your flesh. Drink it in. Let it sit upon you like a heavy weight, crushing you slowly until you have lost the ability to breath. 

Yet at the same time, you don’t want to undermine your own feelings. You are the poster child for everyone’s feelings are valid. Because everyone’s feelings are their own reality.