when i am angry, i sometimes begin to open up.
other times i fester.
but if my buttons are pushed one too many times, the words begin flowing out of me.
there was a conversation my boyfriend and i had last week that made this painfully clear. he said one thing. i said another. he said something that pushed a button...and i was off.
i was livid. i could feel the anger seeping into my bloodstream. i was done just listening. at first my words were jumbled, struck and crumbled between emotions and confusion so i quieted down. i tried to calm down.
but then i couldn't.
words burst forth and suddenly i was opening up.
i shared parts of myself that i have never verbalized before. small things and big things. i spoke up about what i wanted and how i felt and why i have certain blocks that prevent me from being like some others. i said things that scared me to admit.
the words came out hard and hot. i spit them out more than i spoke them.
they weren't sweet secrets. they were scars made into sound.
and when i was done, i sat there exhausted. drained.
but i looked over at him...and...he was happier.
he quickly explained that it wasn't because i was drained and exhausted and hurt that he was happy. instead, it was because i actually opened my mouth and told him how i was feeling. i shared my truth. for so long he had been trying to divine it from thin air and the truth he divined was not mine. so for me to finally lay it all out...well, he felt relief. he felt like we had just reached the top of the mountain and were about to make our way back down the other side. he was smiling.
i wasn't. i certainly felt like i had climbed a really fucking hard mountain...but i felt like i was still at the top, looking down and wondering how the fuck i was going to make it back home. more simply, i was still pissed.
after a few minutes though, i saw his point.
eventually the anger disappeared and i felt his point.
getting angry sucked, but it did something.
i've spent the past week trying to figure out why it took my buttons being pushed to open up, to speak up, to tell my story. maybe the anger dulled my anxiety. maybe the anger was so large and overwhelming that it had to go somewhere. maybe the anger made me stick up for myself. maybe the anger made me not care about the consequences.
that or it was because i was so sleep-deprived (last week was week number 3 of stupid, lame insomnia) that i was in a state of slight delirium.
it was probably a combination of both.
i tend to be someone who can get really angry. many of those i care about won't know this to be the case. but it is true (ask my friend lien about when i went to pure barre classes...she has vowed never to go with me again after seeing my angry death stares). i don't like getting angry, but i can go from calm to livid in a few seconds flat. i can throw things (well, only when i am angry by myself and even then, i only throw things i know won't break...one day though, i'm totally going for something that can shatter into tiny pieces...), i can yell, i can say pretty shitty things, and i can feel the anger bubble up and topple over.
oddly enough, i sometimes like my angry self...just about as much as i dislike her. i hate how anger makes me feel. i hate how i fester. i hate how anger eats away at me and destroys the calm i try so hard to maintain.
but i can see how anger is sometimes useful. anger and frustration can sometimes make you blow up -- and for good reason. you blow up because something inside can't take it anymore...shit isn't fair or someone disrespected you or the pain you are feeling can only start to be healed with rage. it is like a sunburn--it gets more red and painful before it can begin to peel. the sunburn has to make itself known for you to go get some aloe and heal that shit.
i don't like to get angry, but i do like when my festering stops and my truth comes pouring out of me. i do like when my anger dissipates and i can see that it was productive.
anger got me to the top of the mountain, opening up is getting me back down.