Losing (Some) Anger

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Years ago, when I wrote more often, I had a lot of anger to get rid of. The loss of my dream to become a lawyer, my financial instability, and the loss of my faith all simmered in my mind. It would boil over onto my keyboard and out into the world.

I’d like to say I don’t have as much anger now, but that’s not entirely true. It’s always been there, lurking between my synapses, fueling some terrible beliefs. Yeah, my anger doesn’t manifest itself like it used to, except when it’s directed at myself. Maybe that’s why I’ve had a hard time dealing with it.

Part of that is why I’ve avoided writing over the past several years (pandemic effects only compounding this issue). Whether it was deleting things I wrote or punishing myself for things I published, I’d find excuses to be angry. With each spillover, there’d be another part of myself I’d destroy.

My hope is that by writing this out now, I’d at least have something to call myself out on. To accept that, yeah, I’ve been conditioned to live with anger instead of finding healthy ways of dealing with it. To know that, although I want this to change, it isn’t going to happen overnight. It took a lifetime for me to get here; it might take another lifetime to move on.

To the people who have known me online and elsewhere, I’d like to say some things about me haven’t changed. No, I haven’t found some new magical friend to worship. Yes, what I used to believe still haunts me. And I’m still looking for that elusive welcome wagon that will take me away from church steeples and shitty church signs, to a place where I can breathe clean air and rest my weary mind.