I need to write something, out loud so to speak, in a public (sort of) place. I have had the most awful time of late controlling my temper. I haven't let anyone else know how angry I am. I don't show it much. You'd have to know me very very well to even see that I was a little bit angry. No, no one would likely know it, but I do. I learned a long long time ago how to smother anger, how to step aside from hurt and rejection and keep on going. Here of late, things keep coming up, bubbling up to the surface in a viscous sort of brew that is thick and soupy and refuses to succumb to lowered heat, to a good stirring. Boiling away under the surface all the time these days.
I stew. I sulk. I rage when no one is around, but only within, never out loud. I say everything is fine when it isn't. I weep. I find myself at the most inopportune times feeling as though I'd like to snap: break things and beat something to a pulp and scream and be hateful to someone, anyone. When that urge passes, I am covered in a dark cloud of depression that comes and goes, and comes and goes, much like clouds in a Spring sky.
Gracious! You might well ask what on earth has me so upset? What little thing or big has happened in my life of late to wreak such havoc in my emotional equilibrium? WHO caused such angst and anger?
I could point a finger at this person and that and the next one and two more besides, but mostly, I am angry at one person. Me. Myself.
In the last post I shared a dream I'd had, where I refused to keep someone's junk in my home any longer. That dream is the direct result of someone close who continually dumps her rage and grief and anger in my lap and then refuses to hear my own protests against such treatment. I was so proud of myself after that dream. Following hard on the heels of the dream, I listened to a program, caught just the last five minutes really, about unforgiveness. How repetitive dreams might well be about unforgiveness....And then the man said something about doors needing to be opened instead of locked shut....
This is a repetitive dream I've had for years upon years now. I'm standing at a door or window, afraid while someone or something rages outside and I am desperately trying to lock out the thing I fear, even though I can see how inadequate a barrier I have, such as a window in the midst of a screened wall or a door in the middle of an open area. Still I am busily working away at that lock, shoving that door/window shut with all my might and struggling to keep that rage outside at bay.
Maybe it was just the right time, the right words in the right season, but after hearing that program I asked God, "What would happen if I opened that door/window in my dream? What if I stopped shutting things out and stopped the fear and the struggle?"
Well. Apparently I'll bump hard against my anger over a variety of things in a million little moments and I'll have to face the hurt, the fear, the rage, the fear of rejection and the whatever is attached to that THING that is lurking outside that flimsy barricade. That flimsy barricade turns out to be the facade I put up pretending I'm not mad, I'm not hurt, I'm not walking wounded through the world.
For the first week, I was in such physical pain it was unreal. I'd be sitting here writing or reading and suddenly I'd be nearly bent double in agony, my skin crawling with an ache that seemed to run along veins and nerve endings. It was an anxiety attack of a sort I'd not experienced in years. To read of anyone's pain, to hear of a hurt someone suffered or I imagined they were feeling, was enough to trigger this pain of my own. I was exhausted all of the time. I couldn't get enough sleep. And then last week along about Tuesday I began to spout and spew and weep over this and that, things that are inconsequential. Or so I thought, until my anger came raging up and out, growing and growing and rolling over the edges.
A forgotten task I'd requested be done caused one such episode. I saw it suddenly as disrespect, a lack of caring, an attitude of inattentiveness. A passive aggressive act of anger towards me. A drive along a country road awoke anger over another hurt. A broken appliance, a prayer I didn't care for the wording of, a moment of fear spied in someone I love, whining...anger just wouldn't be held at bay any longer.
And grief. Grief spewed up too, like so much acid reflux. Anger is a natural part of grief did you know that? I must be at the primo stage of grief then. Grief over my lack of contact with my oldest girl, with my inability to see my grandchildren, at losing Granny in segments through Alzheimer's, at Mama's aging and idiosyncrasies, at my own aging, over things I'll never have the opportunity to rectify because they weren't second chance sorts of things.
Then self loathing for allowing others to hurt me in ways I oughtn't to have been vulnerable to, for accepting bad treatment as 'good enough' because I felt I didn't deserve better, nor ask for it either; for the sometimes unintentional wallowing in sin I do in my thinking and the sharp brunt hurt of realizing I sometimes intentionally sin; for the many opportunities I let slip rather than dare to stand up and be brave and confrontational.
And depression. I've read many times that anger is depression turned inward. I sat here yesterday wondering if I should seek counseling once more, if we could possibly afford mental health clinic since I have no health insurance, or perhaps increase the St. John's Wort? Because in the past two weeks I've felt more depression than I've felt in many many years.
All of this: anxiety, anger, self-loathing, depression has been shut away. Not discussed with anyone. Journaled about only partially because I wouldn't even be fully truthful in my journal about the extent of my loss of peace and equilibrium. I've not even told my husband...nor God, though He surely knows all about it. He sees it all and understands it and is no doubt there directing me through this time, but I've not talked to Him about it. I've not turned to Him for solace or help or understanding.
I'm not keeping it buckled down, caged up or shoved away behind an inadequate facade door anymore. The door is wide open. This is what's inside.
It's time to open up. No need to reveal the ways in which I was hurt (rightly or wrongly), for that would only cause a disturbance in lives that are frankly going blissfully along thinking all is well in their world, but certainly time to say I am Pissed. P.O.ed. Angry. Spitting mad. A towering inferno. At melting point. Livid. Mad! I'm tired of stifling anger. I'm tired of denying my own feelings and keeping them tamped down nice and neat. I'm tired of accepting barely good enough when I deserve so much more. I'm tired of grieving quietly alone because others are uncomfortable, embarrassed, inconvenienced or simply don't know what to do with my pain. Get over it. I'm hurting. I need to vent about it. I need to TELL someone that right here is a big OW! I bloody well hurt.
So this evening, as I stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes (oh great oracle for thinking that sink!), I thought about this post and what I'd written. Over the past few months, my husband has asked me several times if there were any unforgiveness in my life. It was a prayer based question and fair and honest. I'd deny each time that there was anything. I remembered suddenly the scripture in Matthew 5:21-25.
21“You have heard that our ancestors were told, ‘You must not murder. If you commit murder, you are subject to judgment.’d 22But I say, if you are even angry with someone,e you are subject to judgment! If you call someone an idiot,f you are in danger of being brought before the court. And if you curse someone,g you are in danger of the fires of hell.h
23“So if you are presenting a sacrificei at the altar in the Temple and you suddenly remember that someone has something against you, 24leave your sacrifice there at the altar. Go and be reconciled to that person. Then come and offer your sacrifice to God.
25“When you are on the way to court with your adversary, settle your differences quickly. Otherwise, your accuser may hand you over to the judge, who will hand you over to an officer, and you will be thrown into prison. 26And if that happens, you surely won’t be free again until you have paid the last penny.j
This evening when my husband came in I told him how difficult these past few weeks have been, from the night of the dream until I stood at the sink. I told him I'd been guilty of unforgiveness, of holding onto anger against him and I told him I needed to forgive him, but I also needed his forgiveness. It doesn't matter what he did or when. It truly doesn't. This is not about stirring up past hurts but acknowledging that they were there, that I needed to free myself of this emotion, that I would accept the responsibility in the future of letting him know when I felt hurt or grieved or angered if he were responsible for those feelings.
I can't have this same closure with others in my life, but it's important that I do this with John. It's part of the trust we have in our marriage. He graciously accepted my forgiving him and then he forgave me for holding aught against him...That's the way it should be. Thank You Lord, for this man in my life.
I won't be able to have the same great results in all cases. I can't change circumstances as they stand. I'm not able to confront all the people who have caused me to harbor anger. But I am grateful for the revelations that have led me to this place tonight.
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