I am angry.
I am angry with my mother.
I am angry with Matt.
I am angry about my childhood.
I am angry.
There I said it.
It was difficult to admit and hard to post yesterday about feelings of anger. I must have edited the post a million times as the minutes slipped away. I cut and hacked the angry words away. I almost scrapped the post altogether. I thought about deleting it after I posted it.
Anger…I was taught that it was wrong to feel that way.
You shouldn’t feel angry, it agitates Matt.
You shouldn’t feel angry, he can’t help it.
You shouldn’t feel angry, you are normal.
You shouldn’t feel ANGRY!
You shouldn’t feel angry…
You shouldn’t feel…
I didn’t feel…I stopped feeling. I was numb inside. I could no longer feel pain, but could no longer feel joy. I was empty inside. I became devoid of color. I lived in a cold, barren desert. No more tears, no more laughter. I could stare at the same spot on the wall for hours. I was sinking inside of myself.
My mom sent me to a therapist.
How do you feel, Alissa? I don’t feel.
Yes, you do. Take a look at the feelings chart. I don’t know.
Over time I started to feel again. But the feelings right away weren’t good. I felt everything that I wasn’t trying to feel before. It was a dark place. I was afraid that I wouldn’t make it through to the faint light in the distance. Sometimes the empty void called me back. You don’t want to feel if you have to feel like that.
It was a long journey to get to the place I am now.
I had to lock away the demons that tore at my soul. But I still kept the key.
Sometimes, in the dark of night, the flame from the fire that burns through the keyhole draws me in. I’m curious if I can stoke the fire without getting burned. I keep looking in. I pick at old wounds to see if they still hurt. The scars are starting to fade.
I’m holding the key. I feel strong enough now to slowly unlock the door…
I think the person that emerges from the ashes will make walking through the fire worthwhile.