One of the therapeutic benefits to writing this blog is a way to examine emotions I’ve otherwise repressed. Looking at my posts- the biggest, most obvious one, is anger.
When I write, I express anger, I say fuck you, I am mad, frustrated, I am sardonic, and biting.
In real life, I am never these things.
I am compassionate, I am empathetic, I try to see things from the other person’s perspective, I realize anger is not a productive emotion and it is better to move on and let things go.
But is that actually true?
I’ve been taught being angry is ugly, anger makes you a bad person, that I have control over every situation and if I feel anger, the only person to blame, the only true recipient of my anger, should be me.
I feel like I’ve been robbed of my right to be angry my whole life. That if someone is vitriolic to me, crosses a boundary, is an asshole, I have been counselled over and over again, to never fight back, to let it go. Kill them with kindness. Manipulate abusers into treating you better by Being The Bigger Person. It’s taken me so long to realize how toxic this advice is. But I still follow it.
I believe that if someone is a flagrant asshole, nothing I can say is going to put them in place and change their perspective, fights like that are never-ending and it is better just to be quiet, suck it up, or politely walk away. But by choosing not to convince this other person of their wrongdoing, I in essence convince myself of my own wrongdoing. That I brought this situation upon myself, and whatever insults they launched at me, stick. It is hard to shake them away.
In the professional world, I stayed composed, I let the other person devolve, commit emotional mistakes, which I dutifully documented, collected, and then used with advocacy with the Board of Directors, Human Resources, or my union. This the right way to do things. Those who bullied me did face consequences, never as egregious as one might hope – not a full comeuppance, and they often stood back on their feet within a year, reformed I don’t know or out for new prey.
But by holding my emotions in, by pushing them down, by being smart, by standing up for others but never for myself, a part of me died inside. And a part of me has come to believe that death is the only way out of this cycle of disrespect.
The few times I’ve verbalized revenge fantasies, I am shamed, I’m told of the illogic of them, how any effort to lash out will just hurt me. It seems that for people who work in social justice movement, privately they don’t think I should ever fight to hold anyone accountable, even when they are violating the law. It is not invalid advice, I might give the same advice, but I guess entertaining the revenge fantasy might be more useful in validating me, telling me you’ll slash the tires of anyone whose wronged me, give me a sense of vindication that may make it easier to actually let things go, rather than telling me, in this life, you reacting to your pain is only hurting yourself. A new friend joked with me, maybe instead of being suicidal, we should encourage you to be homicidal.
My friend and are practicing “Building Boundaries” – to in whatever small way, stand up for ourselves and document it on designated chat labeled the same. I am trying to understand what it means to stand up for myself- not to change the situation, not to affect others or hope they learn or confront their behaviors, but for me, to make sure I know, for my self-esteem, to know that I deserve better, even when deep down, I still don’t believe it. And, when a historically unsupportive family member says to me, “life is hard, what do you expect? people aren’t going to do what you want them to,” the words still singe my brain and go on repeat play.
I do not feel like I have permission to be angry, and as my Great Expectations post says, disappointed either. If I’m sad, that in the days after my consecutive suicide “attempts,” no one is checking to see if I’m still alive, my disappointment means I expect to much – that people are busy, they care – they just don’t know what to do or say, it’s so hard. Oh, I have heard this refrain so often. To me, the irony is that after the third year of this, trying to react strongly seems futile to my friends, that each suicide attempt I survive seems to them evidence that I always bounce back, when science shows, how much greater risk I’ve actually become at follow through. Anyways, I should empathize with how difficult it is to deal with someone as difficult as me. I expect too much.
Sometimes people aren’t actively hostile, they are disrespectful in smaller, quieter , “nicer” ways, without any “bad intentions” and it is seemingly impossible to make a convincing argument to anyone as to why I feel so violated and upset by their actions. In progressive politics, we argue that good intentions are irrelevant, those with power and privilege need to understand how their position and behaviors impact other – but in personal life, we offer people a lot of rope. I’m also still traumatized by the past and I can’t tell what’s the here and now, and what is my emotions screwing with my brain by bringing in the past. But I also don’t know how much my brainwashing has told me that the bullshit I receive, is not worth confronting and doing so, only makes me look like a small person – and I should Be The Bigger Person.
My favorite responses to my expression of feelings, is when I make another person so uncomfortable and they are begging me to just stop: “stop crying, drink a glass of cold water, just forget about it or just forget about him/her, let it go” and my ultimate favorite: “just don’t think too much.”
Inside My Madness 