Feeling feral

Last night I snapped and it felt good.

It is officially summer.

I have endured outrage upon outrage from my homophobic, transphobic, fatphobic, conservative, fundamentalist Christian family in the past six months. I have suffered physical and emotional effects. It has taken a toll on me. I have not been quite myself. I have blamed myself, wondered what I did wrong, wallowed in self-pity.

And then I got the final rent check, less than the already-reduced rate that my sister and I agreed upon after she moved out in March. She included a nice little note about why the decreased amount was appropriate, and wished me luck in the future. A nice, little yearbook wrap-up to the disaster that started 12 months ago. “Stay cool! Have a great summer! Math sux!” She could have ended it just that easily.

Every other week for the past few months I have discovered another item missing from the March One move out debacle, where my family made their dislike of my queer life known by stealing various items from me. I don’t know who regularly inventories their shit. Not me, so I just wander around my too-big apartment and notice stuff is gone when I go to pack it, or my eyes settle upon a strange space where I finally realize a space didn’t used to be many months ago. Being doped up on new meds, more meds, migraines and all the general insanity hasn’t made me very observant. And, truthfully, I’m a pretty oblivious person to begin with. I can pass a building four times and then, the fifth time, realize it’s there. In truth, there may be more items I’m missing and I simply haven’t seen them yet.

When I make it through spring, I am a different person. I have more resilience. My bones are green and flexible, like a new tree that can weather a storm by bending with the winds. And this is how I am these days. A month ago, two months ago, these recent atrocities would have had me shedding copious tears, making calls to my therapist, wondering why I was so unfortunate to be so unloved.

But now it is nearly June, and I am simply angry.

I smashed around my apartment at the onset of the mail yesterday, throwing pillows and a Kleenex box. N was not home to witness my adult sized temper tantrum. In truth I would not have had it had she been there, lest I scare her. It made me feel alive and good to act like such a petulant child, throwing things and blustering about, becoming so at one with my mad. The cats stared at me and went out on the deck, wondering what my problem was, glancing up at me in between oat-grass bites. I composed a nasty email, and then decided that I no longer wanted anything to do with these assholes, that I would not be a bridge builder, but a bridge blaster. That I deserved control over this situation. And so I set myself upon the task of changing every piece of contact information I could, composed three more letters in my head, and became a bit, well, maniacal.

N came home to find me in perfect form, cooking dinner. Better than she expected.

Anger is a primal force. I know it well, and it sits in me, a motivator like nothing else in my life. It is the one emotion that I owe nearly everything to. I can languish forever in other emotions, do stupid things in the name of joy, sadness, hurt, pain, exhiliration, delight, envy. I am a procrastinator, a doer of nothing, when I hang out in the moods of mania and depression. But anger? Anger is all mine, and anger makes me move. It is crystalline; I see clear and pure and calm. Whatever I have been putting off, that has been needing to be done, that I know is good for me, that is right for me, that I have been making excuses about, anger will accomplish for me. In fits of anger I have made full sweeps of my life and said: Enough. My anger is a forest fire that clears away the dead wood and exposes a new space for new growth, charred though the land underneath may be.

When I have tapped into this base emotion, it is ancient, it is goddess, it is Kali, The Morrigan, The Furies, Hecate, The Dark Moon. It is dark and powerful and wild. I am swift and clean on the outside, yet feral and sinister on the inside. I feel enlightened. I feel in charge. I feel, well, good. I know that I will effect change, and that what comes next will be vastly different than what has been.

I will send a letter to my family. I will effect change. It will be different. It can’t not be now.

Advertisements

2 Comments

  1. bookwyrm said,

    May 29, 2008 at 4:54 pm

    I feel the need to warn you: Don’t expect to change them. Change you, certainly. I hope you keep this anger through any sadness they may cause you.

    Good luck burning your bridges. They do not appear to cherish you as they should, therefor thy do not deserve the goodness you bring into their life.

  2. Cindy said,

    June 16, 2008 at 9:56 am

    Sometimes, the only way to achieve peace is to dismantle the bridge and abandon all hope.

    I know that’s heresy in a self-help world, but there it is.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: