Primal rage and pain today. I cannot give the story in full, or even part, because it is a part of my life which I have kept hidden from the blog. For good reason.
Suffice it to say that my body warned me, way back on Saturday, that a storm was brewing; that vibrations I was trying to argue into harmlessness were, in fact, the bruised clouds of a coming cyclone. I KNEW, but I did not want to face that knowledge because it was too damned painful.
Saturday, quite suddenly – and after months of blessèd relief on this front – my gullet went into a horrible prolonged spasm. Agonising, it was, and it seemed to go on forever. I was left shaking and upset.
The same happened yesterday. Not as bad this time, but still both painful and very scary. I had to tell myself that the Endoscopy I had fifteen months ago showed nothing serious; that anything sinister would have been picked up at that point; that my most raw emotions have a long history of coming out as somatic pain.
This morning, the winds of unutterable distress hit hard, battering me into a weeping heap in the corner. But the tears were as much fury as unhappiness. I wanted to shriek and scream and hit out and rend my own garments (and those of others). I, who never say these three words, wanted to yell, ‘It’s NOT fair…’ so loud that windows shattered. I wanted, for just a few seconds, to take a razor to my own wrists just to watch the blood spurt and get some relief from the awful pressure mounting in my head. I would never do it in reality. But the inner image, like all such things, comes up from time to time.
I have every right to be incandescent. But that right is being denied. Circumvented, plastered over, perhaps I should say. By other people. By me. I deny myself the healing action of howling and growling, of biting and scratching, of showing sharp teeth and claws, of being aggressive, of taking much flesh and no prisoners. I deny the truth by making endless asinine excuses for other people’s behaviour, instead of setting my boundaries deep in the sand and screeching, ‘How DARE you?’
I keep toxic people way past their sell-by-date because I WILL NOT get angry with them and tell them where they get off. And so those who are not genuine friends walk all over me, disrespect me and assume I will put up with any, and all, crap because I am so ‘nice’…
Well, fuck nice, is all I can say! Who the bloody hell wants to go down in history as nice? How tedious.
I am furiously, ragingly angry – and I have every sodding right to be so. And, no, I will NOT calm down just so that some other bugger feels better.
Like a doormat, all my life I have said, ‘Oh, I don’t mind! It’s quite all-right! You are far more important than I! Please crunch all over me in your hobnailed boots! I probably deserve it anyway! Jump harder! Break my bones!’
No, no, no, no, NOooooooo…
A limit has been reached. The ‘too-much’ line has been insensitively broached. I am not suicidal. If I were, I would not be writing this. I would take myself off quietly and discontinue this life. But I am healthily apoplectic! About fucking time too…