There is a bright flash and I am blind. Adrenaline laces my lungs, circling the length of my spine to numb my legs. If my hands weren't white-knuckled and tight, they would surely shake. My chest is quick and strong, sharp on the rise, heavy to the fall. My face warms, dancing red across skin like fire.
I am angry.
I imagine my fists morphing to something strong like automobiles, where a single swing would take out an entire block of the tallest skyscrapers. The pressure building in my pulse leaves me dizzy and I wish I could open my throat wide enough to let it escape. My thought process begins to dissolve and eventually the connection breaks.
I am angry but aware.
There is discomfort, but I am not anxious. I am not worried nor am I out of control. The walls remain in place, showing no signs of closing and I begin to breathe again. One by one, my organs and bones begin to cool and shift back to place. My shoulders sigh in relief as the tension settles, my heart finds its rhythm and my hands steady.
I remain angry but I have tolerated the worst part.
Typically this is the stage where my guilt would set it. An emotion exploded under my watch and I was unable to help myself. How I fear anger and avoid it all costs. Even the word edges me. ANGER. I have dressed it in the worst of insults, unable to accept the notion that I held the key. I hold the key. I have always held the key.
In this particular instance, I did not lash out underneath anger. I did not destroy any property beneath the spell nor have I ever. Instead, I turned on my computer and pushed myself to describe the physical reaction. In fact, I never left the space in which the emotion began. I remained calm, aware and somehow guilt-free.
One of the most valuable things I have learned as an adult is that anger does not have to be the demon it is made out to be. Anger can be an ally if treated correctly. People are going to get under your skin. Things are going to happen that are completely out of your control and they aren't always going to be great things. When I shoved my anger deep under my rib cage and away from my heart, the issues did not resolve. They concentrated until there was no more room for hiding. Often they would trickle out at the tiniest incident or when I wasn't able to suppress them. As I work on cleaning out this storage facility of life, I am aware that I have to face the emotion head on.
I have developed a handshake and respect for the emotion.
Anger: Grrr! Just kidding.
P: What's up, Anger? Why are people so afraid of you?
Anger: Not really sure. People should be afraid of what happens when they ignore me. Blood pressure and the like.
P: I was thinking of when I found myself really well, you know, really full of you that I could maybe journal.
Anger: Sounds super aggressive and ideal.
P: Are you being sarcastic?
Anger: I am sure writing emotions down in a journal is a swell idea, but when you are really hot, maybe you should consider some more creative releases? Try screaming the alphabet but slip in a couple curse words between letters. It is super fun. Here: A, B, C, D, mother-f --
P: Okay, okay, I guess that could work, too.
Anger: Or what about listening to some really loud music and shadow boxing. Just picture this - you are in a boxing ring, stage all lit up. You are wearing the gloves and the robe. Big lights, big crowd. Now enter Anne Hathaway --
P: You know, I tried with her! Then that Oscar speech...
Anger: You couldn't imagine all the work I get thanks to Hathaway.
P: Hey, Anger. You don't seem so bad.
Anger: I am here to help you. Don't abuse me, don't shove me in a closet and you will be a much happier girl. I'm not as scary as you were lead to believe.
I close my eyes and I allow the sharper parts to pass through me. Be it fear, anger or sorrow, my skeleton cringes and twitches with discomfort. I wince through the worse parts, refusing to reach for the panic button. I had a line of cheap adhesive strips that I used in times like this but the band-aids were quick little fixes that alleviated the symptoms only briefly. When they returned, they were louder, stronger and nearly impossible to dismiss. I am slowly developing a tolerance, a tiny army of resistance that aids in the war again the impulses that have landed me in mess after mess after mess. This behavior is not easy. It goes against everything I am used to. But the bigger picture is bright and I am eager. Even if I slip up and find myself buried under the dark, I know it is temporary. I stand, steady and carry on.
We are all on our way towards the better, one tiny crisis at a time.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l-iAS18rv68
P-crest out!
I am angry.
I imagine my fists morphing to something strong like automobiles, where a single swing would take out an entire block of the tallest skyscrapers. The pressure building in my pulse leaves me dizzy and I wish I could open my throat wide enough to let it escape. My thought process begins to dissolve and eventually the connection breaks.
I am angry but aware.
There is discomfort, but I am not anxious. I am not worried nor am I out of control. The walls remain in place, showing no signs of closing and I begin to breathe again. One by one, my organs and bones begin to cool and shift back to place. My shoulders sigh in relief as the tension settles, my heart finds its rhythm and my hands steady.
I remain angry but I have tolerated the worst part.
Typically this is the stage where my guilt would set it. An emotion exploded under my watch and I was unable to help myself. How I fear anger and avoid it all costs. Even the word edges me. ANGER. I have dressed it in the worst of insults, unable to accept the notion that I held the key. I hold the key. I have always held the key.
In this particular instance, I did not lash out underneath anger. I did not destroy any property beneath the spell nor have I ever. Instead, I turned on my computer and pushed myself to describe the physical reaction. In fact, I never left the space in which the emotion began. I remained calm, aware and somehow guilt-free.
One of the most valuable things I have learned as an adult is that anger does not have to be the demon it is made out to be. Anger can be an ally if treated correctly. People are going to get under your skin. Things are going to happen that are completely out of your control and they aren't always going to be great things. When I shoved my anger deep under my rib cage and away from my heart, the issues did not resolve. They concentrated until there was no more room for hiding. Often they would trickle out at the tiniest incident or when I wasn't able to suppress them. As I work on cleaning out this storage facility of life, I am aware that I have to face the emotion head on.
I have developed a handshake and respect for the emotion.
Anger: Grrr! Just kidding.
P: What's up, Anger? Why are people so afraid of you?
Anger: Not really sure. People should be afraid of what happens when they ignore me. Blood pressure and the like.
P: I was thinking of when I found myself really well, you know, really full of you that I could maybe journal.
Anger: Sounds super aggressive and ideal.
P: Are you being sarcastic?
Anger: I am sure writing emotions down in a journal is a swell idea, but when you are really hot, maybe you should consider some more creative releases? Try screaming the alphabet but slip in a couple curse words between letters. It is super fun. Here: A, B, C, D, mother-f --
P: Okay, okay, I guess that could work, too.
Anger: Or what about listening to some really loud music and shadow boxing. Just picture this - you are in a boxing ring, stage all lit up. You are wearing the gloves and the robe. Big lights, big crowd. Now enter Anne Hathaway --
P: You know, I tried with her! Then that Oscar speech...
Anger: You couldn't imagine all the work I get thanks to Hathaway.
P: Hey, Anger. You don't seem so bad.
Anger: I am here to help you. Don't abuse me, don't shove me in a closet and you will be a much happier girl. I'm not as scary as you were lead to believe.
I close my eyes and I allow the sharper parts to pass through me. Be it fear, anger or sorrow, my skeleton cringes and twitches with discomfort. I wince through the worse parts, refusing to reach for the panic button. I had a line of cheap adhesive strips that I used in times like this but the band-aids were quick little fixes that alleviated the symptoms only briefly. When they returned, they were louder, stronger and nearly impossible to dismiss. I am slowly developing a tolerance, a tiny army of resistance that aids in the war again the impulses that have landed me in mess after mess after mess. This behavior is not easy. It goes against everything I am used to. But the bigger picture is bright and I am eager. Even if I slip up and find myself buried under the dark, I know it is temporary. I stand, steady and carry on.
We are all on our way towards the better, one tiny crisis at a time.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l-iAS18rv68
P-crest out!