Angry: Part 2

Well. It’s not enough to know the new things. It’s not even enough to remember things. I’m finding out that I have to experience and react to all of this.

Okay, I don’t have to.     If I want to get better though, I might.

My stomach turns over. My pulse quickens; my arms turn red; my legs ache. A few of the ways my body deals with everything. Everything is a threat.

Everything is a threat when everything is a trigger. Alright, not everything. But. Whenever I’m triggered by something, I like when it makes sense: when I can trace it back to something, some event, some conversation, some pattern that I can think about and understand the connection. So I’m getting good at that. The sh*t that freaks me the h*ll out is when my body panics and I don’t see the stressor; when my brain short-circuits. All Effect, no Cause.

Because of course there is a Cause. Of course there will be Effects. And I have to deal with that sh*t now. And I am allowed to be f*cking furious about it. For some reason my body has been trying to suppress my anger this week. It’s been trying to come out for days now and instead of experiencing and embracing the feelings…they were big and scary and so I tried to cope my way out of their path instead.

So here we are.  I’m angry.    I. AM. ANGRY.

What kind of person insists on actively destroying their children’s bodily autonomy? WHY would anyone do this? What the f*ck kind of controlling narcissism IS that?

The people that were supposed to protect me caused me very literal pain and very real psychological distress. The people group that I was born into is made up of flawed people and i want to stop making excuses for them; I’m sick of wasting my empathy finding reasons for their sh*ty behavior and having that same conversation over and over when I bring up something bad that happened:

Oh, yes, I’m sure they were doing the best that they knew how. They were dealing with their own issues at the same time. They were also being abused so you can’t fully blame them…The people enabling or allowing the abuse didn’t really know for sure and kids are really not believable. Blah. Blah. Blah.

F*ck you. F*ck that noise. My abusers always demanded understanding and empathy from me to an absurd degree. I need to deal with this anger by being f*cking angry. Not forever: for now.

Yes, I f*cking understand that parents are always doing the best that they can. I f*cking get it that parents have a tough job. But when your Pastor Daddy allows? encourages? coaches? primes? grooms? a sibling to force themselves on the younger children in the home, I’m allowed to be sickened and I’m allowed to be disgusted and I’m allowed to be upset. This body is mine! I am allowed to assert ownership over it and feel violated. I am allowed to be shaking with rage. I am allowed to think thoughts of revenge. I’m allowed to experience white hot pain and own this abuse story.

It’s not my older sibling’s story. It’s mine. It’s not my parent’s story. It is mine. It is not my other parent’s. It isn’t anybody else’s but mine right now. I am allowed to own my body. This is mine! And I am f*cking furious that someone abused me. I am incensed that this abuse has caused years of weakened immunity, horrible illnesses, and chronic pain. I am angry that people exist who are capable of this.

I am angry at the police department who knew my abuser and excused their behavior. File a g*ddamn report next time a child runs to you looking for help.
I am angry at the other parent for not noticing immediately and removing me from the abusive situation.
I am angry at both parents for allowing this sh*t to occur. Ever.
I am angry at my other siblings for not noticing and trying to help me. Though this is the most understandable of the things on this list.
I am angry at all the people who were ever “pastored” by this a**hole I knew as “Dad”. You f*ckers all enabled this disturbing chicanery and I want a tearful apology from each of you.
I’m angry with my abusive older sibling.
I’m angry with the justice system and it’s penalties. Incarceration instead of rehabilitation is itself an abusive system and I f*cking hate it.

Hot damn, it feels good to let this out.

It’s okay for me to express these things. It feels healthy to finally allow myself to feel the anger and hurt that I had to disassociate from for all those years.

And even though it hurts to admit it, I am angry with myself for being too weak to prevent the abuse and all the damage from it. This is a completely irrational thing to be angry about, but it is there. I’m f*cking pissed that my body wasn’t stronger and somehow un-abusable. I’m angry that assault happened to me. I’m angry that it happened. I AM ANGRY THAT IT HAPPENED.


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