Tag Archives: therapy

Why Are You REALLY Angry?

Earlier this week, (I started this post quite a while ago but couldn’t put everything into words) I woke up quite happily, went about my morning routine, got to an early meeting, and suddenly realized I was flamingly enraged.

Everyone and everything irritated me.

I wasn’t angry at the little things, at the people. The circumstance.

Anger behind my anger.

That’s what had me.

Lurking back there like a freaking chained Chihuahua I’d been trying to ignore.

After a while, you can’t ignore the real reasons.

(and by the way, what horrible person chains up a dog and ignores it in the first place? just saying…it was the only metaphor I had at the moment)

 

Notice that the word “anger” is in the word “danger”.

Go ahead.

Take a minute.

I know its a real hard one to wrap your mind around.

*rolls eyes*

 

I used to think being angry was the danger.

Nope.

Nah-ah.

WRONG.

 

I used to think “letting go” of my anger meant, noticing the anger and shoving it away as fast as I could manage.

 

Safe to say, its been a while since I’ve “felt” my feelings.

 

 

That’s the danger.

NOT feeling the emotions trying to flow through you.

Anger is telling us something.

Are we listening?

Typically we’re angry because we hurt.

 

What other emotions am I ignoring?

……

That wasn’t a fun thing to think on either.

 

My advice?

(and wouldn’t it be great if I would take my own advice?)

Figure out why you’re REALLY angry.

It might require more than thinking about it.

Do something creative in an angry manner.

I’m serious.

Have you ever seen a toddler get pissed off while holding a crayon/pencil/pen?

They FREAK. OUT.

And suddenly there’s a bunch of angry scribbling going on.

Have you seen a toddler get mad while holding a toy?

They throw things!

They feel their rage. And yeah, it’s freaking rage.

We downplay what we feel, then try to hide it, ignore it. Or the people around us tell us that’s not what we’re feeling…. “No honey, you’re not angry at your brother.” How often do parents tell their children this? YES! I’m bloody mad! That’s what I feel right now! Don’t try to tell me I don’t. We grow up being told that we don’t feel what we feel. That what we feel isn’t okay. We only grow that issue as we grow. Well, some of us. Some of you enlightened people get that healthy vibe real fast.

But eventually, while letting go and feeling that anger, you’re going to notice some things whispering from within.

And that’s when you start to figure things out.

 

You know where not feeling my anger has gotten me?

Therapy.

Al-Anon.

A psychiatrist.

Medical issues I now can’t get rid of.

 

Stress is generated when we try to act as if we’re someone we’re not.

We are EMOTIONAL creatures.

WE. FEEL.

It only becomes a problem – a danger to ourselves – when we try to deny it.

….or you know, when we express it in an inappropriate way…. which is different than denying it to the point that we snap, blow up, have a psychotic break and decide to shoot everyone in sight.

 

Emotion can do a lot for us.

Or we can ignore it, hide it, deny it and screw ourselves over.

We’re not going to be able to let go of the nastier emotions until we first acknowledge and feel them.

 

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I Exist

I don’t need a good excuse

I exist

Therefore I have the right to be

 

 

By Daphne Shadows

 

(Don’t forget, we’re human beings not human “doings”.)

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During Therapy

“I know of people who are bedridden. I’m not saying I’m not grateful.” I smirk at her. “You know I’m a lot more grateful now, than I ever was. I see the greatness in my life, the potential, options, beauty, goodness.”

I look down, play with the black tassel of the zipper on my bag. “I fight it. I don’t think I’ve accepted it, how it affects me, controls me, every day.”

My therapist smiles softly. “How do you fight against it?”

“Struggle to be awake, to focus, to get rid of a chronic illness, one of many. It’s like I’m filled with lead in a world of people filled with helium. And I’m sitting here berating myself as if I’m only being lazy.”

“And how would you be if it didn’t affect you?”

I shrug. “Without ME? I’d have energy. Suddenly not be affected by it at all. Be able to focus and be part of my life. I actually like life now. I want to be here for it. Instead I’m sleeping it away.”

“What do you think you’d have to do in order to stop allowing ME to affect you?”, my therapist asks.

My laugh is short and without humor. “Be God.”

 

She laughs and smiles. “You’ve got it.”

“There are only two things you need to know about God.” She holds up a finger. “One, there is a God.” A second finger. “Two, you aren’t God.”

 

“You’re experiencing a lull, yes. But it’s normal.” She responds to my concern. “Life does this. Humans do this. It’s like going to college. At first, you’re excited, you’ve got your eye on the prize – your degree, your desired job. Freshman year is a breeze. But then it gets hard. The homework. The papers get harder. The professors, the lack of sleep.” She looks at me, kind, clever, and all-knowing as ever. “You’re somewhere in your sophomore/junior year. Keeping going.”

“Right,” I agree, nodding my head as I think it through, “life is always going to be hard.”

I brighten a bit, a troubling issue illuminated. “You’re right. I’m doing everything I need to be. I’m taking care of my responsibilities and striving to do better at being kind to myself, accepting myself for who I am. I’m finding ways to enjoy my life. I eat some froyo and deal with the minor migraine later that night. Then the next day I go back to eating the way my SIBO having self can deal with, without regretting or getting down on myself for indulging. I’m still trying and in many ways succeeding.”

I smile to myself. Take a deep breath in, let it out.

“My depression and anxiety are just taking me through a detour. I’m still on the right path.”

 

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Before Therapy

I’m about to go to my therapy appointment.

Feeling a bit… shall we say… internal, today.

Self-analyzing, philosophical. Quiet.

I’m also truly there again.

Not completely, it’s only a minor slope. But it’s a definite downward lull.

 

Dead.

Void.

Don’t care.

But then again, I do.

Why else would I feel on edge?

 

Depression and anxiety feed off of one another, trapping me between a rock and a hard place. An immovable object against an unstoppable force.

 

I’m find joy in multiple things today.

I do.

I feel joy in the lesson I’m about to prepare.

Joy in the donut I’m going to eat after I get back from therapy.

Joy in the book I have to read.

The dog staring up at me with big brown, curious, loving eyes.

My family.

Joy itself.

Life itself.

The options, choices to be made.

The possibility that I could work on my writing today.

 

Even though I probably won’t.

I don’t have any energy. It’s not just physical. Emotional energy. I’m out of it. I’m not certain if its depression, anxiety, or ME/CFS. Perhaps all of them at once. But I’m drained of the ability to move, motivation, energy in general. The strength to lift my limbs. The world is a murky pool of molasses, my body a thick, awkward figure of solid iron and cotton balls.

Not of desire. I’m not robbed of that. I want to create. To work on my writing. To piece together my lesson. I feel inspired.

 

What’s the point of all this blogging stuff going on here?

Is this post relevant?

Is it pointless?

Am I complaining, yammering, going on and on about myself?

Or am I connecting?

I’m not entirely certain.

 

I have these moments.

Where I’m outside of myself.

Wondering, what am I doing?

 

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Honestly, I have Nothing to Offer, Except…

HONESTLY, I wouldn’t wash my hair if I didn’t have to. It’s so annoying, hair gets all over, I have to wait eight millennia’s  for it to dry, and brush it out at just the right time or it sheds  more hair all over and drives me insane. But, if I don’t wash it I begin to look like I could squeegee my hair out and oil your truck… so I figure it’d be a good idea to wash it. Plus, I look less naked-mole-rat and more human when it’s clean. But Jeeze! I’d love it if hair just stayed clean.

 

I absolutely love waking up sore from a good work out. Absolutely love it. So then, of course you see me walking around all weird-like, stretching limbs out in odd places, stretching my back, arching my back, leaning forward, stretching my legs out to the side…. Randomly. Because it feels good.

Because that doesn’t totally look strange.

 

“Forgiveness doesn’t make the other person right, it just makes me free.” Anonymous

 

So, would someone like to give me the recipe for this?

So, would someone like to give me the recipe for this?

 

I love going to therapy! That probably makes me sound like more of a crazy person than I am, but it’s so true. If I could joyfully yell it from a hilltop, head thrown back, arms stretched skyward, I would. Except, then people would probably wonder if maybe I shouldn’t have left therapy, and I don’t want people thinking I’m a different kind of crazy than I am.

But yeah. I love therapy. I don’t want to stab people as often. 😉

 

Humans are so impressionable. No wonder it’s so easy for the monsters to win us over, to get us, to sneak up and slip into our skin or rip it open.

But humans are the monsters.

Exactly. There’s one in all of us. And we let it take over without much of a fight, now don’t we?

 

HONESTLY, the truth of the matter is really quite funny.

It’s the reality so many don’t want to accept. Don’t want to see. We They don’t want it to be real as they cling to their chains and shriek out the pain, woe is me, where is the answer? as they hug the cold metal harder.

There are no rules.

Where does this puritanical urge come from to believe I must be miserable, suffering, in pain – or I must be doing something wrong? If I’m not in agony, I’m not a good person, I’m not fighting the good fight. If I don’t burn with the angst of never-to-triumph fire, I must not be trying.

No one is holding a gun to my head, telling me I must suffer.

No one is threatening to burn my family alive and rip my heart out while I scream and thrash in some Mayan ritual.

So why the bloody hell do I feel the need to suffer?

Life isn’t fair because everyone plays by ‘life isn’t fair’ rules.

Human choice is an underappreciated privilege.

 

I looooooove chocolate. Does anyone else put chocolate in the fridge or freezer before eating it? That doesn’t count for things like oreos or hohos though.

Also… I no longer like cake. And who doesn’t like cake? Well, my papa doesn’t, but he likes pie and ice cream, so it all evens out. Anyway, I don’t like cake anymore, not of any kind. Really freaking weird.

 

I am finally understanding that no one is perfect. No one has it all under control or is at the point where they’re like people in story books, fairytales, or movies: 100% sure of themselves and handling challenges perfectly.

No one.

No one is, by my definition, someone I agree with and want to emulate 100% of the time.

Everyone makes mistakes.

It never occurred to me. Some people, I’ve been believing, are people they’re not.

For some ridiculous reason I thought they never royally messed up or lost their cool, handled things poorly or made mistakes. I thought they were agreeable all the time and never said or did (or even thought) anything I consider judgmental or careless.

I mean, I knew they had challenges and trials – every human being does.

But I honestly thought they never made the “I screwed up” kind of mistakes.

It’s finally sinking in that everyone one of us does this. We’re all totally human and struggling to do our best (well, those of us who are trying). We’re all messing up and trying to get back up and do better.

It’s helped me see more people as beautiful and good. They’re trying. But they’re human, just like me, messing up and learning. No one has got this thing called ‘life’, down.

No one.

 

Since I was a child, I’ve been fascinated with rocks, crystals, gemstones. When I was a kid, I had a huge tub I kept under my bed filled with rocks I found. I couldn’t even lift it towards the end there, it was so heavy. I don’t know what ever happened to all those rocks.

 

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I love geodes. Yet, I have none. The horror.

 

 

“Writers are desperate people and when they stop being desperate they stop being writers.”  – Charles Bukowski

 

“We cannot all succeed when half of us are held back.” Malala Yousafzai

HONESTLY, I am tired of this. I do not care that you are black and I am white. I do not care that you are male and I am female. I do not care that you are Mexican, Guatemalan, Puerto Rican, Japanese, Chinese, Persian, Apache, Russian, British… and I am white. I do not care that you are twenty-nine, seventy-eight, ninety-three, twelve… and I am in my early twenties. I do not care if you have less or more money than me. I do not care if you have red hair, dyed hair, or fake hair.

I do not care.

I do not care.

I do not care.

We are all human. I believe all human lives matter.

I am sincerely tired of hearing that only one kind of life matters.

I believe we should all be fighting for each other, fighting for humane treatment of human beings, regardless of color or gender.

We are all human.

 

Let’s just get this straight. When I refer to ‘monsters’, I’m talking about one of two kinds of monsters.

One, bad people.

Two, creatures from stories and movies and myths which are dangerous and I absolutely love.

 

“I have nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.” Jack Kerouac

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