M – Mostly Mad About Much

English: A metaphorical visualization of the w...

English: A metaphorical visualization of the word Anger. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was an angry kid. Like, pissed off at everyone for everything.  In grade school I beat up the boys and from the ages eleven through thirteen I refused to smile.  In fact, there isn’t a picture of me smiling during that time period.  I hated my home life, my gangly legs, my parents and pretty much everything else.

At thirteen, I discovered Pink Floyd and slit my wrists in my bedroom.  Looking back, it was an unheard cry for help.  The boy I liked said, “you didn’t do it right.” My family swept it under the proverbial carpet.  My angry cries remained unheard.

At fourteen, I still hated myself, but in the summer of 1987, things were finally looking up for me. I was filling out, getting attention from boys and finally finding myself (yeah right).  I started smoking pot, skipping school and conveying my messages of hate to my high school chums.

Anger became a good friend.  It blanketed my fears, worries and insecurity.  I hid behind anger like an unblemished mask never realizing how it destroyed me. Married at sixteen, I learned from my then mother-in-law and her mother, that anger was normal.  These two women were angry about everything. They taught me passive-aggressive behavior and oh how I loved that!

I became an expert at passive-aggressive behavior as I “made people pay” for the “unjusts” they caused me.  But I noticed something.

My scowled face, harsh words and bitter mannerisms fell on myself while everyone went on with their days, blind to my rage.  How could they not feel my rage?  No one gave a damn about my anger.  No one stopped me from self-sabotaging, self-harming with drugs, alcohol and promiscuity.

In fact, I scowled so much in my younger years, I have a permanent frown line between my eyebrows.  People ask me “why are you mad?” or “what’s wrong?” or say, “you always look mad.”  It’s annoying, but some things cannot be helped.

These days, I’m not angry… really. I just have a stark reminder printed on my face of the anger I felt for so long.  These days, I give it to God.

What do you do with your anger?

Comments

  1. wow…. got here from resentment, glad I visited….. not sure what to say, but the first step is always the hardest, and the next, as long as you keep moving forward – thank you for being honest.

  2. It’s hard to be an angry kid, and always sad when no one listens or just takes the anger at face value.

  3. What courage to write about the hell of living with anger inside ! Thank God you found the answer to deal with it and that it can inspire others to be as strong as you Darlene!

  4. Just stopping by from the A-Z Challenge list to say “Hi” :)

    Wow honey…a very brave and honest post.

    Good luck with the rest of the challenge.

    x

Trackbacks

  1. […] stated in an earlier post how angry I was as a child.  This anger brewed inside me as the decades of my life passed. Realistically, anger for me was […]

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