3rd
on being angry
There’s this essay I love. It’s about reclaiming anger. I’m not sure what it means. Well, i know what it means in theory. But what does it mean in practice?
I’m angry. I’m an angry person. It doesn’t seem like it. I pretend well. More on pretending later.
I’m angry at my family for fucking me, for making me feel guilty, and for basically making me raise myself. Family is a complicated thing. You can’t really cut them out of your life. We are all allowed to mistakes, after all. I just hate when my sister calls me out on shit on the undeserved pedestal she’s put herself on. I hate all of it. I love them, but I’m angry. So pretending its okay is the answer.
I’m angry about last year and everything I went through. Both the lack of support from the people that I never expected to withold it, the best part is the lack of apologies; don’t even let me start on my sisters apathy. Life is what it is.
I’m angry at my vagina. It’s true. Or maybe it’s my ovaries. I’m angry that for the second time in 3ish years, I had my period for 7 months at time. Not just my period. A flood, a hemorraghe fest, a volcano overflowing with debry. But I’m not supposed to talk about that and how much it hurts or how everyday at work I worry about an “accident”, because I’m supposed to use a code word for issues related to “girl problems”. I’m angry that I complain to people about it, but it’s really just a third of how I feel or how it scares me. I’m angry at my vagina and I can’t do anything about it.
I’m angry at myself. For not saving or having money. For the many mistakes I’ve made with girls. For “emotional eating” and feeling like I’m so ugly that I deserve to be alone and not have friends and not feel love or expect love. I’m angry I can’t bring myself to exercise or stop overeating or any of that. I’m angry that I can’t seem to change my life or show people who I really am or feel like the image I project is not a pleasant one. I’m angry I’m not pleasant, come off as needy, and constant feel alone no matter where I am. I’m angry I hate my job when so many people don’t have one. I’m angry I don’t have a voice at work, because after all I’m just a glorified secretary. I’m angry that I want to change the world, but I’m not really an activist - it’s a mask, i think - and although I want to be, I don’t think I’m capable of it. I’m angry I’ll never be a writer, because the truth is, I’m not really that good at it. Mostly I’m angry that I am such an angry person that I don’t ever have anything but complaints to offer.
I’ve read so much feminist theory and so much theory from women of color and how anger is much more deep and part of the way we are socialized than just not feeling strong. I wish I could believe that sometimes. I don’t know.
There’s this funny picture of a vagina that I wanted to add, but I felt it not the most appropriate content.
