Of Anger

TW: Mention of sexual abuse and eating disorders


I’ve always hated being on the highway in the passenger seat. The car is moving too fast, I have no control, and I’m in the least safe spot of the car. If something were to happen, the driver would be focused on protecting themselves. I felt angry at the people in my life that have led me to the crash.


I learned in psychology class that anger never stands alone; anger is always accompanied by another, more personal emotion.


I’ve noticed that most of my emotions stem from a lack of control. I couldn’t control those who’ve hurt me. I couldn’t protect myself from all of the hurt. I was angry.


I was angry that my father saw me as a choice. I was angry that my mother tried to fill this void. I was angry that she couldn’t find love for herself but found love in those who hurt her, and therefore me.


 I was angry that my grandmother chose the bottle over us. I was angry that she would rather spend her days on the bathroom floor sleeping off the booze. I was mad that my grandfather didn’t love her enough to stop this from happening.


I was angry at the man that abused my mother and I. I was angry that he trembled my already shaky foundations. I’m angry that ten years of his existence in my life is going to take a lifetime to process.


I was angry at my boyfriend that wouldn’t take no for an answer. I was angry at all the nights where I said “I don’t want to,” but took ownership of my body anyways. I was angry when he told me that he didn’t like that I was tense, and told me I needed to relax. I was angry when he prioritized his wants and needs over mine.


I was angry at myself. I was angry that I tried to heal my hurt by hurting myself. I’m angry that I tried to find my self worth in diminishing myself. I’m angry that purging became my release, my only sense of control. I’m angry that I didn’t catch myself sooner.


I’m angry that I was not in control of the car I was in. Its hot, rusting metal enclosing me in a space that I felt I could never escape. The child locks were turned on as a reminder that I didn’t have authority. The car was going so fast that I couldn’t make sense of what was out of my window. I was hydroplaning on pain, emptiness, and self-doubt. I was crashing due to factors beyond my control.


I’m not just angry. I’m sad, I’m hurt, I’m lost, I’m broken, and I’m feeling things I can’t name. But I’m healing, I’m growing, and I’m making sense of everything.