Rage

 I’m just so fucking mad. I’m living in a constant state of rage and trying to shove it down but it boils over and drips from my eyes in the form of tears. Catching my breath. My chest heaving while I try to pull just a little more oxygen from all the thick air around me. Hands constantly shaking. My body trying to release the anxiety buzzy through me like the power lines on a silent night. I paint and paint while listening to sad songs to feel something other than resentment and pain and rage. 

Rage is like a forest fire, it doesn’t care about the damage it’s doing, in fact it eats up everything in reach feeding on the heat to keep going. 

My daughter, this won’t be hard to figure out which one, the daughter who punched me when she couldn’t tamp down her forest fire and who yelled words that come from a place of burnt feelings. The daughter that felt like a tornado while growing up. Skipping from here to there destroying feelings lashing out the as the debris flies into my heart. Does she feel anything other than rage? Is she capable of compassion and empathy? Is her path to destroy me? 

My thoughts go on and on and on …. Why? What happened? Has she finally shed the last remnants of the parts of her that were fiercely loyal. She had that quality. She got that from me. A firewall of loyalty. If nothing else she could be depended on to focus that rage towards the one who hurt the ones she protected. It’s been left in a pile of ashes still smoldering, her foot print firmly pressed into the residue after the crushed the bits that remained.

She’s telling people that she was abused.  Traumatized to the point of having memory loss and unable to function. She’s gone yet I’m still surrounded by rage. My own. She told me once that she could do and say the things to me that she did because I was the one person who would take it and still be there.

That isn’t true anymore. I have to remove her from my heart. Surgically with fine precision before I rip her out with my bare hands. 

God, I’d make different choices if I could go back. I’d protect my heart and make different choices to hold onto my peace. I know that parents aren’t suppose to feel that and especially don’t say that out loud or write it down.

This is my private place. Maybe take a lighter and burn it.

Me