Day 282 of 365 Days of Being
I had a rough two weeks, feeling this uncensured rage is no joke. I was downing cooling water like a crazy person, up my meditation and yoga practice to manage. It was controlled rage simmering under the surface, I was a boiling pot and I was also the cover. There were times I thought the world finally broke me, I imagined cartoonish fizzling wires out the top of my head. I laughed manically at how I finally found myself, how I suspected the world broke me after. The biggest irony of my life played out in the stage of my mind, laughter was the only way to handle a madness I can't make sense of. A madness that wasn't even my own, a madness of the world that always made me feel otherworldly.
I was a pillar of fire that flooded out in lonely hot tears, sleepless nights gagging on my throat chakra, I was choking on my rage and it was burning me up. Nightmares started when I managed to finally fall asleep, I can run but I can't seem to hide. I woke up tired, I went to sleep just as tired. As Hannah Gadsby says, I identify as tired.
I'm angry about many things. I'm angry about how low humanity has sunk, that violence against women is tolerated, angry that enablers further victimise women. For every step forward that women's rights take, enablers move it back a step. I am angry at misogyny, internalised and externalised. Angry at how I was educated enough to know that a woman who internalised it is currently hating on herself, that I considered her even if she didn't consider me. That this betrayal of the sisterhood reminds me that I'm unsafe everywhere. I'm angry that as she tries to tear me down, I still feel bad for her as well. I'm angry that I might actually be too good for this shit stain of a world that only toilets deserve, because all the shit can be flushed down quickly.
Angry that this meant that when I stand up against misogynist men who points out some women are OK with it, I can't disagree with a clear conscience, because some women really are. I am angry that those women become excuses for the same men who are currently disrespecting them. Like their entire existence is an excuse, they don't deserve better than to tip toe around a fragile ego, walking on eggshells, clutching themselves in constant fear. I want them to say, "screw the eggshells", slam it to the ground and stomp all over the damn eggs with a triumphant fist in the air. Not cook breakfast with it in the morning, playing nice and keeping small.
I want them to scream "fuck you, I am still alive, I am living large and I made it in spite of you!" Go good crazy because anyone who isn't feeling it's fucked up are really the crazy ones. I want them to wake up and realise how it's impossible to live well with either internalised or externalised misogyny.
I am angry that at some point I had to also battle this, that how even at my worst, I wasn't THAT woman, I had the good sense to hear the truth in someone's voice. I'm angry that I think like this, I worry that I myself might be betraying the sisterhood. I had to work through my own unreasonable guilt, knowing we're all victims of the patriarchy, in different ways. I am angry because people use this guilt to control me, that it's my heart they prey on, while I grapple with the cold cold hearts they possess.
I am angry because there're too many women I love dearly who can't see it yet and I want them desperately to see it. I think that's the point, I desperately want them to see, I can't control if they want to see or when they will see. That is out of my control.
I'm angry about that too.
I am angry that I care too much and too hard in a world that cares too little and too silently. I am angry that I am punished not just for being a woman, I am punished for being angry at how I'm treated as a woman as well, this never-ending hamster wheel of a profoundly sick society, spewing toxicity, a chemtrail no one talks about.
When I'm overwhelmed, part of me wish I can unseen what I see, unknow what I know. They say ignorance is bliss, there's a reason why people turn a blind eye, refuse to acknowledge the truth in front of their eyes. They refuse to educated themselves because education comes at a price, the price is sometimes my sanity. I see too clearly, know too much, a lot of it is ugly. The truth is also healing, it's kind and it's healthy, it's tough to face at first, if you stick with it, it always delivers liberation and so much more.
I'm angry that I hated on myself for many years, thinking I had to be perfect, trying to achieve impossible beauty standards, never feeling good enough to be deserving of love, my own love or other people's.
Pass my anger, I am sad, I am grieving so many things. How whenever my arm aches, I am reminded of the doctor that groped me. That now I have a phobia of doctors that I dealt with as best as I can, by eating well and exercising so I don't fall sick. More than as part of self-love, it was also to avoid a doctor's appointment. I am grieving my old self lost to the patriarchy, the years I diminished myself to keep small, trying to keep quiet to ensure my safety. How it didn't work and I was devastated and lost, then what?
I'm angry that I wasn't taught how to stand in my power, how to defend myself through my voice, instead I was taught to bend over backwards, so far back that I became a doormat of a people pleaser. Then I was blamed for being mentally ill like as if I knew I had a better option then. Fuck them. All the toxic people.
I grief that people have become so detached from basic human decency, I grief the voices silenced in fear, I grief the voices spoken in fear, I grief the brokenness of humanity, I grief the lost of people to power trips and inflated egos.
As I moved through the turbulence of my grief, Icarus flying too close to the sun, my waxed wings melted for a while. Today, I finally found happiness at the end of the rainbow. Feeling like a strangely magical rather foolish limping Leprechaun, I realised that my anger meant I kept my humanity. That the day I feel I am OK with it is the day I truly lose myself to the world. My anger reminds me that I am not repressing like before, carrying a war inside me as I pretended to be OK for someone else's comfort. My anger reminds me that I am alive and living, that I am feeling everything and it's good to feel everything! It means I'm connected to all my emotions.
People who aren't angry aren't managing better than I am, they have shut down themselves a long time ago, become empty unthinking robots, slaves to the machine. Or they lack the courage to stand up for something bigger than themselves, courageous warriors speak the truth and they aren't my people. Again I am reminded I am ahead of them.
I dizzyingly congratulate myself that truth told daily is a rebellion, when I'm speaking the truth, I am actually reaffirming to myself, "fuck them, I am still alive, I am living large and I made it in spite of you!"
As I slam the eggs to the ground, stomp all over them with a triumphant fist in the air.
I am OK. I will be OK.
I am not insane, I am too sane for an inhumane asylum of a topsy turvy broken world. As I try my best for the world, I remind myself that I can't take ownership of pain that isn't mine, no matter how tempting it is.
Love, light and peace.
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