Anger Is Like Fire

Finally made it through the holiday chaos, relatively sane, or at least no crazier than I was when I went in. Some days that’s winning, right?

So, that anger I mentioned a post or two back, remember that? Holy hell, is it here, with a vengeance. It’s not a constant, but it boils up from nowhere when I least expect it. Rather like the crippling, gut-clenching pain was doing previously. Which isn’t to say that the pain is gone, oh no, but at least something different is happening. I’m going to call that progress. Mostly because I know I have to keep moving forward. Anger is a stage of grieving, right?

Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean. Maya Angelou 

I’m fighting the bitter, and so far I am winning. But I am just SO angry at him, at his callous disregard for my mental and emotional wellbeing, my heart, my sanity. I want him to know that. Not that I want to talk to him, I do not. But I want him to know, truly know, how horribly he behaved, what a shitty, despicable thing he did. I imagine he has an idea of what he did to his wife, but I was in this too, and I got hurt too. Badly. So badly. I want to yell at him. I wish when we talked last that I’d been in a different state of mind other than painfully shocked disbelief. He invited me to yell at him, and all I could say was I love you and I don’t understand. Stupid. Fucking stupid.

I want to scream at him, hurl angry words at him, stand righteous with fury before him. I want to wield a fiery sword and smite him down for what he did to me. Dramatic much? Yeah, I know, but I do. I am pissed, seriously pissed. I just want to matter as a human being, as a woman, as someone with feelings who should have been treated properly, like a decent man should treat a woman, with respect. I want to say fuck you, Dan, fuck you Adrian, fuck you for hurting me so badly, fuck you for seeking me out and doing it again, cluelessly vicious and cruel, fuck you for having no apparent concern as to the consequences of your actions, except as they affect you personally. Fuck you for making me fall ever more in love with you, knowing the whole time that you had no goddamn right to offer me your love, no right to promise yourself to me, no right to do anything that you did. Fuck you for not being willing to stop on your own, for continuing and escalating our relationship, for dragging me deeper and deeper into your bullshit, for setting me up for a devastating fall that you knew would eventually come. Fuck you.

Fuck you.

It still hurts. But the anger, I think it is helping. Time heals, right?

Fuck. You.

 

The Cycle of Sad To Angry And Back Again

I still miss him. A lot. But I’m angry. I’m angry at him, for lying, for hurting me SO fucking badly. I’m angry at him for treating his wife like an afterthought. I’m angry at him for not respecting his newborn daughter enough to treat her mother well, to stand up and be a man she would be proud of. I am angry at him for repeatedly saying I made him want to be a better person and then not actually managing to BE a better person. You want to be worthy of my love? Well, you aren’t. Not at all.

And so I’m right back to sad. It HURTS, dammit!