Anger

"You're a very, very angry girl."

I sat there thinking, No s--t, Sherlock.

It was my first therapy appointment.  I just got through giving my new therapist the brief history of my life story and my eating disorder.  I knew I was angry.  At the world.  At everyone.  At her for even for saying that.

She told me she wanted me to go home and make a list of all the people I was angry at.  I told her that there wasn't enough paper in the world.  (I was making such a great first impression.)

Well I did.  I put down everyone I could think of.  From WAY back.  We're talking from the girls who teased me in kindergarten up to the ex-boyfriend I was currently living with.  No one was spared.

When I finished and read through the list, I had to put someone else on top.  Myself.  I was mostly angry at myself.  For ending up having to get help.  For getting sick enough to need help.  For feeling ashamed at being sick.  I deserved to be on top of that list more than anyone else.

Anger was always a very scary emotion for me.  I never learned how to deal with it.  I grew up with my mother constantly telling me that if I have nothing nice to say, then say nothing.  And the always helpful, "A lady never shows her true feelings."  (When I told my therapist these words of wisdom, she exclaimed, "Bulls-t!")  So it's easy to see how I could have developed an e.d. to help me to cope with uncomfortable feelings.

But with getting better, you have to learn how to deal with all the junk you've been avoiding.  And anger was a big one for me.  All anger is, is sadness putting on a tough face.  That's it.  We as a society are more comfortable showing anger than tears.  I wasn't very good at either.

One of the ways I would get anger out in the beginning of my recovery was to drive around at night with my music blaring and just screaming at the top of my lungs.  I would have the angriest music I could find on and just scream and scream.  I felt so good to finally get out all the years of pent up anger out out out.  Believe me, there was a lot of it to get out.

I did just mention that I was living at the time with my ex-boyfriend.  (Under no circumstances would I ever recommend this to anyone.)  One day I was really mad at him for something.  He was not at home for me to tell him.  I saw one of his t-shirts laying on the floor.  I'll never forget it.  It was purple.  I picked it up and just laid into it.  I ripped that shirt to shreds.  Tore it up.   It was just a bunch of torn strips when I got through with it.  I didn't have an ounce of negativity left in me.  There was some guilt in what I did to one of his favorite shirts though.  Oh well.  Looking back, I should have owned up to what I did a few days later when he went looking for it.  But I played dumb.  I thought to myself that it was better his t-shirt took a fall, than my recovery.

Now I deal with anger a bit more saner.  I take a lot of deep breaths.  A lot.  I do practice yoga, so I have many different breathing techniques at my disposal.  Talking it out with someone helps too.  It doesn't always have to be the one you're angry at.  Sometimes you just have to vent and that's fine.  What's important is that you don't let the anger simmer inside you.  Get it out.  Journal.  Exercise.  Tear up a damn t-shirt.  Get it out!  Feel your feelings.

The only way out is through.  The only way to heal is to feel.
(I used to hear those two sayings so much in therapy.  Just thought I'd throw those out there.)

love and light, kelly