Anger Management

(You guys get a two-for one blog day from me. I didn't intend to write twice, and this post is totally stream-of-consciousness, so sorry if it doesn't make any sense. I just needed to clear my head. I need to move myself but can't stop thinking right now.)

At some point in the past hour, I sunk into an awful depression and can't seem to pull myself out. I hate myself for this drinking thing. I really want to stop, but can't imagine my life without it right now. I mean, it feels like everything will change. Even the way I feel, think, am. But I don't want to be Mr. Hyde anymore. I just don't want it.

I'm sick of these mood swings, headaches, sore throats, and stinging eyes. I'm sick of the anxiety, of doing things half-assed, of making bad choices and blacking out. I'm sick of hiding from my family and making excuses to the doctor. I'm sick of putting back on all the weight that I lost because I drink thousands of calories a night. I'm sick of never having enough sleep and hiding from my nightmares. I'm sick of embarassing myself, of presenting myself as a drunk, and feeling detached from the person that I really am. I'm sick of not doing my work, not getting joy from school anymore, and fucking with my voice all the time. I sick of making my mom worry about me and making my friends worry about me. I'm sick of myself. I hate myself. I'm sick of hating myself. I didn't always. I want clarity, you know? I want some peace.

Why did I go out drinking last night?

I was so resolved after my visit to the doctor to be healthy. I told B that he was lunching with "famine-Hyde." (It's our joke that I'm "feast or famine." I told Hammer that my philosophical track will be called "All or Nothingness.") But it's all about choices, right? Nothing goes into my body without my approval. I'm destroying myself with my own hand.

Ughh... Here's what I don't want to know, what I don't want to think about--

I was talking to B on the phone last night and I felt raw; I felt like myself in a way that I rarely ever do. I never let myself slow down enough to be. But I started to feel things that were real--feelings that I never let myself feel. I had just hung up with my mom who gave me the update on my stepbrother and I couldn't stop thinking about him. She was trying to teach him to wave goodbye--like you'd teach a baby who hasn't learned to talk. She found a book report that he wrote for school just five days before the accident. It was some stupid report on a book they read about the Holocaust. He concluded by saying that he felt very "lucky" to have the life that he did. I think about the fact that he may never speak again, that if we're lucky his mind may have the aptitude of a child's. Maybe he can re-learn. Maybe he never will. It makes me feel sick. I think I'm going to vomit right now.

And the primary feeling under all of this, even if it doesn' t make sense-- I miss my dad so much. I've never been able to process it, never dealt with it properly. I still feel like it's not fair. It's just not fair. I know how childish that is, but my heart is still just 11 years old when I think of him. I keep getting really mad at people who are saying that losing the Pope is like losing their dad. Even though I know that there's no reason to be mad at those people, except for my own unresolved feelings. It shocks me and scares me how much hatred I have locked up inside. But then again, I hate myself for feeling even the slightest shred of anger about what happened to my dad. I don't think I deserve to be angry. I should count my blessings. I feel guilty for being angry. Then I think about that other thing, that I never want to think about and that I won't and can't even write down here.

That's one of my big things in therapy though--anger. Why can't I get angry? I never feel angry. Never, ever ever ever ever! Not even when Narc calls me a "stupid fucking bitch" and masturbates in front of my friend, and stands me up for the opera without apology and then demeans me when I see him, and tells me to sleep on the floor in my moment of greatest sorrow. The only person I get angry at is myself. But it all comes out as sadness. I'm sad for Narc, I'm sad for me, but angry at no one.

Last night on the phone with B, I felt a small swelling of anger in my chest. It was gently but firmly pushing itself through, like a tulip coming up out of the ground. If it managed to surface, it would have shattered me. Honestly, it scared the shit out of me. It's making me anxious right now. I really do think I might throw up. But I think it's why I went out last night. Once I left my house and my head, it was quiet. The anger disappeared again.

Now, today, I can't seem to motivate myself, and I feel "depressed." But I don't really think I'm "depressed." I think that I'm terrified. I know what I have to do; I know it's time to stop being in denial about all of the things that have happened and to finally let myself get angry about them so that I can move on. I feel it coming, but I can't go there. I feel frozen--immobilized. I have had more than my fair share of loss and bad things go down in my life, but there are others who have suffered much worse than I have. I would feel stupid for being angry. It's such an infantile emotion. I'm not allowed to have those feelings. They don't help the situations I have no control over.

But the "long-suffering" patience and denial act that I've been idealizing is only digging me a grave and robbing me of the things that I'm most passionate about--especially school, and voice and art. Last night, I tried to spend some time with myself. I played piano for a while but my fingers were so clumsy on the Beethoven sonatas. When's the last time I sat down and just played piano? That used to be one of my favorite things in the world. When I was in high school, I used to sit and play for hours on end. My sisters would always tell me to stop making so much noise. Now, it's been months. I used to sketch almost daily and paint every few weeks. When's the last time I picked up a brush or a pencil? Maybe back in September when I did my "September Song" painting.

Fuck. I feel like I don't even know who I am anymore. I have to scrap what I've been doing. It doesn't work.

But what if letting myself be angry kills me? That's what I'm afraid will happen. What if I completly fall apart?

Sorry if this is too much information. I don't know why I'm putting this on the internet.

I think I'm going to go cry now.