As my psych meds clear out of my system, I’m noticing an unsurprising phenomenon. What used to be physically uncomfortable agitated mania has become simply anger. The automatic suppression of anger by medication has been replaced by a need for self-censorship. I find myself stopping after speaking just a couple words, or erasing a potentially offensive online diatribe. My soapbox is getting heavy; and I’m tired of putting it down, only to whisk it away at the last minute before hurtful vitriol comes pouring out of my mouth.
That’s a good thing, right? I’m “feeling” again as well as self-regulating. But at what cost? Am I becoming that stereotypical crazy woman? “Just ignore her, she’s off her meds, poor thing.”
Where’s the line between sanity and insanity? Where’s that Goldilocks middle ground of “just right?” And if it does exist how does one find it – medically, holistically, spiritually? Who has the fucking formula for bliss?
I’m angry that I don’t have, nor will I ever have, the answer. I’m angry that I’m angry.
At one time, I woke up every morning filled with anger and hatred. It would affect the rest of my day, dancing around in my brain, taunting me, distracting me from the important things in life. As a survivor of domestic violence, all I wanted were consequences for my abuser. There were no serious repercussions for what he did to me or my daughters that truly affected him. Well, that’s not exactly true, I did end up winning sole protective custody of the girls, but he just said that was because the judge believed all my vile lies, and of course the child therapist must have been lying as well. And I must have fabricated the threatening voice mail messages he left as well as the emails he sent and I printed. My point is, he never went to jail and never acknowledged that he did anything wrong. Even several years after my daughters have turned 18, I’m still fighting for child support arrearages that are over $200,000, and he’s still oblivious.
Letting go of the anger was one of the healthiest things I’ve ever done. One morning I just woke up and realized I couldn’t live that way anymore. Who was it harming? Certainly not him, it wasn’t as if I could send my angry brain waves to him. Even if I could it wouldn’t make any difference. I was so much happier when I finally released the hold that the anger had on my brain.
Years later, when he stopped paying child support, the anger started creeping in again, but I did the best I could at keeping it at bay. Government agencies kept screwing up, and I kept fighting against the frustration. I could not allow him to keep affecting me long after the girls and I escaped to safety. What was the point of leaving if I still allowed him to poison my brain?
For the most part, I’ve been successful. I almost gave up on the child support issue, but Greg stepped in and took over (they’re still losing papers, and somehow they keep getting the impression that the case is closed). But when something comes up that affects one of my daughters, it starts all over again. And each time it hits me anew, it seems like a fresh wound. I feel sick to my stomach with the anger and hatred roiling around.
I want justice, I want revenge, I want peace.