forget love; i wanna know what anger is…

I was given a homework assignment at my last therapy session: Forget about why I’m angry in any given situation, but try to make note of how I know I’m angry. At first, this felt much like asking someone how we know that the sky is blue. I don’t know; I just do. That would be the answer of my anger-neophytic self. The whole point of this exercise, and of my sessions of late, is to introduce me to Anger 101. I imagine it’s difficult for the average person to comprehend, but I don’t know how to be angry. Sometimes (typically), I don’t know how to recognize it for what it is.

I thought that I had been given the perfect opportunity to do this assignment today. Something happened, and everything pointed towards the conclusion of “I am angry”, or so it seemed. According to dictionary.com, anger is defined as such:

-noun

1. a strong feeling of displeasure and belligerence aroused by a wrong; wrath; ire.

Strong feeling of displeasure? Yes. But wrath? Ire? No, not really. I can recall times of experiencing blind rage. That was drastically different than what I felt today. So if I wasn’t angry, what the heck was I feeling? Let’s ponder annoyance:

-verb

1. to disturb or bother (a person) in a way that displeases, troubles, or slightly irritates

Well, to be fair, I was more than “slightly” irritated.  I was a lot irritated. I may have overreacted a bit… but I’m still at the point where I feel entitled to have felt wronged. Check back with me in a day or so, and I may see things differently (but probably not).

So what keeps me from making the leap from annoyed to angry? One thing keeps rising to the surface in all these ponderings of mine: Fear. Fear of… I’m not sure. What I’m sure of is that it is a paralyzing fear that causes me to get stuck in my obsessive thoughts. Fear that has, over the course of many years, led me to develop OCD. I’m not overly thrilled with having to acknowledge that, but I suppose it doesn’t help to ignore the fact, either. And don’t get me started on OCD vs. OCPD vs. anal retentiveness. That’s a completely separate blog post.

Fear.

Fear that I will be viewed as being overly sensitive because I get angry about things that (according to others) don’t matter? Ah, but that’s another thing I’m already good at – justifying my way away from being angry, because the issue at hand “isn’t worth it”. But if I convince myself that it isn’t worth it – that my feelings in regards to a specific circumstance aren’t worth it, I am essentially telling myself that I’m not worth it.

I’m telling you, it’s rough peeling away all these layers…

never apologize for showing feeling…

People who know me know that I don’t get angry. Not properly, anyhow. Sure, I’ll say I’m angry, but I rarely do anything about it. I seldom confront the person who has upset me, and more often than not, I’ll work it out in my head that it was my fault to begin with. Over the course of time, I’ve programmed myself to believe that I don’t have the right to be angry. That’s bad enough in and of itself. Unfortunately, I’ve also let the people I surround myself with get away with making me feel like my own true feelings aren’t appropriate.

For years, people have asked me what I want. That’s a very difficult question for me to answer. I don’t feel comfortable saying what I want, especially if it solely benefits me. But you know what I’ve (very) slowly been learning with the help of therapy? That wanting things for myself once in a while is okay. It sounds like such a simple concept, but it truly is a hard one for me to grasp.

So when I actually gather up the courage to state that I want to take a road trip for something insignificant… that’s huge. To clarify, “gathering up courage” means spending hours agonizing over how and when to say it. It means rehearsing over and over and over again in my head, and then backing out several times before I spit it out. It means being scared to death of saying “I want” instead of asking “Can we?”. Point being, it was a terrifying step for me to take. You can imagine, then, that when the reaction is “Seriously? You want to do that? Why would you do that when you can just get it online?”, it’s basically a slap across the face.

Unfortunately, old habits die hard, and I succumb to thinking that I’m an idiot for having such a ridiculous idea. Bothered enough that it had me up at 3 in the morning wishing I had never opened my mouth in the first place. After half an hour of my husband doing damage control and cleaning up a mess that nobody realized existed, I was still upset. It took me a while to realize that I wasn’t upset about my idea being called dumb and a waste of time. Yes, that was a bit hurtful. What was more hurtful was that I was made to feel like I had no right to be hurt in the first place.

For once in my life, I was brave enough to own my feelings and to not apologize for them… and in the end, I was still being stupid. This is why I’m horrible at being angry – because every single time I express frustration over something, I’m told that things aren’t that bad or I’m just overreacting or I just need to get over it or that it’s a dumb thing to be mad about. I’m willing to concede that maybe my perception of the situation is sometimes wrong or false. But just because that perception is skewed doesn’t mean that the feelings that arise in reaction aren’t true. Have you ever been speeding on the highway and had a police officer suddenly appear in your rearview mirror? The natural reaction is that feeling of panic, that you’re going to get caught… and then he passes by you. Your perception of the situation was wrong, but that fear was still very real.

The worst part is that this attempt at standing up for myself went poorly enough that it’s like I’ve fallen off the horse in regards to the progress I had been making in therapy with recognizing and acknowledging my feelings. In the grand scheme of things, this wasn’t even a big deal. How’s it going to be when it comes to something that actually matters? Makes me want to stay off the horse and just stick to walking.

but… why??

It’s the age old question, isn’t it? “Why…?” From the moment we know how to ask, we want to know the reason for everything. Why is the sky blue, or why do bad things happen to good people, or better yet – WHY does Mommy say so? I imagine some people grow out of the inquisitive phase and can accept things at face value. I, on the other hand, have a hard time with that. It’s easier for me to understand a concept if I understand how the process works.

One of the common denominators in my psychological issues is an apparent need for “control”. Not control over other people or outside circumstances; I don’t dictate who does what when, nor do I manipulate events to work in my favor. There are certain things that I do, specific rules that I have to follow, or else things just aren’t right. It doesn’t bother me if other people don’t follow these rules, and I rarely go back and fix the “mistakes” of others. My lack of eating, my need to compulsively sort things, my fear of being inadequately prepared for any given situation… all symptoms of having to maintain control.

For the time being, my therapist believes that it’s okay that I do these things, so long as they don’t negatively impact my quality of life. He asked me yesterday if I hope that someday, it will be okay that my hands are dirty or if things are out of order. My answer was that the thought of that ever happening made me incredibly uncomfortable. Panicky uncomfortable. So he re-phrased, and asked if I thought it could ever happen. My answer was no. He felt the first question was a bit unfair, likening it to forcing a child to give up his security blanket before he’s ready to relinquish it.

I struggle with a couple of aspects of this. For one thing, I don’t understand why it’s such a concern, because none of my actions really affects anyone besides myself, nor is any of it really that harmful. Secondly (and more importantly), it frustrates me that I don’t know what I’m trying to accomplish by controlling all these things. There’s nothing in me that says, “If I can do all these little things, I’ll achieve this specific goal.” At this moment in time, there’s no why. That, in and of itself, is enough to make me agitated.

It was suggested that perhaps one of the things I need to let go of is my need to know why – at least for this particular circumstance. That perhaps in the process of healing and giving up control, I’ll come to learn why. In some ways, that sounds like it could make sense.

But… why?

i can haz identity?

This is the thought that has been plaguing me all morning: I want to be my own person, with my own flaws, struggles, symptoms, and behaviors… but I want be unnoticeable.

You see how this presents a quandary of sorts, yes? I want to be a unique individual, but I don’t want to be known for it. I want to be apart from everybody else, but I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want attention, but in revealing that I am a terribly broken person, I get that attention. I’m the person who, at a table full of people, is sitting there dreading the thought of someone talking to me. I just want to observe and listen.

Part of it, I’m sure, is due to my lack of self-worth. I don’t feel that anybody else would care about anything I’d have to say because… well, why should they? Nothing I have to offer is anything new, anyway. Everybody else has already heard it, felt it, or thought it. I’m asked how I feel or what I think, and when I actually give an answer that’s more than vaguely diplomatic, the response is frequently some variation of “Yeah, me too” or “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know”. Or better yet is when people answer for me, because they think they know me so well.

So who am I? Nobody… and everybody.

i am not the boss of me

Almost two months since a blog update, eh? I’m getting really good at being avoidant.

I’ve spent the past month and a half or so coming to terms with the fact that I am very much not ok. Physically, I’m fine – sort of. It’s the depression and anxiety disorder that have come to the surface again, and apparently they’re both quite intent on staying for an extended visit. After years of just putting up with these waves of turmoil until they pass, I finally started seeing both a psychologist and a psychiatrist.

To say it’s been difficult would be making it sound easy. With the help of the aforementioned professionals, the dots are starting to slowly connect, and I don’t always like the image that’s forming. There are days that I wonder if I’d have been better off not knowing what makes me tick, and there are days that I just don’t feel like fighting for the inner “normal” me that’s buried several layers deep. There are days like today, when all I really want is to be left alone. No rules to conform to, no mold that I have to fit into, no expectations to meet.

Only recently did the fact that I have a high level anxiety disorder come to light. You’d have thought I would have picked up on that at some point… but I really didn’t. I knew there was anxiety, sure, but I didn’t realize that it was literally controlling everything I do and how I think. There are certain behaviors that act as safety blankets for my brain, and I don’t want to let go of that blanket. Even the mere thought of possibly letting it go is enough to make me panic.

My most driving motivation is to be as unseen as possible. Don’t ask how I reconcile that with singing on the church worship team, because I can’t. Sometimes (most times) illogical thoughts and actions can’t be explained in a comprehensible manner. If I’m uncomfortable or starting to feel anxious, I literally try to make myself as small as possible. Or hide as much as possible. I wasn’t aware of this until it was pointed out to me, and of course, now I’m hyper-aware of it.

I say that I’m “sort of” physically ok. I am… except for having that eating disorder that I’m still very reluctant to admit that I have. Nobody ever understands me when I try to explain this, but it’s not a matter of needing to lose weight so I’ll look better (to me); it’s a matter of not looking worse. I don’t think I’m fat; I think I’m not thin enough. And believe me, in my mind, there is a difference. I just can’t explain it. All I do know is that there will never be an ideal reality for me when it comes to my body.

Honestly, there’s still a tiny part of me that knows that I might have things a little screwed up in my head. But I also feel like that part has lost total control over the rest of my brain, and who I’ve become is… helpless.