Anger

People have said to me in the past that I’ve no reason to be angry. Like people who come from intact families and weren’t ever abused or anything don’t have problems. This always frustrated me to no end, because who is anyone else to judge my life from the outside and come to a conclusion that I’ve got nothing to be angry about?

But for as long as I can remember I’ve held this deep-seated anger, this rage, and only certain circumstances bring it out. I don’t quite know if some activating event triggered the rage, and it’s been with me ever since. Or maybe it’s just always been there, the way that some people are just innately drawn to liking school or painting. Maybe I’m just wired to have passionate emotions.

One thing that’s for certain, my parents were ill equipped to handle me. Despite fulfilling all my survival needs and trying their god darn damndest, they were just completely clueless when it came to supporting me emotionally or validating my ever-changing feelings. And how could they know? How could they possibly become in tune with what I really needed, if I was always pushing them away? Years of isolation signaled to my parents that I was better off working independently, and now, I don’t know who to be more angry with. My parents, for their flawed perception and lack of persistence? Or myself, for always being too afraid to ask for help.