Why am I not angry?
I have talked a little about this in recent posts. Or maybe a lot.
I wonder why I am not angry at my parents for what they did. I haven’t ever been; not really. I can get angry when my father is spouting his rubbish at me over the phone, but after, then it’s gone, and what is left is some kind of sorrow that I can’t shift.
I think I need anger to help me focus and see what was right and what was wrong. If I can get angry at the wrong maybe I can see what was right.
I need to experience the anger. I don’t think I have reached that. I read about recovering from childhood abuse and understand that an abused person has to grieve. I do not think I have done this. I don’t think I have even reached acceptance.
Yesterday, it felt as though I was crying on the inside. I couldn’t shake the feeling for most of the day. When I talked to people and laughed and smiled, it was so forced that I was sure they could see it wasn’t real.
When I think of the things my parents have done and I put the blame on their shoulders, why do I feel nothing? It is almost like I can’t connect to the anger that is there and I can’t link it to them. The only portion of anger and hatred I can feel is towards myself.
I don’t understand why, but I am trying.
Maybe it is fear. Maybe if I get angry at them, then I have to blame them, and that leads to accepting that they did these things.
I have to find the starting thread of a very tangled web and somehow begin to unravel it. I wish I could be angry that I have any of this in the first place.
That little boy deserves me to be angry and to fight his corner.