Showing posts with label repression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label repression. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

Anger — felt, accepted, vented, appreciated, seen as a sign of growth

I felt ANGRY at myself, my situation, and a whole bunch of shit when I noticed a few spelling errors, including one on page 1, in this week’s paper, looking at my copy for the web. Angry enough to “journal” two pages of scrawl-like writing about how “I hate myself,” etc., gradually calming down after a page and a half, including some non-dominant hand writing. I mean, I can’t hardly read it.

And, you know, it felt good. Not just the venting, but the actual act of feeling more anger.

The “emotional body memories,” which I first saw as just being trapped anxiety or fear, that I got in my calves after I quit drinking and started getting emotional memories of the sexual and other abuse, I am recognizing more and more to be — at least in part and at times — repressed anger. Anyway, I felt them all the way up into my upper hamstrings after finishing that journaling and going for an abbreviated power walk.

Now, can I get more in tune with my inner power from that anger? Can I put that anger to work for me more?

And, this does give me something to talk about in counseling Thursday. So, too, does thinking about how dad’s more serious physical abuse of my one brother traumatized me, just as did his and my brothers’ and my mother’s abuse and other actions.

But, I can become “unshellshocked,” to take a PTSD look at things, or at least “less shellshocked.”

Sufficient unto the day is the anger thereof

A crappy press day at the weekly newspaper where I am presently, and I BEG quite temporarily, ensconced. I missed several spelling mistakes, which I didn’t notice until copying stories to upload for our website.

I feel that maybe I’m not such a “plodder” after all. Not in the mind-numbing way this job feels like.

And, I’ve realized a LOT of my “anxiety” about this place is really previously mislabeled anger. I so fucking do not want to be here, and I don’t always deal with it in the best of ways. Maybe I’ll get better at it as I “accept” my anger more. I want to, really want to, figure out how to put it to work.