At the age of fifteen, my mama began suggesting I enroll myself in anger management classes after discovering my dad’s shocking drug addiction to pills. Believe it or not, my mother and I fought like cats and dogs from when I was fifteen to about the time I moved out of the house to the other side of the country at the age of eighteen.
I would always become even angrier at her suggestion because I took it as an insult when the truth was I did have anger issues. Instead, I sought other outlets – music being one of them and these outlets definitely aided in my so-called “management” – there was a couple of Eminem songs and a DMX one that I can recall being played on repeat during long, aimless car rides with friends. I also knew in my heart and soul that as soon as I graduated, I was moving – far, far away – I wasn’t gonna be in Kansas no more Toto.
Some may say I was “running away” from my problems but that wasn’t the case at all as I always knew I didn’t belong in the place I grew up from the moment I embraced my creativity at a very young age. My family life was just an added motivation. That’s beside the point, though – it took me eleven, long years to finally and ultimately forgive my dad for all of his fuck ups for lack of better words.
Let me just get to the point because, in actuality, there are so many additional blogs to be written within the kerning of these words. The point is that I am, once again, filled with ire toward another individual – intense anger toward David that unwelcomingly floats to the surface and occasionally engulfs my composure; One that relentlessly reminds me of the paperwork to be signed, the fees to be paid and the incredible love I once considered myself fortunate to possess.
I’m slowly learning that love and hate go hand in hand – they’re both extreme, opposite sides of the spectrum that oddly run parallel and I find myself speedily going from thoughts of longing and love to feelings of wrath and fury. It’s quite the emotional rollercoaster – one minute I’m crying to a sad song that poignantly describes every present emotion and the next I’m maliciously plotting scenarios of revenge and inflicting pain. Thankfully, I’m aware of the added pain that the latter will solely cause and I would never actually act upon these unavoidable thoughts. Next thing you know, I’m scolding myself for even having such low down deliberations. I am one of my worst enemies, at times.
It’s barely been five months since David and I separated. The optimistic side of me likes to think I’ve had “practice” at forgiveness and letting go – I understand that being angry only hurts myself for the most part – it’s negative energy that one must release in order to fully and wholeheartedly move forward. It feels like we’ve been separated for five years at times and I pray that it doesn’t take me eleven to finally forgive and let go of this inescapable rage.