Out of the many categories of human, I sit comfortably as an angry one.
My anger is a quiet anger; a deeply aggressive frustration that is disguised by a facade of “chillness” and an innocent face.
I recognize this because,
A. I am wildly moody.
B. Nobody beyond my psychologist has ever recognized me as a so-called “angry person”.
C. In the 5th grade, I was put in the “Hot Heads” group at Sanders Corner Elementary School. I was pulled out of class once a week to sit with other angry children who were also forced by their parents to address their rage. I was introduced to two very important life concepts in this group: therapy and stress balls.
The source of my angers runs far back, to the early days of my childhood. But ultimately, it rests in a long list of things I can’t change, including:
- Traumatic memories
- The place I grew up
- Having a mental illness
- The moments I have let people take advantage of me
- The moments I have taken advantage of other people
- Whether or not someone is attracted to me
- My bone structure(I learned after quite a bit of research how expensive and possibly fatal hip bone shaving, leg shrinking, and breast reduction could be<—Yes, I know boobs aren’t bones).
- Shallow or mean things I have said to other people
- Shallow or mean things I have been told
- All of the times I have picked self-loathing and self-hatred over self-love
- The time I made fun of my sister on the after-school daycare bus for having a pig nose(This involved snorting)
- The first 18 years of my life that I was an Emetophobic(phobia of vomit)
- That I can’t live up to my basic bitch potential and drink vanilla lattes on a brisk fall day (without inducing intense inner shaking and heartburn)
- All of the times I have ruined my food by over-salting, over-cooking or over-saucing
- Essentially, any decision I have ever made up until this moment
- Essentially, any thought I have ever had up until this moment
I directed my anger toward genetic biology, for giving me an awkward body; toward my family members, for causing me pain; and pretty aggressively toward myself, for saying and doing dumb shit as a result.
When you leave your life as a minor and are catapulted into society as a young adult, you are essentially a baby all over again and are forced to restart the annoyingly tedious process of self-assessment.
This has occurred over the last several years. Part of this self-assessing has included discovering that I am an angry person, which I had never previously considered myself to be. At least, it wasn’t a character trait that I included at the top of my dating profile.
The truth is that, in general, the list of things I can’t change is significantly longer than the list of things that I can.
If I can’t change them, though, what is the point in wasting the energy getting angry about it, Lauren? <—-Note to self: Make a stupid sign that says this and put it above my bed.
Fortunately, there are always things that I can change, like:
- How I communicate with other people from this point forward
- The degree to which I choose self-love over self-loathing
- How I treat my body
- What I choose to do with my life at any moment past this one
- Embracing the things I can’t change
- Recognizing my blessings and being grateful for them
- My reactions to essentially everything
- Making the positive lists longer than the negative ones in all future blog posts
While I face the fact that I am just a small speck of awkward existence in a big, bad world that I have no control over, I choose to channel my inner rage into activities such as keeping my indoor plants alive, sparingly using the right swipe on Tinder and convincing myself why I should stray away from a life as a lesbian Sugar Baby.