Stick It Out

Stick it out
Don't swallow the poison
Spit it out
Don't swallow your pride
Stick it out
Don't swallow your anger
Spit it out
Don't swallow the lies

Rush ftw.

I’ve always been one of those people that bottles up all their pain and anger.  People in high school used to think I was emotionless because no matter how bad they picked on me and tormented me, the most they’d get out of me was mild exasperation.   I get that from the way I was raised, and the family I grew up in.  That warrants a bit of clarification. 

Growing up, my family only really gathered en masse during Thanksgiving, Christmas, and occasionally the 4^th of July.  For the most part, we’re all pretty sharp in our own ways, to varying degrees.   You had to be.  See, every family gathering or get-together went the same way.  They’d all snipe at each other with that ‘I’m pretending this is all in fun, but I’m totally trying to piss you off’ brand of repartee.  Snide jokes, insinuations, name calling…you name it, they’d do it.  

You had to be sharp to see their remarks for the attacks they always were, and to counter.   And you could never let it show that they were getting to you, no matter how much it hurt.  If you showed pain or weakness, you might as well wrap yourself in a bloody side of beef, and go swimming with the sharks.   As you can imagine, I made myself scarce whenever possible.  However, it wasn’t always possible, and I learned about things like tone, sarcasm, and how everything people said had an ulterior motive.   I also learned to take the most hurtful remarks and criticism without blinking. 

I didn’t develop a thick skin so much as a high tolerance for pain, physical or emotional.  I internalized the hurt so they didn’t see that I’d been hurt.   It’s an automatic response now. 

Also, I’m afraid of my anger, so I turn it inward and vent it where no one can see.  See, there was this kid I’d known since the second grade.   He bullied me pretty much every day, and wound up going to the same private high school I did, so I didn’t even escape him there.   One day in junior year, after he screwed with me in gym class, we went on to English class.  Our class was seated alphabetically, and he always wound up right next to me in the next row.  He said something snide to me in class…I still don’t remember what it was.  And I completely snapped.  Everything went red.  I don’t remember any of what followed, but here’s what I was told I did:

I got out of my desk in the middle of class, and tackled him out of his desk to the floor, where I started punching him in the face as hard as I could.  It took three students to pull me off him, and I screamed that if he ever looked at me again, I’d carve his fucking heart out and eat it in front of him. 

I could’ve killed him.  I wanted to kill him.  I’ve heard people say that anyone’s capable of murder under the right conditions.  With me, that knowledge isn’t theoretical.  I’ve BEEN to that place, and it scares me to death.  So yeah…my anger scares me.

Why do I bring this all up now?  Well, of late I’ve eased the restraint on my anger.  I can’t keep bottling it up, and internalizing it just to spare other people.  Other people aren’t going to help me.  And I’ve come to realize that I’m not controlling my anger…I’m just burying it.  And it won’t stay buried forever.