Assuage

Today I'm Angry.

My therapist would be so proud. I'm not an angry person, my defaults typically land me somewhere between Sad & Grief-Stricken. But she's been encouraging me to lean into the Anger of it all. Sounds like weird advice maybe, but to the deeply Depressed sometimes we need a little flame to spark our fire back up, fuel the parts of ourselves we thought we lost long ago.

Today I'm Angry- that you visited me in my dreams last night.

I wish you would stop haunting me. You're not even dead, though the version of you I loved, grew with, he is. My first thoughts upon waking up, was that I hoped you dreamt of me to. And not because I'm a hopeless Romantic, but I wanted you to hurt to. Hurt in the memory of me, like I did over you. I want to haunt you in a way stronger then you me. It's odd to feel this desire, I don't believe I ever have wished you unpleasantries. Even in our worst fights, I've never wished you unwell, I just wished for the connection to stay tethered. For the miscommunication to resolve, for me to find a way to get through to you that every fight was from Fear, mostly of losing or hurting you... Disappointing you. Reflecting on this now, you were my partner, the one person I should never have been so afraid of disappointing. But you held an authority over my heart. In turn I tried anything to Assuage the nasty feelings away, away from us, from you... Even if that meant they had to live in me.

Today I'm Angry- at you for painting me the villain.

I didn't commit any crimes. I left an unhealthy thing that had sucked me dry. You yourself told me I wasn't the girl you fell in love with. Did you ever find yourself asking yourself why? Or was that a pressure I was suppose to mill over alone? Because I did. I scoured and scrutinized my reflection, my intentions, and dug deep to find me again. Correction* I am still digging deep, into my soul, resurrecting the wasteland to hopefully plant a garden of things that make me me, serve only me. You took advantage of the selfless girl and now she's been dosed the remedy of selfish self-love. That didn't sit well with you did it? You asked of me the impossible, to find me while still serving you. Gaslit & Guilt Tripped into the belief that I owed you, that if I loved you I would try harder, further myself from my comfort zones, drive outside the boundaries I put in place for myself, all in the name of loving you. Exploring the world with you.. babe, that wasn't exploration that was Manipulation. Once I couldn't take it any longer, long past the realization of it, long past the maybe if I just give give give he will be satiated, Satisfied. Long past that point, did I finally crumble. Whatever I had found of me had been given to you, broken to fit better in your puzzle of life... and then something I never expected to happen did- You painted me the villain. Demanding to know if I was aware how badly me leaving you HURT you? Did you have any idea how badly being with you hurt me?

Today I'm Angry- for the past versions of myself that gave more then she had in her to give.

The poor thing was already a diagnosed People Pleaser. She inherited it from her daddy. The need to wall flower, to people watch and only place myself in positions to help others. To hold the peace even if that meant she was being stretched just ever so thin. To jump down the well and save people from their poor choices again and again, because at this point she's done it so frequently it could be technified as an expertise- and if she can help it would be nothing but short of Cruel for her not to. Right? Wrong. She loved and loved and loved and sought out exceptions for even the ones most undeserving, out of the belief often studied in Humanistic Psychology, that if everyone is given all the positive input needed they will Thrive. I sure wasn't. This lifestyle whittled me down, like a piece of drift wood carved out of every time someone found me washed up on the shores of the last artist that took a part of me to express a part of them. I'm angry for her, she was meant to be her own work of art.