The Angry Little Woman
Truth. I'm still angry about Dallace. Truth: I blame God. I blame many people and many things but mostly I blame me. I'm still angry. So angry. Truth. I'm not at peace with everything that happened November 16, 2006. I'm still so very mad that he left me with this guilt to fight. I'm mad that his pain has ended (I assume) and mine is still very raw and real. I"m still angry that I didn't pay close attention. I'm angry for all the people who said they cared that walked out on me when I struggled so hard to like myself.
I'm angry at all the people that shoved Jesus down my throat when all I wanted was for someone to tell me something that felt more tangible. Because every day and every night, I was haunted by images of him being alive. But they were only ghosts of his memory. And it was at this point, I questioned the validity of Jesus because in all honestly, I did not feel like Jesus stepped off His cross to hold my hand or pick me up.
I'm angry at all the pity in people's eyes. I'm angry that I couldn't just take myself to a psychiatrist for therapy. I'm angry that I allowed myself to bottle all of it up until I stood burning in the ashes of my hot, unrelenting anger, scathing all that dared to stop and help me out of the inferno. Purgatory. Stuck in purgatory for so long, gnashing my teeth and pulling out my hair. I'm angry that I tried to pretend to be stronger when in reality, I was far beyond drowned.
I'm angry that I couldn't talk to anyone about it without feeling judged, condemned, or pitied. I'm angry at the gossip and rumors that flew around the circumstances like a computer virus, spreading. Viral.
I'm angry at Amber for letting him get so drunk and then dropping him off at my apartment with an intoxicated, broken heart. I'm angry that I told her I forgave her but deep down inside, I wanted to smack the shit out of her for being so damn reckless with my brother's heart. I'm angry that even while I tried to accept that fact that it was not her fault, she spread the rumor that I didn't try hard enough to save him. That I stood by doing nothing while she did CPR on him. If I see that lying bitch now, I would for sure smack her little smug face until she cried as much as I've cried and sobbed over the last ten years.
I'm so fucking angry that seven exhausting minutes of CPR did nothing for Dallace. I'm angry that the memories are as fresh as they were the day it happened. I'm angry that I was not the one who called my parents with the worst news because I was so fucking scared.
But as angry as I am, I'm still fighting the things that keep wanting to choke the life out of me. Because if there is one thing I know about myself, it's that I'm not a quitter. I always find a way. And I always survive somehow.
I'm angry at all the people that shoved Jesus down my throat when all I wanted was for someone to tell me something that felt more tangible. Because every day and every night, I was haunted by images of him being alive. But they were only ghosts of his memory. And it was at this point, I questioned the validity of Jesus because in all honestly, I did not feel like Jesus stepped off His cross to hold my hand or pick me up.
I'm angry at all the pity in people's eyes. I'm angry that I couldn't just take myself to a psychiatrist for therapy. I'm angry that I allowed myself to bottle all of it up until I stood burning in the ashes of my hot, unrelenting anger, scathing all that dared to stop and help me out of the inferno. Purgatory. Stuck in purgatory for so long, gnashing my teeth and pulling out my hair. I'm angry that I tried to pretend to be stronger when in reality, I was far beyond drowned.
I'm angry that I couldn't talk to anyone about it without feeling judged, condemned, or pitied. I'm angry at the gossip and rumors that flew around the circumstances like a computer virus, spreading. Viral.
I'm angry at Amber for letting him get so drunk and then dropping him off at my apartment with an intoxicated, broken heart. I'm angry that I told her I forgave her but deep down inside, I wanted to smack the shit out of her for being so damn reckless with my brother's heart. I'm angry that even while I tried to accept that fact that it was not her fault, she spread the rumor that I didn't try hard enough to save him. That I stood by doing nothing while she did CPR on him. If I see that lying bitch now, I would for sure smack her little smug face until she cried as much as I've cried and sobbed over the last ten years.
I'm so fucking angry that seven exhausting minutes of CPR did nothing for Dallace. I'm angry that the memories are as fresh as they were the day it happened. I'm angry that I was not the one who called my parents with the worst news because I was so fucking scared.
But as angry as I am, I'm still fighting the things that keep wanting to choke the life out of me. Because if there is one thing I know about myself, it's that I'm not a quitter. I always find a way. And I always survive somehow.
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