Today my therapist told me it was okay to be angry. She said everyone is angry from time to time. Everyone. Even the most cheerful people get fed up sometimes, and it isn’t something to be ashamed of. I know this, of course, but it is nice to hear someone else say it. She told me this because I told her that I have felt angry lately, and that this feeling is sort of new. I’ve been sad, sure. Frustrated, uh huh. Scared, you bet. But angry, like really angry, this is new. And it’s making me uncomfortable. It’s making me wonder if I am slowly becoming that old woman who hits people with her cane when they walk past her, or maybe the one who screams at the kids in the neighborhood to get off my damn lawn! I’m scared of being that old lady. I’m sure I won’t be, I’m sure I’m just overreacting, but somedays I feel like that little man from Inside Out, you know the “I like to honk my way through the traffic jams of life” guy. His name is Anger. His photo is above. (Side note: If you haven’t seen this movie, run don’t walk. Sure, it’s a “kid movie,” but it’s a “kid movie” like Toy Story is a “kid movie.” So there’s that.)
So why am I angry? That’s what my therapist wanted to know. She wanted to drill down, of course. And the thing is, I’m not quite sure. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I became angry, and honestly, I can’t dismiss the idea that this anger might be from weaning off my Lexapro and transitioning to the new pill. It might also be from the sadness and stress that follows me around all day long and sort of hangs over my head, kinda like the little blue gal. This girl gets me.
Of course I want to be Joy, oh wouldn’t we all love to be Joy! Joy is amazing, Joy is Amy Poehler, so duh. Joy is… joy.
Buuuuuut, today I’m Anger. And a little bit of Fear and you know what, a little bit of Disgust too, because I’m kinda, sorta fed up with my own self.
Well, yeah. So I guess the gang’s all here with me. And sometimes maybe I think it is anger, when really it is all of these things, and it manifests itself as anger? Hmpf. My therapist thinks I need to let myself be angry sometimes, but it still feels hard. It feels hard to allow myself to do anything. Lately, because the gang’s all here, I’ve also lost my motivation. I know what I need to do to feel better. I know what you’re gonna say, I told her. Meditation, exercise, deep breathing, artsy stuff, something to take my mind off what it’s gnawing away at. I know what I am supposed to do, I just can’t find the motivation to do it. Which, as of late, has been making me angry. See the cycle?
I’ll tell you what I need. Want me to tell you what I need? I need an exuberant cat/elephant/dolphin made out of cotton candy, wrapped up around a nugget center that cries candy when he is upset and sings his way to the moon in his rocket-powered wagon. Is that too much to ask for?!
Listen, I know I am not making sense right now, and this nonsensical Missy is making me angry, so I’m going to go to bed and hope for a shiny, happy day tomorrow. But before I go, two things. 1. Watch Inside Out for the first time or again, doesn’t matter. 2. Let yourself be from time to time. Be sad. Be afraid. Be angry. Be disgusted. And for the love of all the core memories in the world, be joyful when you can, with your whole damn heart. Do it for me. Do it for Bing Bong. Do it for your therapist, who really, really wants you to stop crying so damn much.