The Absurd and Amazing Adventures of Cafe Girl: Fight!

June 15, 2009


I am so angry I want to scream. I am so angry I want to have a fight. An all out, yell at you, throw plates at you, shake you to the core kind of fight. I realize I have never, in my life, had this sort of a fight. I've always held that my ability to be calm and relatively controlled was a strength of mine. Except now it's turning to a weakness. It's turning into shut down and avoidance, and depression.

Even as I get angry, I wonder about permission to fight. Am I allowed to have a fight? Anger expressed in a journal is one thing. Anger expressed to God is one thing. Even an email expressing my anger is one thing. But an all out, face-to-face, you make me so angry I want to scream, say something you moron kind of anger? Is that what a Nice Christian Girl is allowed to do?

Christianese, misconceptions and lies echo through my head, bouncing back and forth. Be slow to anger. Take your anger to God. Feminine girls don't fight. Is it fair to be angry at someone? Did you misunderstand them? Aren't you just wrong?

I think about the futility of the fight. The One With Whom I Am Angry will likely not want to fight with me. It would be like fighting with a Dead Person. What's the point of a fight if the other person won't respond? Wouldn't that just make me more frustrated?

Apparently, the point is me. It's about standing up for myself. It's about hearing myself say these things. Say what makes me angry. The other person's response, supposedly doesn't matter. Except to me, it does. It matters. It matters a great deal. A non-response in the light of my great emotion would be humiliating. A non-response would mean I didn't matter.

Yes, that's broken of me. Yes, that's my issue. Yes, it's twisted and crazy. Yes, that's why I'm in Very Expensive Therapy. But it's a big deal to me, ok? If there's going to be a non-response I might as well just keep journaling and keep my pride. My false sense of pride. This fraudulent pride that is slowly killing me.

The Therapist sees my hesitancy but wants me to continue my "Anger Work." Keep writing those Angry Letters. It's supposedly energizing me and helping the depressive state. Some days, I wish I just opted for the drugs.

The Therapist offers me a gem as I'm walking out the door, "You think The One You Are Angry With is a dead person? Then dance on their grave."

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