As far back as I can remember, I have been accused of being “moody” by my parents. The behavior associated with the onset of moodiness was akin to a computer powering off. I would go numb, blank and disappear.
During my time in therapy and the many group modalities I’ve experienced, I hoped that I would come to understand this debilitating mental and physical state so that I might rid myself of its painful effects on me and my loved ones.
It never happened…until now.
I found a clue this week. On Thursday – the day of the funeral and Celebration of Life – I began to feel the onset of symptoms I’ve come to recognize: disorientation and overwhelm. I began to isolate, as if I was a turtle retracting into his shell. This is how I learned to protect myself and others from my moodiness.
While others went to the beach after the events, I went back to our AirBnB to nurse myself and not subject anyone to my foul mood. It was there that I discovered that I wasn’t just sad – I was really, really ANGRY. It was as if a dormant volcano was coming back to life.
As soon as I realized and named out loud how disturbingly angry I was at the senseless death of my daughter’s partner, I felt even more angry about EVERYTHING that this young couple lost. From there, I could also name that I was angry on behalf of my family, our daughter’s friends and all the grief and other suffering caused by this man’s untimely, unforgettable, violent death. It was a fucking tragedy… and sadness, though potent…was not what I was truly feeling. I was and am furious.
Like many boys and adolescents, my childhood was spent in a home and in a school system where anger was squelched and punished. It was, I’m guessing, mistaken for its uncontrollable cousin, rage, so it was feared and effectively declared “off limits.”
Why did I drink, drug, steal, vandalize and listen to music so loud I might break an eardrum? Anger was considered a problem instead of being a healthy, human response.
I will bring this realization to therapy and keep investigating what I think may be true – my moodiness was really me suffering from the shame of being angry and not being permitted to express it. I was taught that anger was bad, cutting off my ability to feel things like injustice, betrayal or even confusion. I learned that being good meant being reasonably quiet and rational when the world turned to shit.
I remember a bumper sticker from the George W. Bush years when our country was poised to invade Iraq. It read, “If you’re not ANGRY then you’re not paying attention.”
I used to wear a button back then that said, “Dissent is Patriotic.”
Being angry about politics is pretty acceptable, but I don’t think that being angry about disease, malnourishment, climate change, healthcare and a host of other things is seen as acceptable. We polite, educated people are taught to be rational, calm and respectful.
Well, fuck that.
I declare that a full, 360 degree human is allowed to feel more than sadness when their loved ones perish. When a young, vibrant and creative soul dies at age 31 due to a high voltage wire that should have been out of reach and shielded, I am and you are entitled to scream. When someone shoots up a school or hordes billions of dollars while others are unfed, unhoused and unsafe, the correct response includes fury!
The volcano was not meant to become a tourist destination. It was created to release pressure and expel toxicity. Such is the case with me. I am free to express what I have too long trapped inside of me. Let the sullen, moodiness end. Let the eruption begin.
