Feminine Anger

I can feel her presence. She is always there, nibbling at the frayed edges of my mind. My most intimate and steadfast companion never leaving me behind. Rather, she is the one who jumps into play when others choose to abandon me. I would say she’s back – but truth be told, she never really left.

She exists for a reason and that reason is to protect me when it seems nobody else will. She has never failed me in that regard. Although her means are unorthodox and arguably unethical, she is always effective when it comes to protecting the fragility of my heart. She is not only allowed to feel anger, but she wields it as a warrior might carry a sword and shield.  By contrast, I am not culturally allowed to feel or express my rage myself.

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Survivors. Digging Deep. And the Exhausting Nature of Rage.

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Content note: discussion of sexual assault, rape, depression

I haven’t blogged in months. Three-and-a-half months, roughly. On Monday, I wrote about how depressed I was most of the summer, and that’s part of the story.

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