3.21.22

The tiktoks I make about having once been suicidal make her angry. I asked her why. She said because there was a chance she wouldn’t have me in her life.

I don’t know what I expected her to say. Maybe I thought she was angry at me being driven to that position. Angry that it even became an option for me. Anger over the thought of not having me? I did not know what to say. Words prepared upon my tongue tasted wrong and dissolved in my mouth before a single one could be uttered. Anger over the possibility of never having me. That is not something I knew how to reply to.

Those I claim as family have told me how happy they are I lived, how happy they are that I’m in their lives. They are grateful to the child who chose against the end of her life. They are grateful I survived. I tell them I am, too. I’m grateful to have made it through it all, and to be in their lives now. Why could I not whisper my usual response to her as evening extended into night? Why did my mind lose all sense of words, of time, of self? Why was I suddenly there, feeling this warmth spread from my chest and made me feel each nerve with such vivid intensity that I could not speak, even to whisper a ‘thank you?’

But what good would a ‘thank you’ be in a situation like this? Anger over the possibility of me not being here. Anger. 

I have dealt so much with anger as I learn to heal from the trauma inflicted upon me as a child. The anger has become a close friend, one that reminds me it’s okay to be upset about what was done. That what was done was indeed wrong – that it was cruel, and violent, and horrid. It does not consume my mind, instead it lights a fire in my ribs, reminds me to keep those boundaries drawn in stone, to keep myself safe and protected. It reminds me I am worthy of defending.

Anger is not something I fear. It is not something I hate. It is an emotion I was told was wrong growing up, one that was villainized for over twenty years of my life. I learn now that it stems from a loving place, a place of righteous fury. 

Anger of me not being here.

I wanted to bury my face in her stomach and smile. I wanted to hold her and never let her go. I wanted to laugh.

What joy it is to have someone care so much about your existence that the mere thought of it having been snuffed out would cause them such righteous anger.