RAGE

As my feet pound the cement, the sweet evening air, mixed with the stank smell of people’s dinners, nauseates me.

Faster! Faster! This is my mantra as I feel the blood dripping into my shoe. Damn blisters.

I am gonna run you outa my system. No more! You have had your hold on me too long. You thought you were perfect. Grandiose. That you lit up the room. You disgust me. I pushed my legs, the torturous burning in my muscles screaming.

Focus on the anger. Focus on the anger. My therapist’s words rang in my ears. What the hell does she mean, anyway? I’ve never been angry at my narc mother before, but now it’s an open, deep-seeded, contempt-filled, all-encompassing, every-moment, RAGE.

Why the f*** does this have to be part of growth? Thanks for pointing that trigger at your heart and mine. You never let up and the bottom line to that was, I didn’t measure up. Did it ever occur to you, I was invisible after you imprinted your perfection on me?

People still have their Christmas lights up. What the hell, it’s only April. The cool evening air is flowing thru my layers, as I continue running my internal race of rage.

I could never reach you. It wasn’t my job. But you thought it was. When I was little, innocent and pliable, I lived to serve you. You thought I was okay then. At least, I’m pretty certain you did. You dressed me up in frilly dresses, and received constant validation by people who praised you for how I looked.

Did that fill the gaping wound inside of you? What happened when I had my own opinion? Voiced my thoughts? You said, ‘no, you don’t feel that way.’ I grew up thinking you were perfect and I was wrong.

I was a pathetic substitute for the real daughter you lost; my sister who died when I was two years old. I grew up second-guessing everything I thought or felt, I had to learn how to feel, as an adult. I know your truth now; cowardly in your determination to elevate yourself at the expense of your little girl.

But you were oh-so-quick to point out you never laid a hand on me. True. You never did. You broke my father in as a puppet; he followed your dictate to the letter. All the beatings. Where you stood by and instructed, as if from a manual.

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