The fury

This journey of full expression. It's finally finding It's true core. I'm angry as fuck. Full on rage. Like full red mist, burning fury. Or I feel it and it's hard to allow to let myself feel it fully. To give myself permission to feel the depths of my deep rooted anger.

It's the very root of my very real depression. I feel lost. Invisible. Not important to anyone. The suicidal thoughts are all about being completely lost and alone. Why has life or God or my fucking DNA giving me this deep devotional love and not anyone being able to meet it, recive it and allow it? Why is the fucking point in continue to live without love? Yes, of course, my children, my friends. They are important. I love them dearly. But it doesn't help in the long run. They take more than they give. My own cup can't be properly filled. My nervous system and hormones not properly regulated. It isn't possible. It actually require a man. The true medicine for my female body and mind.

I can't go down that road of depression. It's killing me. So I let the grief passes and embraces the fury. The anger keeps my alive. It protects my vulnerable core. I cry. I scream. It feels impossible. It feels like never-ending loop of the dark night of the soul. No one there to support me, to regulate with. No one cares for real.

Oh they desire me. Want me. Fantasies about me and what to do with me. They tell me. Online. Refuse to take action and actually take responsibility for the emotions and sensations they are stirring and meet me. That's why I'm withdrawing from social media. Tired of superficial attention. I'm doing my best to be responsible for my actions, feelings and emotions. I'm want to own my shit. For real. But I'm used up. Exhausted. Angry. Tired. Mad at life. At God. At people and men. Of the fucking cowardness. Own your fucking shit and leave me alone or be a fucking man and do something. Anything.

So I let it burn as acid in my whole body. Let it all burn down. Allow myself to feel everything as deeply as humanly possible. Without excuses or any apology. It's nobodys fault. I have no one to blame. Not even men. It's a practice. To allow what is. Without lashing out to the people around me. It's a practice to let people read it. It's a practice to recive it as a reader. I have blocked people because they nervous system can't handle what I write. It isn't for the faint of heart. It's okay to care. It's okay to feel my pain. It's okay to reach out. It's okay to be real.

I was a angry child. Like full rage. I was impossible to handle. I got spanked. A lot. They were exhausted by my bigness. My fury and anger. Life broke me in the end. My mother died and I got depressed. Buried my anger with her. Oh I tried so hard to be a good girl. Maybe God would let other people to live or not dissappear. I tried so hard to be a good Christian. I rebelled. But I still tried so hard to be good. To be loved. Adrift. Lost. Without her. Without the church. Without my family. Without my faith or God. I was saved by good people. I truly was. I'm alive because of. So I tried even harder to be good. So life kept on fucking me up. Over and over again. Illness. To be the strong one. To see my husband break and do the impossible to hold it all together. After being pregnant and giving birth twice. He continued to collapse. Over and over again. So after saving my family, he left. He is a good dad now. And without any shame I have given him most of the responsibility for the kids. I'm deeply tired and angry.

I'm healing. That's actually true. All of this is the very healing journey. To allow myself to not be good. To allow myself to feel myself in every shade. Allow myself to crazy mad in anger and rage. To long and ache. To scream and cry.

I'm open up for the brave one. Who doesn't shy back when he feels me in all my feminine expression. Who knows I own it. Who doesn't pity me or force me to be good. The brave one who knows himself well enough to allow us both to be gloriously flawed humans.

Phew. What is it with this spring? Who is in command? I'm slashed open. As the bleeding human sacrifice. It's impossible to hide. It's impossible to shut up. For fuck sake, I'm tired of my own selv obsession. But I know. The only way is through. To allow. To feel. To breathe. To cry. To trust. To soften. To hold myself tenderly. To love myself exactly and fully right now.