Clinging to Anger

There's something about anger that is hard to let go of. We all harbor our own petty grudges against the insignificant things that hinder our progress throughout life and then there are the big ones. The hardest ones to let go of is the anger you hold against yourself.

I am culturally, perhaps even genetically, programmed to hold a grudge. The Irish pass grudges from generation to generation, they cling to the same anger for centuries at a time. Just look at Northern Ireland. If you actually believe that has anything to do with religion, you need to read something by Pat Coogan. It's all about colonization, the taking of land and the forced starvation of generations. I actually went to Northern Ireland ~ Derry City, where Bloody Sunday occurred ~ and thought I could study the politics and history and not take a side. Perhaps if I were Italian?

What do I have to be so angry about? Let's see. There was my last boyfriend who I actually thought might be the guy. Seriously bad judgment on my part. Sure, he was in love with my mind, he lusted after my body, but he had very little use for me as a person. He was an arrogant, self centered, selfish jerk who felt no real obligation to be nice to me when he felt I was being clingy ~ for say, calling him to check in when I hadn't heard from him for a few days. And then there was the part where he lied to me. It wasn't until the relationship ended very badly that I realized he had lied. It was a small stupid insignificant lie that was so easily discovered that it was really ridiculous. But it got me thinking. As someone who has no talent for lying, I tend to think that there are people who lie and people who don't lie. If you lie about little things, chances are you're lying about bigger things as well. There is in fact no end to what you could be lying about. And that is how I find myself in the office of my OB/GYN asking that she just test me for everything, to be on the safe side. I'm angry at him for being the asshole that he is/was, but I'm more angry with myself for putting up with it and accepting it.

I'm angry that some moron in supply didn't know the difference between powder free and latex free and as a result I got super exposed to pure airborne latex particles and my allergy accelerated. I'm angry that I have to be so damn careful about everything I eat and that food service people are ridiculous enough to think they really need to use latex gloves as opposed to vinyl or plastic. I'm angry that I have to be the big party pooper in my office who asks the division director to ask the staff to stop decorating with latex balloons for every birthday, retirement, and secretary day. I'm angry that we as a culture are so enthralled with balloons in general ~ doens't anyone realize they can kill people??? I'm furious that I have to explain the concept of airborne exposure and anaphalaxis to the number of medical professionals that I do. I'm angry that I didn't get to see my grandmother the last two years of her life because the nursing home where she was living was one big latex stew. I'm angry that the first allergist I went to see after my really bad exposure (a native New Yorker who went to med school in Mexico ~ feel free to draw conclusions) failed to notice that I went into shock (even though his staff observed and measured the drop in body temperature and blood pressure) during my allergy test and actually had the nerve to write into my medical file that my allergy was at least partially psychosomatic.

Most of all, I'm angry that I lost the genetic lottery. Even with mental illness on both sides of the family, the risk of my parents having a child with a mental illness was 1 in 3. They only had two kids. We could have easily walked away clean. Instead, I will spend the rest of my life taking at least 6 to 8 pills a day. I will read all the fine print on the prescription plans and I will deal with behavioral health managed care (emphasis on managed). I will always have to come up with excuses as to why I have doctors' appointments at least once a month. I will have to be more careful about my stress levels and my sleep than other people, lest I risk an episode. I will always live with the knowledge that with absolute certainty, I will have another episode. I will also probably go off of my medication again one day, for reasons that I will never be able to explain. I'll then probably have to hit bottom before I can manage to get back on the meds ~ not a particularly happy way to do it. I will forever be the sick child in my family, the one my parents worry about too much and trust too little. There will never be a time when I will stop losing things to this disease.

So this is the anger I hang on to, the reason I want to slap anyone who says to me "at least you have your health." You have no freakin' idea. Will I ever let go? Let's see, does my mother still hold a grudge against the boy who backed out of going to my senior prom with me 17 years ago? She does.

If it turns out I don't have any souvenirs from my last horrible relationship and figure out he really only lied about the one small thing (cough, NOT, cough), I might let go. If someone ever develops a treatment for latex allergy (beyond the terribly convenient avoidance) or a cure for manic depression than they wouldn't be such a curse, but I would never get back the time I lost, the people and opportunities I lost. No, I think that anger will stay with me.