Angry Heart

I was not born angry. (Well a little pissed I guess) I did eventually forgive my mom for not allowing me to stay up there once she gave me her nipple for suck. Over the years as I grew I got a long great with my folks and developed some very close friendships while working my way through grade school, jr high and then high school. That would all end my first and last semester of college. Sure Iíd had a few run ins with guys here and there but never anything that felt like rage, clearly nothing close to hate. Hate and rage were feelings as foreign to me as wanting to kill someone or die myself.

I had no idea what was to come.

The days following the rape I was more frightened than angry. Scared of it happening again and fearful others would find out and reject the man I now was. This was the beginning of feelings, like a tumor, that began to feed off the rich but toxic blood vessels branching from a sexual assault. Within three days I started to become angry. Interesting not so much at them (two men who raped me) as with myself. It would take nearly forty years for me to learn that this form of self-hate was not unusual. The problem was I had two very active beliefs about myself vying for dominance within me. My family of origin teachings, stating was I was a good guy and societyís power structures and leaders were in place to protect me and would always respond properly to unjust things. This self was now pitched in a dark and ugly tug of war with a cruel, merciless alter ego.

I had been angry before about thing prior to the rape where I had felt wronged or injured. But Iíd always been able to separate it from my normal self and work it out. I didnít carry anger or hostility so I had no idea the way I was now feeling those moments, hours and days after the rape and that they would refuse to surrender their hold of the rope that was twisted around my heart cutting off circulation to rational thoughts and beliefs.

Myths formed overnight every bit as powerful as any truth I previously held. I was for the first time vulnerable to all types of ideas and teachings offering hope and relief. These each would prove valueless to my recovery. The beginnings of healing, was not to come for nearly twenty years with another twenty of starts and stops, avoidance and hesitance. I was so damn lost as to how to integrate their heinous act with the person I wanted to become until arriving here at MS.

Itís been one of the hardest years of my life being here but over the last few months I have begun to reclaim that young manís heart, now forty years older, as the rage finds its rightful place allowing it to dissipate and for me to find and become me.

Balanced (My goal)

There is symmetry
In self-reflection
Life exemplified
Grace personified