The Edited Version of This Week's Anger

They say grief is a roller coaster.

I'm going down.

I'm so angry. I'm sad. I'm miserable. I'm furious. I want to break everything. I want to crawl into bed and never get out.

I feel nauseous.

My head hurts.

Every post I write is a different emotion and here's where we are today:
I'm really, really angry at my parents.
I'm really angry at God.

I've tried sorting through every one else's experiences. I've tried to honor their feelings. I've choked my own feelings down until they made me physically sick. I have smiled and laughed and cried with everyone else and their wonderful memories of my parents and I have tried to see them through a different lens and I have tried SO HARD to pretend that my parents didn't hurt me more than I have ever been hurt by anyone and...

I'm exhausted.

Most people have better memories of my parents than I do. Which can mean a couple of things. Either my memory is completely wrong, everyone else is lying, or I just wasn't someone my parents could love.

I still don't think everyone else is lying. And I have witnesses and a box full of history that backs up my memories.

So my parents just didn't love me. It sounds whiny and bratty when you say it out loud, but when it's true, it absolutely wrecks your life.

And when you look at a bunch of pictures and hear so many stories about how much they loved everyone else and the great things they did for's hard not to just completely lose it.  Even when people who you know and love and respect promise you that you are NOT a garbage person and that you ARE worthy of love...

It's hard not to be angry and sad and confused and to try and pretend that you're not angry and sad and confused until you make yourself physically sick....and just repeat. Over and over and over again.

I am not perfect and I have made more mistakes in my life than I can count. That is true. I have done a lot of good in my life. That is true. My mom was mean to me and my mom lied to me and my mom lied about me and my mom did a lot of damage to my soul. That is true.  My father disappeared and reappeared just enough to make me love and miss him and just enough to do a lot of damage to my soul.  That is true.  My parents were also good to a lot of people and most people have a lot of praise for them and their memories. That is true.

So now, I'm stuck. How can I have a relationship with people who have all of these great memories, when everything hurts?  How can I honor their memories but be true to my own? How do I exist with them in the middle of these opposites? How can I let go of my own awful bits and focus on being good but not only focus on the good in others? Why do the bad parts hurt so much? Why are they so BIG?

I don't know that there's a space for that. For this mess.  I don't know that there's a place for me not to remain isolated from my family. And that makes me sad. And scared. And angry. And sick.

I've been sick for weeks.

And this bothers me: Do they get to be in heaven now? Because they said the right words and poured water over their heads and broke the bread and drank from the cup and went to church, they just get to be in heaven now? Forever and ever, amen?  With nothing to be sorry about? And all of their sins forgiven and forgotten and a rotting pile of garbage, sick and sobbing daughter left here on earth to try and figure out what this all is, exactly?

I found myself screaming at the sky, "ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING SORRY?????"

I found myself thinking that God sure has a funny way of building character in humans and that all of these trials and tribulations and the constant pain for everyone, all of the time, is really just starting to piss me off.

God and I are fighting right now.

I found myself arguing with myself. Maybe there is nothing to be sorry about.  Maybe you really are garbage. Maybe your memories are false and your parents are in heaven where everything is forgiven and forgotten and they don't worry about you because this is all in your head, and you are nothing, nothing, nothing...

My husband pulls me back from that.  He reminds he that he is my witness. But he leaves and I spiral again...

I'm angry about the spiraling.  I feel like I should have a better handle on this, but I just don't.  I posted this yesterday and it was all anger and only anger. And I deleted it, and this is the edited version, because I am trying to be fair to my family and to be fair to their memories. This space, where I tell my stories, is now tied to other people. And I can be fair to me about this or I can be fair to them about this, but I cannot be fair to everyone. My truth is the opposite of theirs. And writing is my therapy. So I'm stuck. I don't really know what to do. But I'll figure it out.  We always figure it out, right?