Take the old Fury!
One seems to build on the next. Fury. I have born them all. Shame, disgust, and self-loathing. I felt the difference. Others saw the difference. Despite my slender, lanky build and long straight hair, I was not feminine. No, just the opposite, a ‘tom-boy’. Shame followed me; to school, to my friends’ houses, to the dinner table. I was the brunt of jokes, making them myself to conceal the flaws, the imperfection, the difference. I was in drag all the time. Yes, a mask or a costume, to be more like something I was not. Always a stranger, late to the dance.
I was popular and smart, but mostly ashamed. Afraid, of what, I really didn’t know? But I knew. No words to describe this difference at first. And the rage, oh the RAGE, when the joke went too far. I shredded clothing like a monster. No longer the life of the party, I often found myself alone in my room. Never quite sure of what was happening.
It is still in me this fury, this shame, years of hiding, years of lying and pretending, years of protecting the quiet, gentle soul inside. Trying hard not to crash and burn, curse and scream. That wouldn’t be lady-like, would it? And I bend and sway – until almost broken, then caught by a glimpse of god, grace or beauty. I am a fortunate one. I am the one who is strong enough to know when the one more drink would kill me. Smart enough to escape and run, artist enough to don one more mask that made me look like I belonged.
Until the fury overtook me – I realized that I wasn’t just killing myself, I was maiming those who looked up to me, who were trying to follow my path. What the #@!! did I think I was doing? Who did I think I was helping? All this fury – a landscape of fire and pillage. What fuel was I spilling with my blood? More hurt, more pain, more hate….
I guess there is a story in here!!