Day 14: #30daystofreedom ::anger:: Yesterday was a warm spring day, one of my most painful PTSD triggers: the warm breeze, sunshine, sounds of summer approaching, motorcycles, birds, the ice cream truck. Every spring I couldn't just be excited about warm weather, sprinklers, and ice cream. Nothing was ever simple for me. Everything was drenched in foreboding and dread. I have never ever run care free through the park. Today I'm angry. I'm angry I've had to work so hard, that what was done to me was so enormous and terrible that I've suffered in more ways than I can count for 35 years, that it was so huge that I have to do something huge and exhausting like writing every day about it for 30 days to help me reclaim my voice and my life. I'm angry that eyes divert when the subject is raised. I'm angry at the silence. When I was young I had a symbol for my anger—a figure, a shape in my mind—because it was before I had the words to express the deep, wild feeling my body held, and because it was so stifled. I've carried this symbol in my mind with muted desperation. I've endured some of the worst horror humanity has been able to dream up, and then ignore; my anger is completely validated. My mind and body experienced the darkest dark. I didn't deserve it and I didn't create it. But I refuse to be poisoned with anger. How can I spend my life holding on to anger in my heart for a powerful history of violence that existed long before me? My power lies in choosing myself. Why should I lay down and die because of awful things awful people did to me? It doesn't make any sense. I deserve my life. Much of my anger comes from being so compressed— made so small, so silent. I respond to my anger by taking up more space, by using all the words and time I need to express myself. We cannot deny our anger; we have to feel it, own it, let it run its course. Anger is opportunity for movement. I am carefully spinning my anger into power, into a golden thread I weave into my life, into all I do and say. It reinforces all the love & beauty I find. It keeps me present and alive, it gives me a push when I need, it helps me keep rising, keep speaking, keep advocating, keep living the hope.