I know the story. I see the pattern. Thanks, Dad. Not.

But knowing this is not enough. Knowing that I am living out this pattern from my childhood is not enough to change it.

ACT would say get distance from it in some way and then take valued action.

IFS would say heal the burden.

I think it’s a bit of both. I can heal the burden through getting some distance and taking valued action.

Here we go again… another attempt at a 90 day something….

What’s the relationship been pleasure and anger?

Join me as I explore what pleasure is and how to get more of it.

As easy as I breath air I am angry.

There is the big anger.

The anger that makes me want to lash out.

It’s just there.

Like the blood in my veins. Or the air in lungs.

The anger is just there.

Always there. Around.

Sometimes it’s more noticable. Many times you’d never notice it but there is a knowing that it can’t not be there.

I hear their voices - you’re not as broken as you think you are Roselle.

Yet ironically this obsession with fixing myself, this focus on it, this being stuck, if it’s not the trauma that broke them then I am just wired wrong.

So what you say? It’s only a phone.

Sure that is.

But…

I can’t keep up.

Everything is bouncing tonight. It’s really all over the place.

I can’t even write.

And so, I end further and further away.

More and more disconnected.

Fredrick isn’t going away.

Somehow, we’re going to have to figure out how to work together.

I’m still so angry.

Maybe I will be angry for my entire life. Maybe that’s just me.

Maybe I did think that keeping a blog would transform my anger so I wouldn’t feel it. Maybe I wasn’t being honest with myself.

But I see so many others and am so angry.

They get to be so average.

It all got too much so I hid.

And I needed this time to hide out.

To rest, recover and start to unpack a few things at time.

In my own pace.

I was able to uncover a lot. Make sense of a lot.

But those layers are done for now.

The next layers require me to go out there.

Anger wasn’t allowed for me growing up.

Unless it was about injustice.

Fight for justice. Fight for what is right.

But angry at you?

Angry at how things had gone?

Nope. None of that was allowed.

What did I have to be angry about?

Scrolling.

One hour gone.

A hit of tiredness. A sense of overwhelm. A sense of tears. A busy brain. I want to explode. Have a tantrum almost.

Bed - no other option. Just go to bed. Turn off the alarm.

And she can tell. She sees right through it.

Cue what should be a simple moving on with life. It was what it was and moving on.

But NO, they all decided to have a party.

I give the women the what the fuck look - no need to be so rude - I acknowledged I was in the wrong and no one one was hurt.

They walk off.

I give them the fingers.

Cue what still at this point could have been a simple moving on with life. It was what it was.

And then,

before you know it

It’s there.

The replaying of scenes. The re-imagining of conversations you wish you had had.

The thing about this time of year is that it brings up something worse than memories. It brings up,

desires,

wants,

dreams.