When the fuse is non-existant

I am angry.  I am afraid of anger.  I've always been afraid of my own anger.  Because you see, I've seen what I can do when anger turns to rage.  It isn't pretty - it is terrifying.  I don't remember what happened all I remember is having someone on the floor with my hands around their throat and being pulled off by a third party.  I am not sure how old I was but going on other flash card memories around the same time I'm going to guestimate I was about 14 years old.

After that... I stuffed my anger down.  I crammed on the lid and never showed any anger except when I was alone.  Then I could throw things, yell, swear and generally hurt no one.  If I did hurt someone it was because I slammed my open hand down on a hard surface.  

In my first bout of therapy around 1990ish (which was around grief for my grandparents and ended up being for so many things) I couldn't deal with my anger.  Sitting across from the therapist with a pillow on my lap I couldn't even punch it... I couldn't hold it to my face and scream... I couldn't pry the lid off to let it go.  She sent me home with instructions to be in my 'safe spot' altho I lived at home so safe it wasn't.. and even when I was completely alone I couldn't do it.  

In some fashion all these years... in many sessions with different therapists I have been unable to deal with it.  Over the past 5 years the amount of stress has grown... I'm am still hard on myself - almost more than it was before - about work, about home life, about future, about regrets, about family... and it goes on.  

I feel like I'm living on edge all the time, kind of a jittery 'what's going to fall on my head' now feeling.  I am feeling pressured on all sides, and I don't see a happy or a good future.  I don't have a partner in my husband... I am a caregiver, bread-winner, I am celibate not by choice, and the lions share of everything at home is my responsibility along with my full time job, my creative second job (I'll never be rich from it but I like creating things), the dogs and all the crucial decisions. 

I feel like I have to justify my feelings IF and when I share them... like here on my own blog.  I go into more detail than I'm comfortable so edit edit edit just to show I have a reason.  So you (if there are any of you out there) can understand me and perhaps empathize.  

I know there are people worse off... I can't even begin to think how those people from Fort McMurray are going to go on.  But I still have my feelings... my jittery rage-filled self, catastrophy thinking self.  I guess, if I listen to my mothers voice in my head this is my 'poor me' blog.  Poor little me, the nobody understands or loves me blog.  She repeated those words over and over all my time growing up... that I don't matter so just shut up.  That nobody cares so boo-hoo-you.  Wow - I can even see her face and her head movements with my waking eyes.... that's disturbing.

So disturbing to me that I think I'm going to sign off on this and continue on rage another day.  Thing is... this rage thing turns into tears.  Into sometimes all consuming sobbing tears.  I think this is one of those times.