Eating Anger

I love this picture. It has balance, a distinct sense of light against dark and direction. I love paintings and photos of windows. Perhaps it's the idea of light being shed into the dark, illuminating the shadows.

In my prior entry, I spoke of my anger towards my husband's lover. It was misdirected anger. She was not my friend, this is true, but she was only a actor in the role we were playing. I was the queen of all enablers. I lied to cover up his absences at work; I lied to both of our families; I lied to our friends and our church family. I didn't want anyone to know he was an alcoholic. I knew it would bring shame on us. In my immature way of thinking, if I was a better wife he wouldn't drink to excess or find other women. He would stay sober and come home to me every night.

The first time I let go of my anger after we were first married, I threw a hamburger at him; it smacked him right in the face and slid down the wall. I didn't see him for three days. Just like with my mother when I was five years old and got spanked for throwing rocks, I quickly learned that throwing things or showing my anger in any way, productive or not, would not get positive results. So I learned to stuff it all inside and keep a tight lid on it. That's how I was able to have all of those "civil" phone calls with "HER."

I couldn't acknowledge anger because the consequences were too painful. I didn't know about journaling or physical activity. I had no idea that I was bipolar, either. I didn't get that news until I was in my forties. I had miserable premenstrual syndrome but was told that it was only something that neurotic woman complained about. Never mind the incredibly awful migraines, and all of the other good stuff that accompany PMS. I was just neurotic. Okay. This was in the 90's, too.

All of my anger led me down the path of overeating. If you can't beat it, EAT IT!

to be cont...