Had a pretty good Halloween in Seattle, and got to play with tarot yet again. It's my year for readings: despite the fact that I plain can't find my favorite deck, the Rider-Waite Tarot is being a good tool for me to use in analyzing my life. This is good, because I've once again hit that stage of healing where I'm finding it really hard to swallow my anger.
The therapist is insistent in telling me that the anger is healthy, considering what kind of bullshit has happened this year. I'm trying to channel it into being productive with National Novel Writing Month, and have produced about 10,000 words. The rest is going into shitty poetry, weaving fennel wreathes (tell me if you have spare greenery - I will make you decorations if you're local), and harassing the ever-loving fuck out of my cat.
Still, the anger is there, churning and boiling and bothering me. It's a sign that I'm healing more, that I'm in a stable enough place that I'm letting myself heal, but it's also something I don't feel safe talking about with most folks locally. It's not something I plan to indulge in or act on, but people don't really seem to get that.
The Glare, the dark man, whatever I'm calling him these days says that intimidating people seems to come with being more confident. I'm not convinced that this is the case - I feel like I'm walking around under a cloud with my teeth clenched tight around things I can't say, and when I do say things, it comes out entirely wrong. And then I lose friends.
I've always been prone to bottling until I burst, but now, I can't afford it. And I'm wary of the anger that has me feeling entirely too much like a pile of tinder.
So meanwhile, I read the cards, meditate, do pushups, try to feed it into writing about birch people. It's not enough, but it's going to have to be.