Her Name is Grief

Anger is a powerful thing. It has the capacity to destroy, to wound, to kill. I am no stranger to anger. I live with it everyday. It sits coiled in my chest, waiting for a moment to lash out. It's like living with a viper, all the time.

Anger is not easy to understand. It just doesn't just come from being angry at someone for something they did or didn't do. For a deed that was or wasn't committed. Anger comes in many forms: jealously, loss, sadness, loss of innocence... but it's easier to be angry than to feel these, isn't it? Because if you're angry you can vent it. You can lash out, preferably with words but there are those who find relief in using their fists. You get a sense of instant gratification when dealing with anger, there is instant relief... And as humans, that's what we crave, isn't it? Gratification? A quick return to the norm, to something we can control. Something to put the viper back in its basket where it can rest and lay in wait until it's outing.

But what if that anger isn't anger?

There was a stage where the viper coiled in my chest was so violent, so volatile, that I feared I'd lose control of it. It coiled so tight that I could barely breathe. Instead of letting her out I held onto her, let her writhe and fight and scream until she broke down in tears and told me her name. And her name was not anger, it was Grief.

To have that much grief and pain pent up inside had become so much that it had turned violent. To her I said, "I'm sorry." I hadn't meant to ignore her the way I did. I hadn't meant to make her feel like she didn't matter. Just because she's softer, doesn't make her any less valid.

Her name is Grief, not Anger.

Grief over the people I'd lost. The things in life I'd never done. The things I had done that had gone horribly wrong. The kindness I'd tried to show that was thrown back at me. The things I'd said, the things I hadn't said. The people I'd watched drift away from me, leaving me behind. The childhood I'd grown out of, the future I couldn't see. The loneliness. Things I could have been and the things I'd turned away from.

I never stopped to listen to her. So she had stayed silent until she couldn't anymore. And she'd asked me to hear her, but I refused. I kept pushing her away until the only thing she could think to do to get my attention was to scream and call herself Anger. Because everyone listens when you're angry.

But her name was not Anger, it was Grief, and she just wanted to be heard.

I can hear her now. She is no longer Anger but Grief. She is not an easy companion, but I made her this way and so I must help her. It is my job to listen to her and make sure she is heard.

She was never Anger to begin with, she was always Grief.

She is no longer a viper, but a strange obscure thing that I cannot get a hold of. I don't really know her, I never gave her the chance to introduce herself.

I always knew her as Anger, but now I must get to know her as Grief