Rage Against the Whatever's Handy.

Last summer, before I started getting help around money, I was in a bad way. I answered an ad for a company/house looking for dominatrixes (dominatri?). I was desperate for money, and was almost willing to do anything to make it.

So, I answered the ad, spoke with a woman on the phone, looked at their website, and scheduled an interview.

Then, I emailed a friend of mine who’d been a dominatrix once upon a time, and I asked her what her thoughts were around it. She replied with an interesting thought. She said that it was a very low and base level of energetic exchange.

Even though it sounds “woo-woo,” I knew what she meant. She didn’t tell me yes or no, she just said, basically, that it felt icky. And that she was heavily using drugs at the time.

A few days later, and before my interview, I called to let them know I wouldn’t be coming in for my interview, that I’d like to cancel. And that was the end of that.

However. I’m reminded of this now, about a “low” source of energy, or power, because I’ve been experiencing the most wonderful (<-- sarcasm) feeling of free floating anger lately.

For those of you who know me, “angry” is likely the last thing you’d associate with me – quirky, awkward, loving are most likely the top layers, and indeed, the most core layers. But, in the middle of those is everything that I’ve tried to put in between me and you. That includes sex, and that includes anger.

Now that I’m in the process of extricating myself from any sexual entanglements, grey areas, … dating sites…, I’m noticing that anger has arisen where “sex” used to be.

When I was in junior high, and I came into school that one Monday with contact lenses and makeup and suddenly I was visible, I rode that high, and my anger that “you” only now noticed me, I rode that well into my twenties.

I fed off of that energetic exchange. The power that a woman (or man) holds via sexuality is more than palpable, it’s addictive. It’s enlivening. It becomes what I’d come to believe was my only source of strength.

This was a “low” form of strength, and a false form. But oh the many heads of it. I feel powerful (or visible, or valid) when you pay attention to me. When you’re giving me what I think I need, when you’re eying me, or flirting with me, or seeing what I know (or think I know) you’re seeing when you see me.

So, now, I’m removing this source – I’m calling this well toxic, and trying to walk away from it. Sex isn’t bad – but it can be a natural outcropping of feelings rather than hormones.

I said yesterday to a friend that I feel like someone has pulled my covers. That my defense mechanisms are being shorn away one by one, and so, now, here I am with anger.

I am very aware that anger is just the other side of vulnerability. I don’t want you to see how vulnerable I am, so I will put on my angry armor and tell you to fuck off.

But, being aware of it doesn’t cancel it out.

I was reflecting this morning about the power of anger. I realized that before there was the Power of Sex, there was the Power of Anger in my life. It was modeled to me that if you were angry, you were powerful. If you were angry, you were paid attention to (and left alone). I learned that anger was an appropriate way to feel visible.

This, is a poor lesson. As frightened as I was when I was younger, I began to learn to fight fire with fire. I learned this young too. I was not really a pleasant kid, behind my shy exterior. The shy came after. After I learned how to be angry, to yell back, to provoke, to antagonize, and to defy. I learned that not everyone, especially in school, was going to put up with that, and it sank inward, enclosed by the layer of “demure” and “shy.” I’ll just disappear then. If I can’t have power via anger, then I apparently don’t have any at all.

When I found sexuality, I found a “more acceptable” pathway to visibility. And now, again, as that one’s being taken away from me – the abuse of that power, rather – now, I’m falling backwards through my timeline into anger.

Rage, really. I learned a lot about rage growing up – surely, not as much as some, but more than Mr. Rogers would have wanted in his neighborhood.

So, here I am at rage. One of my last defenses. I am sorry to be here at it. And I also know that freedom from it will bring untold gifts. But… I like it. And that’s the problem. The problem is that these sources of power are still salivating. I still feed off them. I still feel powerful from them, even “knowing” that they’re false.

I made someone angry yesterday, and I liked it. I felt validated. If I’m able to make you mad, then that means that I’m alive, around, meaningful. If I’m able to cause a reaction in you (previously, a sexual one; now an angry one), then I have a purpose.

Yes, I “get” that these are totally fucked up thoughts. I get that this has to be “gotten through” or it will continue to cause me pain. And isolation.

But I felt that “low source of energy” when I was the recipient of that anger yesterday. It’s like a “HA! See, you do care."

It’s so Psych 101, it’s stupid – better negative attention than no attention. But, it’s recorded in textbooks for a reason. It must be prevalent enough and common enough to fall asleep to at your freshman college desk.

So, that’s my thoughts for the day. Thoughts on feeling vulnerable, and what I do to hide that. Thoughts on my reluctance to let go of sex and rage as sources of “power” and validation. My thoughts on compassion for myself, as I know this is hard. And a modicum of hope and self-validation for choosing to move through this anyway.