If someone were to ask me which of the classic Nine Deadly Sins I’m most guilty of, it probably wouldn’t even be completely out of their mouth before I answered: “Wrath!” I’m a very angry person. I can’t help it, I’ve tried. It comes from having seen too many things that have made me blisteringly angry without the power to do or say much of anything about them. Surprisingly, I draw for much the same reason. Having power over your hand is at least some kind of power, when maybe you don’t feel like you have much of any otherwise. The rage builds up and builds up, and finally you let it out by kicking the ground running or having a scream into a pillow or, like I do, grinding a pencil into a piece of paper.
People judge anger. It’s the emotion you’re not supposed to have. It’s the language of tyrants and meanies and everyone who has ever lashed out, and the fear is understandable when the effects of unchecked rage are so dramatic. But the effects of unchecked rage have nothing on the effects of unchecked fear. Personally, nationally, socially, historically, it seems like fear is not only the mind-killer, more importantly, it’s the conscience-killer. Even more disturbingly, when you give in to fear it most often takes the shape of avoidance, meaning that while you may be acting in fear, it doesn’t seem like you’re acting at all. Comparatively, anger is usually conspicuous, connected to real words and actions that can be remembered and recounted later, usually as a mistake. It’s hard to carry unconscious rage, and yet it is very easy to carry unconscious fear. It makes you wonder about a culture where anger is deprecated and cowardice is not.
I am not usually so personal here, but I am currently prepping for some major-but-not-risky surgery. Since it turns out that my biggest irrational fear is the loss of control required to go under anesthetic, I have been kind of emotional. It’s not that I fear the surgery itself, even. Bizarrely, what I’m afraid of is not being able to be there if something goes wrong. Which makes very little sense, because if my brain got what it wants and was somehow awake for a disaster, the best I could do would be to knock everything out of the surgeon’s hands and run around screaming.
So, this week, I have been trying to treat myself a little bit like the child I feel like sometimes: all pep talks and emotional diffusion tricks. The doodle for today’s angry self portrait was in the sketchbook just waiting for a day like today to be fleshed out a little. The comic above, with wise words from somewhere on Pinterest, I drew a long time ago, but it always something that I go back to when I find myself struggling with my feelings. I still need reassurance sometimes (even if it’s from cartoon men in animal hats) – that my feelings are messages, and not punishments sent to me for Doing a Bad Job.