Strangled Anger

Have you ever hated something so much that you wanted to lock it away? You didn’t want to open the door because then it would be free?

It didn’t deserve to be free.  The lock was unbreakable.  It could not escape, in my mind.

This door that I have locked is well hidden, in my mind.

I stand in front of it with a masked identity.

The more I open up to close friends, the lighter the mask becomes.

As time goes by, the mask starts to fall off.  The elastic that used to hold it in place is now worn out. I have to hold it on with one hand.

Living life with one hand on my mask, and one hand on the steering wheel is getting difficult.  Risky.

In order to stop wearing the mask, I have to open the locked door.

I know that the memories that have fed my anger will bust through as soon as I turn the key.  They’ll fly past me too quickly.  I won’t be able to strangle them and punish them anymore.

The key is burning its impression into my clenched fist.

I’m fighting the urge to strangle the anger, or to set it free.

My mind takes me back to trauma’s beginning.  The day I locked the door…

It was cold, and scary.  We were crying, but no one cared.

We were huddled in the corner, avoiding the rage.

We found the masks in that corner.  We’ve worn them everyday since.

The rage continued for years.  Somehow, we were always protected.  It flew through the air, piercing it.  Never allowed to touch us.

We escaped one day, when we were old enough.

Hearts racing, we braced ourselves against the door.  She held it closed while I frantically entered the key into the lock, hands shaking.

The door has always remained, locked, behind us.  We thought we could carry on, leaving the memories there.  They’ve become so loud though.  They’re screaming to be set free.

I’m ready.

I opened my clenched fist.  I studied the key.  There was something inscribed on it.  Looking closer, the letters became clear, one by one.

“Let Go”

The key fit perfectly, and turned freely.

The door opened slowly, and a light shone brightly.

The room was empty.

The walls were freshly painted, white.

I stepped inside, and immediately released the pain.

The anger flew from my heart.

Forgiveness took its place.

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