20 March 2007 - 5:16 am

Anger is what motivates me.

It makes me sad, but it seems to be true.

I was training for a marathon because my not-boyfriend at the time kept harping at me about my lack of fitness, and in the midst of the marathon, when I honestly was thinking of giving up, I saw an ex-boyfriend, who didn't exercise or do anything to take care of himself, and thought he was great looking just the way he was, and then got offended at me when we went for a walk and he huffed and puffed and I innocently suggested maybe he should start exercising? (He also used to drive the ten blocks to a favorite restaurant up the street, so he could stay at home and enjoy a smoke.) Well, that smoking ex-boyfriend I saw leaving his place of work perfectly from my vantage point on a bridge, (what the hell was he doing there on a Sunday afternoon, at this particular time and place? it was just too bizarre that he should happen to be walking out of there at the exact time I happened to be walking by nearby...I recognized him by his black wife-beater T and ambling, shambling walk as he hitched up his too big pants he refused to wear a belt with) and seeing him and remembering his angry reaction to my simple suggestion of actually walking regularly, fueled me on to complete the 3 remaining miles of the marathon. Anger spurred me on.

It's happened before. Someone tells me I can't do something, I get angry and decide I'll show them.

Mr. Electricity is telling me I'm fat and disgusting, when he's no epitomy of fitness himself, and if only I would get a new wardrobe, wear make-up, exercise regularly and religiously, eat better, and just take better care of myself....

Well, I'm pissed he thinks I'm ugly just the way I am. I'm pissed that his ideal female is a size 2 and I will never be that. I'm pissed that he's allowed to have this opinion and think nothing of his own lack of health and does nothing about it. There are a number of things he does on a weekly basis that if he just cut out or down, he would be much more comfortable about his body and self. Like going to bed at a reasonable hour. His roommate holds the same job as he, and goes to bed within a couple hours of getting off work. And then wakes up before noon. But not Mr. Electricity. Then he gets hardly anything done during the day when things are open, and repeats it again, falling asleep on the couch late into the night, beer clutched in hand. Going to bed at a decent hour would have him not drink that third or fourth beer, which has been putting the pounds on. He knows it, because ocassionally he stops drinking, and that mere change has him dropping 20 or so pounds. I wish I had some bad habit that if I merely stopped doing I would drop that much, that quickly. But all my bad habits are gradually accumulated, and gradually released.

Truthfully, I do eat badly and don't have a concerted exercise plan, dress sloppy because I want to hide my body as much as possible, because I am embarrassed by it, all this is true, but there is certainly no reason for him to be pissed at me for treating myself that way. He's merely projecting his own dislike of himself onto me. And because he has such a winning, charming personality, and can lay size 2 women on a regular basis, he thinks he has the right to that opinion. He honestly believes all women should be that. That someone who isn't that petite is beneath his contempt. And yet he likes hanging out with me. Go figure.

He just wants me to be happy. He thinks if I change the superficial things, I will be. I think if I change how I feel about myself, changing the superficial things will come more easily, because I will be more accepting of the changes, less resistant because they will then match how I think. He is obsessed with the correct appearance, I am not. I just want him to be happy.

So I am angry, I am pissed. He is a size-ist, and he is practicing his size-ism upon me, and I can't stand it.

So I went and signed up for a triathalon. I will get fitter, slimmer, more comfortable in my body, and after all that effort, he will still reject me, because he wanted me to do it for myself, not him. We have played this game before, but I figure whatever motivates, and gets the job done, that should be inconsequential as compared to the results. So if it takes anger to motivate me, so be it. If anger is what finally has me exercising on a regular basis, that's good, right? If anger is what has me leave a cyclic relationship that leaves both of us exhausted, that too is a good thing, right? If anger finally has me draw limits and boundaries, that's a good thing too, right?

I just wish I could motivate myself from something positive, like love. I wish I had the thought, this would be the loving thing to do, to care and nourish my body in a respectful manner, to take care of it on a daily basis, because my body is my temple and the only temple I have, so I had best treat it well so it will serve me my entire earthly existence. I wish I could say this is a destructive, damaging relationship, and as much as I love and care for you, it serves neither of us well, all this anger and resentment coming out in hurtful comments and meanness. I wish I could love and believe in my talents as only he has, that I could actually finish any of my started novels, stories and screenplays and send them out. I wish I loved myself as much as I want him to love me. As much as I love him, and can't understand why he doesn't take better care of himself. I wish I could just meditate and feel the love I have for the world and others flow in the direction of me and have that support and nourish me and have it strengthen my belief in my choices.

But as much I would like all that, anger is what I feel. Anger at myself, which turns into depression, anger at the world for not relishing its beauty and uniqueness, anger at him for being so callous and petty and giving up on my ability or willingness to change (something I have not given up, thank god), anger, anger anger.

And he makes the comment, after telling me yet again that I am the only one he feels so comfortable with that he can tell me anything (well, except the truth when he starts dating someone else again) that he finds this other person attractive in part by her lessened anger. The truth is my anger frightens me, I try and hold it in, I am angry about so many things and feel so helpless and hopeless and anger at times keeps me alive rather than slipping into the slough of despondency, and he is the only one I feel comfortable enough to show most fully the extent of my anger. I don't even show him all my anger. And my anger makes him uncomfortable. Some of it is directed at him, and I think the most uncomfortable it makes him is because it is spot-on about his lies and deceit, but because he is in present lie and deceit mode, he can't possibly admit any of my anger at him could be justified. And this anger that makes he and I uncomfortable, I don't know how to release it. I don't know how to let it go and not be a milquetoast. I don't know how to let my anger go and still have boundaries. Anger lets me have the boundaries I don't usually have.

But something needs to change, because I know the anger will destroy me in the end if I don't channel or nourish it in some more positive direction. Some people take their anger and become political activists. Or invent something or start their own business. Some people take their anger and channel it into creative ventures like writing about the crappy jobs they work or singing songs or painting. My roommate Yvonne is working on a series of paintings about peacocks because she found out that peafowl eat poisonous plants. They eat plants other animals don't, and turn that poison into nourishment and beauty. She at her work takes the abuse receptionists get, rude customers and such, she eats that poison, and with her paintings, is turning it into beauty. It is her inspiration to not continue the cycle of anger and meanness. She has declared that the poison will stop with her. She willingly eats it.

She is a brave woman. I have made no such declaration. My anger festers and boils, my anger spills over the edges and burns anyone close to me, my anger is in danger of hurting everyone I love and care about, friends, family and strangers too.

So I will run, I will bike and I will swim, trying to beat that anger out of me. I will pound the pavement angrily, I will swim my strokes with vengeance, and I will thrust my legs into angry action to make that bike move, I will do all this and more out of anger, and changes will be made as a result. I will just so happen to lose weight and get fit. I will just so happen to start eating differently just because my body will crave better energy supplies. I will be calmer at work, less likely to cry at the drop of a pin, because my anger will be ground into the pavement and pool.

Anger will get me by, anger will make me win. But I do not want anger to win over me. I want to run and race in order to get a handle on my anger, in order to allow the anger to seep safely out of me, without harming others. When I cross that finish line, triumphantly, I will know that anger helped get me there, was harnessed to allow me access to the great strength I know I am, but am afraid to let loose, in this way I will allow anger to set me free.