Rage

Maybe this is what I need from you. Maybe this is why I'm so drawn to you. Your rage tastes familiar. Faint, lingering traces of a few, potent individuals who defined how I deal with people being angry at me. This is so trite, but it begins with my father, who helped defined fight or flight for me, and it continued with men through out my life.

And with you, I can feel that fear, that incredibly strong instinct to placate or destroy, and I can ignore it. I can stand in my shower and remind myself "I am alone" and I can mean it and I can love that knowledge. Because it's more than ok, to be alone. It's vital. It means I can understand your anger, I can see my contribution to it, I can acknowledge I helped create it. Do you know how hard that is? It's not just pride. It's loss. You can't lose something you don't have, and what I can't lose with you is everything. And I love it. It sounds so snarky and fucked up.
It's really not. I'm learning how to deal with that rage inside of myself, and how to handle such devastating anger directed at me. And maybe I'm helping you a little, knowing that the anger isn't an end game, it's not the apocolypse.