One of the lingering side effects of childhood abuse is … rage!
Rage bubbles up in me … unannounced … unexpected … and uninvited!
Nay! More than bubbles: froths, pukes forth, erupts.
How can rage be a gift?
Or, is it?
It is not a gift when I vent it on those I care about … or those simply close at hand, when it bursts forth; at the least real provocation.
But, if I can use that rage to write about the wrongs, and to right the wrongs, to fuel and direct the spilling forth of words … then mayhap it will be a Gift.
