But yeah, the anger. Angery angrishness. Arguing with my mother and my grandmother (alive again, for the purposes of catharsis I guess?) over the dining room table, and I couldn't take it so I went to the kitchen to check on the food (yes, I was cooking. THAT is how much I love my little brother) and g'ma followed me. Hectoring me. And suddenly, there it all was. All of the insecurity, all of the concern with perfectionism, with letting people down, with being a failure. Right there in front of me. In the bent frame of this tiny woman. And I just seethed with so much rage that I was actually speechless. And, bizarrely, I felt violent, which is an extremely rare occurrence with me. The only response I could come up with was to just lash out at her. Sure, my mother was the one who drilled most of this stuff into me, but she was the source. Where my mother got it from. I know that she probably got it passed down the same way, but I never met anything more than the husk of her mother. And it was a dream; everything's symbolic. (Well, everything meaningful. Some of the things are just cigars, after all.)
But I didn't strike out. One point in my favor. I had the confrontation, but didn't resolve it. But I had the confrontation. Another point. Which means I really am learning to externalize all of this negativity, to see it for the cancerous growth it is. Of me, but not of me. Capable of being excised and exiled. So maybe just maybe, I'm getting to be okay with being me. A third point. If we're keeping score.
Which I am. I am slowly learning to recognize the points in my favor in addition to all the negative things that I notice because of a lifetime of having them pointed out to me. Eventually, I'll be able to hug my grandmother, soothe her and tell her it's all going to be okay, that the bad things don't matter in the end, and that life is beautiful and to be celebrated. It's too late for her, of course, but there's always the future to consider.