I’m an angry person.
I’m angry about everything: the news, the weather, the way I look, the jobs I have, the jobs I don’t have, my family, my lack of skills in certain areas, watching “bad” theatre when I know you can do so much better, money, power, men, women, my mattress, the languages I speak, the languages I don’t speak, the city I’m in, the city I’m not in, selfish people, people who get treated badly, cleaning, getting out of bed in the morning, feeling tired, sex, politics, debates, competition, people who hate everything, and, oh I don’t know, let’s say the Dutch. Seriously though, the list doesn’t end there. I am pissed off ALL. THE. TIME.
I never admitted it in public before. Ever. And having to hide who I am all the time has made me an unhappy person.
Last night, I had my first acting class of the new year. Our first day assignment: do something that reveals yourself. It could be anything. Some people danced, some read poetry, some just talked. Me? I smashed a whole bunch of stuff into itty bitty pieces on the floor. And it felt AMAZING. Having let that out, I feel more than ready to tackle the scene I was then assigned: Janice in John Patrick Shanley’s Italian-American Reconciliation – probably the angriest woman written for the stage since Kate in Taming of the Shrew.
This realization also explains to me why I really love things like Roller Derby, Boxing, Wrestling and a healthy dose of Xena: Warrior Princess. Now I understand why I love the sister character in my one-woman show so much and how easy it is for me to drop into her. She isn’t just an alter-ego, she’s me.
Don’t get me wrong, just because I’m angry does not mean I’m unhappy or can’t be happy or can’t be a good person. I know that, you know that, but I’m not too sure society knows that. I’ve been hiding who I really am, making myself weak and small and victim-y because society has taught me that angry, strong women, with a few exceptions (What up, Lucy Lawless?) are “unattractive” and “bitches”.
Well fuck you society, I’m done with that.