Healing Machine for Karen
For the anxiety that you should be more clear and direct with your anger, but also that every time you are, it is the one time you're in the wrong and it ruins everything.
The coin slot on the anger dispensing machine is always jammed. Sometimes, you can pop in a quarter and make it work. Other times, it takes seventy-five cents, a dollar, your entire change purse. Everything is always broken, isn’t it? All the machines, all the systems. You worry you won’t be brave enough to have the backs of the vulnerable as the world falls apart. It’s hard not to be angry. Actually, it’s hard to be angry. You are trying really hard to unlearn the oppressive composure expected of you during the unfortunate experience of being socialized as a girl.
You visit the anger dispenser any chance you get, but the thing gives you a sick feeling in your stomach, a full-body trepidation. Today, you're determined to fix it. The problem is not only the input. The anger it dispenses is uneven, unpredictable - sometimes a small drip, sometimes a torrential downpour. You refuse to bring your husband to help, intent on fixing this problem yourself. You put in a quarter, and the stupid thing jams, of course. You can’t even squeeze another one in. You’re angry that you were too stubborn to ask for help. You kick it and the quarter dislodges, but you’re in the zone now. You kick and kick the machine until it breaks in a whole new way, a way it’s never been broken before, a way that only you could break it. You are powerful. You can destroy anything that needs to be destroyed.