Lately I have had some issues. The regular issues, the norm for me. I hate this side of me, it is the side I could definitely do without. I am afraid to talk about it because as I struggle to post this I hear my mothers words echoing in my head…
“You are abusive.”
“You are a batterer.”
“You are full of dangerous rage.”
“You are going to end up in prison and lose your son.”
“I don’t feel safe around you.”
I know that these things were said to displace the guilt she had about herself, but sometimes I believe them. I never want to be like her. I never want to be abusive. I never want to be a monster.
I talk with my therapist about the feelings I have. I just get so frustrated, soangry. She tells me Anger is a secondary emotion, it is usually a product of fear, guilt, doubt, concern, confusion and such. This makes sense, because I am never angry for no reason. She says that I am like a dog, a dog that in any normal situation is a gentle, trusting companion. But because I grew up in an abusive environment, I have developed a way to protect myself. At any moment that I feel the slightest sign of a threat, I attack as if being backed into a corner. I will not allow myself to be hurt, to be dominated, to be weak. Even though I am no longer in an abusive environment, I am still wired, programmed to attack as if it were a fight for my life.
Anger for me feels like glass over a fire, burning and cracking, fractures winding across the otherwise smooth planes until it shatters, projecting bits of shrapnel everywhere. Sometimes it feels like a volcano that has laid dormant. Pressure and tension builds and heats up causing me pain and discomfort. I attempt to alleviate it by letting out leaks of frustration, like the hissing of hot steam through the cracks of the earth leading to a sudden explosion, spewing forth filth and hurtful words, burning all that lies in my path.
Sometimes I feel like there is nothing I can do to control it, like I am a Jekyll and Mr. Hyde character. One side is reasonable and realizes I am hurting those around me, he weighs options and uses logic. He tells me to use coping skills or just walk away. He repeats every valuable thing I have been taught about communication and walks me through the steps to diffusing my anger. He is compassionate and tries to place himself in the other person’s position. Gently he tries to calm me, holding me, telling me it’s okay.
And then there’s the other half. The monster. He is animalistic and primal. He is quick to react, sharp and cunning. He spiteful and wicked. He persuades me to react on impulse, to live for the moment. He whispers in my ear all the hurtful things I have been told and he replays all the painful memories, fueling my rage. He pushes me and taunts me, poking at me, teasing me.
The monster usually wins.
As he takes over I feel my heart in my chest. Its pounding, racing, sinking, swelling. It feels as if it’s going to explode and that my life will end right then and there. Age 26, died of heart attack. Reason: Monsters. My hands shake as if I have been struck by an unknown form of hypothermia. I shiver. My breathing becomes laboured and quick. Short exhales, followed by a choking sensation. My mind becomes cluttered, confused, messy. It feels as if I am in a crowd full of people and they are all hissing at me, talking, noisy. I can’t sort out any complete sentences, all I know now is to attack.
I wait for the moment you leave yourself open and vulnerable. I lunge. With each attack, I leave a wound, one that I pick at, making it deeper. I want to leave a scar, to remind you of every time you have hurt me. I can’t stop. I feel the shadow of despair consuming me. I feel as if I am falling deeper into a hole and there is no way out. The light becomes smaller and smaller till its dark.
I attack.
I attack till every ounce of energy leaves me. I attack till I’m exhausted, till I can’t fight anymore. I finally collapse as the monster slinks away, leaving behind a messy battlefield of careless words and painful regrets. My mind is empty now, not a single sound or whisper can be heard. I am left with numbing detachment as I become comatose, sinking into that dark place, accepting defeat. I let out one final breath, as it empties my lungs leaving my body heavy and lifeless.
The monster has left, but is always nearby, lurking, waiting for it’s chance to cause disorder and chaos.
I am able at this point to think clearly, to recognize what I have done. I see all the wounds I have caused, and I attempt to make amends. I am sorry. I am guilty. I didn’t mean what I said. I want to do whatever it takes to make things right, I want to be better. Regret sets in as I replay the event, thinking about how I could have done things differently.
If only I could have walked away…
If only I could have thought clearly…
If only I wouldn’t have said that…
If only I would have listened…
If only I had self control…
If only I didn’t have monsters inside.
