I do not like to be angry, mostly because I have a nasty temper. I would like to think that I have tamed my temper but it's probably more accurate to say that I have refined it. I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse.
Not many things make me angry. Being mean to kids (as opposed to tough love), being mean to old people (seriously- they're old. bad form), and injustice underscored by a substantial one sided balance of power. That's it. I find most human behavior curious as opposed to anger rousing. I arrogantly like to think that people who yell at other drivers lack anything substantial to be angry about. Road rage is a luxury for those with a light load of personal problems.
I hate angry, my anger, because I have learned to use it to inflict the most harm. I hate it because after inflicting said harm I never feel regretful. Only justified and drained. I have learned that it is not the physical pain that hurts people the most. It's the words. And my tongue, when provoked, is deadly.
Here is the evolution of my temper-
1) Observe something unfair that I can't make sense of.
2) Feel my blood start to boil. I literally feel my body get hot. I feel my blood pump faster and as a result the temperature rises.
3) Acknowledge to myself that I'm feeling anger.
4) Try to talk myself down by reasoning at I don't have all the pieces.
5) Convince myself to ask more questions.
6) Receive unsatisfactory answers.
7) Analyze, quickly, the most efficient method to right the wrong while inflicting the most harm to the person enacting the injustice.
8) Zone in, focus, engage.
At this point my brain goes to hyper drive. I am not conscience of the passage of time. I'm am marginally aware of the what is happening in my peripheral. I don't hear anything. I am über focused. With the tenacity of a feral dog protecting its cubs, I go for it. And I win. I always win. Even if I loose a battle or two I persist until I get the W. It's a sickness.
It leaves me emotionally exhausted. As I come down off of my angry high I become aware of smell, color, and sound. I analyze the events to see if I could have done something different. Decide that I would not and go for a run. Literally. I have to burn the rest of the angry off.
Circular point- I recognize how much exercise has saved me. When angry, when sad, when hurting- I punish my body until all I can do is pass out. When I got divorced, the original, I would jump rope every night after the kids were asleep until I couldn't stand. When Georgia died I ran until I couldn't. Then I ran some more. Some people drink, some do drugs, some sleep- I work out. Thank God for natural endorphins. And blogging, absolutely thank God for blogging. Writing heals.
Return to point- what am grappling with is if my anger is a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand I fight for those who can't. I'm generally justified. I win. On the other hand, why can't I be passive? Why can't I let it roll off? The Amy in me finds that both laughable and unnatural. I mean does anyone ever really let it roll off? Doubtful. Probably they just internalize and have strokes. I'm sure I'll never find out.
I am grateful that I have been taught to fight well. I never yell. I never raise my voice, as a matter of fact the angrier I am the quieter I get. I am a lady. What I will do is go above your head and eviscerate you. Mostly to your face.
It's the ultimate humiliation because in the end the other person, not wanting to loose something essential (usually a job or status), has to bow down. That's where the pain is found; the breaking of a spirit, feeding you the shards, and watching you choke on your own blood as the jagged edges of your pride serrate your esophagus. Leaving you to emotionally asphyxiate. I find perverse satisfaction in it and all I ever think is, "Don't be mean to old people/kids."
That's what I don't get either. Why do people think that they can act however they want with no ramifications? I witnessed that today. A presumption of no accountability for meanness. Unfortunately for her and I my sense of justice flared as did my anger. I left a scorched path in my wake. I feel no regret.
In the meantime it's been 56 minutes and 7 miles at the gym. My body is done.
My anger is gone.
-Dewb
No comments:
Post a Comment