What scares me is losing control. For as long as I can remember I’ve had a temper. When I was younger I’d get so mad my nose would bleed and I’d get head aches. As I grew older so did my rage at the world around me.
Why did I deserve to sufferer so much huh?
I’d keep everything inside until it burst out and I lashed out at people. If anyone made fun of me or told me I couldn’t do something my rage rose up like a snake poised to strike and I went on the defensive.
Constantly being sick and having no idea if or when you’d get out of the hospital was scary at first then it just pissed me off. The poking and prodding at all hours, medical students learning on you, and that god awful antiseptic smell turns my stomach to this day.
All the surgeries, allergies, and medication never seemed to end. Life from 7 to 14 was one giant interval between stints in that hell hole. For most of middle school and high school I vacillated between suicidal ideation and homicidal rage.
Video games became my outlet. After shitty a day at school I’d load up House of Dead on hard mode and fired away until the edge was taken off. When that didn’t work I’d bite my nails until they were a bloody mess. The pain gave me something to focus on when my world turned to shit.
I was about 16 when I realized someone could get hurt if I ever lost control. I isolated myself in my room most of the time. And avoided situations where I knew there was potential for blow ups. I never raised a hand to my parents. Not because I was scared of them, but of me. If I ever did, I wouldn’t stop until either they were dead or someone pulled me off them.
Weekends were the worst since I couldn’t rely on school to take up eight hours. Family shopping trips were god awful. They always devolved into fights about Mom not having enough cigarettes or my sister not being able to get the expensive name brand items she wanted. And if my grand mother came with it took all my resolve not to smash her face in. I couldn’t take the drama and shouting anymore so when I turned 20 I moved out.
I thought living on my own would solve my anger issues but it didn’t. Little things started setting me off. I’d punch walls, throw things and smash objects. Electronics and other things in my path were all targets but it never sated my rage.
My second year of college I started working out and found I enjoyed it. It gave me an outlet to channel my aggression and I’d spend four to six hours everyday pushing myself beyond my limits. The first day I lasted maybe an thirty minutes before I got sick and went home.
Lesson learned I stocked up on Gatorade and came back the next day. When I was done there were parts of I didn’t know could hurt that ached. I soaked in the tub for an hour and came back the next day.
The confidence boost that came after a workout session was nice. but it was the sense of achievement when I upped the weights and dropped another pants size that kept me going back week after week. Then I plateaued and the challenge was gone. Then I’d gained back all the weight and do it all over again. Without realizing I’d slipped into the nasty habits of binge eating, followed by severally restricting my diet and then purging via these extreme work outs.
Sure I looked great but it wasn’t enough for me and my unhealthy obsession with my weight almost cost me my life. I was 25 and on my latest exercise kick when my doctor called with the results of a recent blood test.
My potassium levels had dropped so low if I didn’t immediately go on pills to get them up I could die of sudden cardiac arrest. A week of taking pills the size of quarters and things were back to normal. But that was a wake up call for me.
I still obsess about my weight, especially since I’m getting older, but I’ve learned to take it one day at a time and have moderation when it comes to junk food and exercising.
The issue at the core of all this was displaced anger from when I was a kid. It was only by addressing the hurt, abandonment, and helplessness I felt as a result of the fall out from SJS and sexual abuse I suffered was I able to let most of my rage go.
It still swells up inside me from time to time but rather than suppress it like in the past I acknowledge it and channel it into constructive things like writing, working out and art. I’m still struggling with a distrust of people in general. Though I do try to give them the benefit of the doubt, I still expect the worst.
While I do go out more I hate large crowds in confined spaces ala your typical night club. Early on I can hang but once it get forty, fifty people deep and you’re packed shoulder to shoulder, that’s my cue to exit. I don’t like being touched by strangers and had way too many drunken asshole bump into me because they didn’t notice I was there.
Bars in general aren’t my scene. While I do like the freedom of letting everything go as the music washes over you. The places are too dark to get a good look at anyone, too loud to be heard and the alcohol over priced and crappy.
I’ve had my share of drunken binges and sloppy grope fests on the dance floor. But I don’t need alcohol to enjoy myself when I go out. I don’t want it. The taste never appealed to me plus I’m too old to be doing stupid shit while hammered anyways.