I know that’s the name of a rock band and this blog has nothing to do with music (just in case you’re inclined to continue reading). Little things can make me fly off the handle in an inconsolable rage. I often react wildly disproportionately to minor things that most people would find mildly annoying or perhaps shrug off as one of those things. To me, it’s the beginning of “things are going very wrong for me” or “the world has got it in for me” and warrant me flying off into a wild rage. The therapist world calls likes to call this dysregulation and it’s basically a nervous system out of whack, a direct result of trauma and also unresolved childhood trauma. With me I know it’s rage that was trapped in my body as a child that hasn’t been expressed. The huge problem is, I don’t know how to heal that part of me and let that anger out. And boy does it come up and rear its ugly head from time to time. And it is fucking ugly.
Today I had a hissy fit behind the wheel (of my car to make that clear). Hence the title of this post. I actually surprised myself when a rageful child (I’m not sure what age), appeared from within me as the lights turned red and I had to stop the car suddenly (although I wanted to jump the red light). Had I have chosen the other lane with less traffic, I would have gotten through the lights on green (like the Amazon van-man driver did who cut me up just few moments prior to that). As I ground to a halt at this particular four way busy junction, and watching the selfish Amazon van-man fly through the lights and onwards on his journey (I guess it was a man), and as I halted at the red light, I suddenly flew into an uncontrollable rage, clenched my jaw, and made a weird squeal-type sound as I smacked both my hands against the steering wheel really hard, four times. Smack, smack, smack, smack. In that sort of rhythm, the way you’d read that. My mum sitting next to me (who is used to my hissy fits but still gets surprised) commented that I shouldn’t get so angry. No, I shouldn’t. And in that moment, I paused momentarily to contemplate why do I get so angry and if, or when, will I ever change? These are child-type rages; it’s not the behaviour of a mature, level-headed, dare I say, middle-aged adult. It’s as though I’m trying to scrape something out of my insides when I get that rageful, but I just can’t quite extract what I need to extract.
When I fly into these rages over minor things, it’s the type of rage that lingers like a bad smell (the rage is a very stinky mental fart!); as we pulled away from the lights, and the two lanes merged into one, I was stuck behind Mr Tortoise whose-got-all-day and a taxi driver (don’t you just hate taxi drivers) tucked himself in front of me annoying me further more. Thinking about it, when I suddenly fly into these rages, I feel like someone has gotten the better of me, that I’ve been taken advantage of and I blame myself for not being smarter, for not thinking quick enough, for not taking the small chance and (in this instance) being in the correct lane. It sounds ludicrous, but that’s the truth of the matter, but probably not the true underlying reason. Some unsuspecting guy bore the brunt of my rage a few minutes later when I told him to fuck off out my window – well, he was asking for it when he simultaneously pulled into a parking space that I was also pulling into on the side of the road (the local car park was full to the brim). He pointed at the house (as if he lived there which I don’t think he did), I think he just wanted the space. He obviously had a micro penis as he was driving an overly large BMW. He made some hand gesture as if to say he lived there (or perhaps he was brandishing some tweezers for his next wank) and before he could open his smelly fat gob and say something (he looked like a smelly fat bastard), I pulled away and shouted at him, telling him to fuck off and in that moment felt very smug that I’d probably ruined some of his day. Well that’s what you get for being a micro-penis wanker. So how do you like them apples? Oh gosh I’ve just had a giggle writing that! Yes childish, but then I had been consumed by the 13 year old rageful child. Like I said, the feeling lingers. It is akin to having a split personality. I’m not a narcissist (I have too much empathy in me to be one of those) but the rage is like a jekyll and hyde moment. I’m not proud of it but part of it is like some sort of defence mechanism, that no one is going to make me feel victimised again. It’s probably from the years of vicious racial abuse I endured as a child, from around 7 years old. In fact, I think it is from those years.
Coming back to the reason why I get so rageful. Why do I feel so ‘hard done by’ in those moments? Why do I feel like someone has got the better of me, or that I’ve been stupid and made the wrong decision? Why is it such a huge thing? And how can I stop such inconsequential things taking over like poor Bruce Banner and the Hulk? Perhaps that what the Hulk is about, metaphorically. About trapped rage that needs to be expressed. But how do you take a pain body like rage and transform it without becoming some sort of fake spiritual type who spends too much time transcending but actually falls back down to earth with a crash, bang, whallop when you do get triggered by the slightest inconvenience…! I think I have found part of my answer though: I think a lot of my rage does tie into the years of racial abuse that I, along with my family, suffered. Living in constant daily fear of possible physical violence, literally fearing for your life and daily verbal violence and diatribes must change you drastically (along with regular criminal damage to our home and property). I’m not going to write about it here as the post will become a mini essay, but whilst it’s on my mind, I think I’ll write my next few blogs about the racial violence we endured growing up, which is where my trauma starts (but doesn’t end there)….
If baring my soul to you (and the world) has moved or touched a part of you in any way, then your support would be very welcome. To help me on this healing journey, perhaps you’d like to buy me a coffee (although mines a tea) via the link below:
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