Anger is one of my most known traits to my closest family and friends. Especially, Dillon. It’s also what a lot of my kin folks were known for, back in the day. Mamaw always tells me stories about them. Like, how my grandfather and his cousins were basically their own little gang. Being in a small town, everybody knew not to mess with them. “Except that tiny feller who gave Papaw that butt-whoopin.” Other than that, I basically learned my family were a bunch of outlaws. Of course, it’s different now. How Papaw learned to control his anger, I’ll never know. I wish I did.
I learned something about myself, though. When I am angry, I cry. Then, I get even angrier because I just seem like a cry-baby. I also learned that when I am angry, every electronic is about to fly off the porch.
Dillon made the mistake of making me mad, once. I had bought him a memory drive with one terabyte of memory for Christmas a couple of years ago. It wasn’t cheap, either. I can’t remember what he did, but while he was outside, I threw it as hard as I could onto the walk-way. His clothes ended up all over the yard, too. I had blacked out. All I saw was red, and nothing was stopping me from my damage-inflicting rage. If I could, I probably would have picked him up and threw him out in the yard, too.
My Aunt Becky (Papaw’s sister) came over, last night. I was already mad about something else, but I told her that story about me turning everything anti-gravitational. (Is this even a word?)
“Yep, you sound like your grandpa.” She said.
Also, road rage. I am the worst when it comes to honking the horn and screaming out the window. I don’t even know where to begin with stories. These teens are always driving on the wrong side of the road. Darn whippersnappers. I’m already scared to drive, I don’t need to be angry and scared.
For the past few days, it seems like everything has been making me mad. I guess it’s just one of those weeks, but I hate feeling like this. My nerves are on edge. We all have those days, I guess. For me, it turns into those weeks. I feel sorry for my husband. I’ll get mad at him for spilling a little bit of water and make him leave me alone. Then, when he finally does leave me alone, I get angry because he won’t talk to me. He gets aggravated. “What do you want from me, woman?!” He’ll say, and I’ll cry and yell, “You don’t love me!” He will end up buying me chocolate or something and everything goes back to normal, most of the time. I just have a mess of a mind.
I’m not a scientist or psychological expert, so I often find myself wondering why we get angry. Not what our husbands and wives do to make us mad, but why our minds are affected by these things. Why do we get this feeling? Why do we lose control of it? Why do we throw stuff off the porch and get even madder when it breaks?
My doctor has told me my anxiety has a large impact on my mood swings. So, now I’m thinking, “Great. I’m bipolar along with having hypochondria. Better tell Dillon to lock the knife drawer.”
My anger also affects my everyday life. If I kick the coffee table and stub my pinky toe, I’ll yell a few obscenities. Some of which, my three year old picks up on. He plays Minecraft, so I’ll hear him sometimes yelling things like, “Stupid game!” or “Damn it!” It’s hilarious, but I have to get on to him.
If you want to know how I manage my anger, I don’t. I should, but nobody’s perfect. So far, I haven’t found anything that calms me down besides my medication, but who can remember to take a pill every single night? I sure can’t. You would think my anxiety would be a constant reminder. Counting to ten doesn’t do anything but annoy me.
The only thing I can tell someone with anger problems is to stay away from sharp objects and expensive gifts!
Also, if you must throw something, don’t throw your spouse! They cannot fly.