I decided that I needed therapy and not just medication because of my rage, because of my voracious temper. I was getting too old to be freaking out to the extent and regularity I was and I was genuinely scared of myself. I would have black out screaming fits where venomous words would spew like projectile vomit with no memory or vaccine available to me for the damage caused. That does still happen, even with therapy I’m sure the in-laws find it hard to believe I’ve actually sought out help for my tongue. There are of course those who have seen the full extent of what my anger makes me capable of that are still in my life [holy, thank you] and those who have never seen my ‘temper’ have known me for YEARS and can’t even imagine it is in me if I tell them stories of shit I either remember doing but with no words attached or things I’ve been told I said or things I say I don’t remember doing or saying but really do remember I’m just too ashamed to admit to that person I remember and it is easier in those cases to lie. Granted there are also people who have stated they would never ever want to be on my bad side which is not something I’m proud of but I spout my mouth off and it gets me in trouble, always has, maybe always will only time will tell. Even with medication, for me it was not enough I was unable to control my temper and if I didn’t get help either myself or someone around me was going to get seriously hurt physically not ‘just’ emotionally abused by me.
What finally scared it out of me while already on medication and made me take the longest and hardest look I’d ever taken at it was after a fight with an ex where yes he was being a complete and total ass but it did not warrant how badly I flipped out. I’d been bottling things up and not dealing with a few things dating him was part of that bottling I already knew him so I thought it would be safe that he’d be able to handle me, he knew the shit had really gone on but he wasn’t someone who understood anything about depression so really it was doomed anyway. You have to have some sort of acceptance and or understanding to date someone who obviously needs a form of help in life to simply make it from day to day that isn’t illegal. Somehow I worked myself into such a frenzy that I picked up a not empty wine bottle and tried to smash it into the floor; it wouldn’t smash on first hit so I keep smashing and before it finally broke put a hole in the floor and there was still wine on the ceiling that I was unsuccessful in removing when I moved out. The hole I put in the door with a phone on another occasion was covered nicely. I was so mad the wine bottle would not smash as easy as I expected it to that I started smashing the glasses and the beer bottles on the table. Needless to say there was glass and wine everywhere. Now when I really think about how bad this could have ended I get extremely upset. The person lying on my couch could have easily lost an eye or been seriously cut. I cut my feet open in various places because I didn’t care at first and walked over the glass. Some glass grew out months later. I don’t know why he didn’t leave. He would have had to go to a hotel, but still. We broke up a few days later there was just no fixing that and the relationship was already well beyond fixable but what a horrid way to have it end for both of us. We didn’t talk for months.
I feel such shame and embarrassment still today but I’m extremely thankful that nothing worse than throwing a shoe, a coffee pot breaking because I pushed it TOO HARD up to the facet with a sink full of dishes and some screaming in the streets has happened since give or take a minor COMPARED to how it was incident here and there. I know it is in me to be an extremely violent individual so I choose to get help. Weekly. I’m glad to know that being on medication helped it and gave me an opportunity to start to work on it and calm me down but coming off has shown that I haven’t done enough and there is a long way to go and a lot of anger to work through, a lot I either can’t or won’t let go of yet. Everyone has problems I know this but I refuse to make a fool of myself any more like I used to with some sick kind of pride. I really never used to care, it was disturbing. Now I just feel shame. I should go sit in the corner or the box for two to four minutes and think about what I said or did if I’m going to act like a child or an undisciplined hockey player.
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Caring is Sharing
