The alien baby
One of the things I have learned about rage is that it didn’t come from me. It didn’t start with me. It was GIVEN to me…like an alien parasite inserted deep into my tissues.
I became its “vessel of gestation,” holding it, incubating it like some psychotic pregnancy, until things would trigger me and I would lash out seemingly from nowhere.
HE gave it to me — his “Rage Monster” — as it was given to him, from his elders. It was passed on like a sort of intergenerational time bomb. Not only does it make you lash out when you least expect it, but you also have no idea it’s there or where that rage comes from. And with any “luck,” at least for the Rage Monster, you might even pass it on to the next generation, continuing its toxic, parasitic legacy.
The Rage Monster is a “scorched earth” sort of being. When it bursts out, it attempts to level everything before it.
It was the Rage Monster that would snap its fingers and change my father from a smiling charmer to a violent beast.
And in those moments, “Dad” was gone, replaced by a being of murderous violence
Paintings by author
Then, just as quickly, it would retreat behind his apologies and his reversion back to kind and supportive. You’d be reeling, trying to make sense of what just happened. And it left you questioning your sanity and wondering, “Did I really just see that?”
It is this Rage Monster that I was given to carry forward in my life. While I didn’t really understand this until recently, I knew I was determined that my family would NEVER experience what I lived through. And I succeeded in that part.
I fiercely focused on the mantra of, “This stops with my generation!” I did a lot of therapy, learned techniques, and put a lot of effort into making sure it did. All of that was a sort of “abortion medicine,” to detach that monster from my psyche.
My son has thanked me and said that I managed to break the cycle and protect him from experiencing that intergenerational abuse. And I am grateful. But even as I succeeded in that, I didn’t escape unscathed.
Bits of that monster survived in me like stray cancer cells still floating around. And it shows up most when I feel like someone is treating me poorly, or like a fool. At its core, it’s the rage I feel toward my father and how he treated me. And it is those remaining parts that I finally understood were there, and that I now strive to remove.
Trying to change the outcome now
Like many other abuse victims, I find myself triggered to wage “proxy battles” – current-day small battles that substitute for the huge one I always wanted to wage against him but couldn’t. Psychologists explain that abuse victims seek “re-enactments” of the abuse in everyday situations, trying to THIS TIME change the outcome.
Raging at people in traffic who cut you off or drive too slowly in front of you is one type of re-enactment, and one I am very aware of. It took me years to understand that it wasn’t really about that “idiot driver,” or whatever random situation. It was in ME. I was fighting my father with every driver on the road who annoyed me. And I noticed that when I could pass them, or whip around them, I felt this huge wave of relief and calm, like I had just won the fight. Not a healthy way to live.
Other times, that Rage Monster in me has lashed out if I am afraid, feel threatened, or cannot get my needs met.
Bathroom battles…
Several years ago we visited a bookshop I loved in a rural Connecticut town. In my younger years I had spent many hours there, a place of peaceful escape. Finally, a few years ago I had the chance to revisit the place. I was enjoying the serenity of the drive there, which took over an hour. Enjoyed the scenery and the fall leaves.
We arrived and went in, and it was like stepping back in time. The rows of bookshelves. The soft strains of Mozart coming out of the ceiling speakers. So I slowly started to wander the rows, taking in all the book titles.
And then, as often happens to me, my body let me know I had to find a bathroom…now. It is just how it is…the result of too many years of trauma. My family is used to me disappearing when we are out shopping because they know that when “nature calls,” Mom has to run.
I wasn’t worried though, because I knew the bookstore had a restroom. I strode over to the side aisle where it was, only to find the door to it was blocked by bookshelves. Tensing, I quickly explained to the woman there that I had a problem and really needed to get to the bathroom. But she told me they don’t let anyone use theirs anymore. I would have to go to the grocery store down the street.
Now, I was starting to panic. When I am in that situation, I don’t have much time. I raged at the woman and let her know how poor of a policy that was, especially for people who might have special needs. She just blew me off, which further enraged me. But I needed to run. So we headed for the grocery store.
The minute we got there, I desperately asked a young man where the restrooms were, and he said the same thing — I couldn’t use them. I told him I would be making purchases, thinking they only let customers use the bathroom, but that didn’t matter. No matter what, I couldn’t use their bathroom. I was then directed across the plaza to the town’s Community Center.”
Frantic, scared, and totally enraged now, I blasted out of there while yelling at him. Reaching the Community Center, I was further confronted with the fact that the Women’s Room was full of men painting it.
I spotted a woman in the auditorium and asked her if there was another restroom. She looked at me with disdain and a bit of an elitist tone, and said no, and that they were working on this one. Essentially, her attitude was one of, “That’s just the way it is today.”
Now, along with being panicked, I was in full desperate fury. I let her know how outrageous this whole town’s policy was. And how unfriendly. I had traveled over an hour to visit their town only to be treated as if I didn’t matter. I blasted her for not caring and further yelled that if they were going to insist that this was the only place in town you could use a restroom, the least they could do was HAVE one available.
She rolled her eyes and shrugged. Then said, “Well, you can ask them if they’ll step out.” Without waiting another second, I ran to the ladies’ room, my body about to let loose, and told the guys to “GET OUT!” And I didn’t wait for them. I just ran to the stall. Fortunately, they cleared out fast.
Up to this point, my rage was understandable. But I was indignant, and my rage was incandescent. Furthermore, I was in full catastrophe mode. This was clearly the near-end of the world to me.
So when I finished in the bathroom, instead of just leaving and being grateful to the men who gave me time in there, I marched back to that woman and let her have it. I told her I would never come back to this town again, and that at least down south people welcomed you and helped you out! And I mentioned again that their policy was ridiculous, not to mention that it was insane that as the only place in town with restrooms, they only had two! I angrily asked, “What if a tour bus had stopped here and we all had to wait in a long line?!”
Obviously, this was a useless endeavor. She didn’t care, and realistically, she was probably the wrong person to speak to with feedback. And….the way I gave the feedback wasn’t going to move anyone to seriously consider what I was saying. I was just a raving lunatic to them.
But, having delivered my storm, I stalked out. My husband looked at me and asked if I needed to do that. He understood my upset, but wondered if the way I did things actually helped me or anyone else.
At that moment I declared that, yes, I absolutely did need to do that, if only to give my opinion that they were totally uncaring about the needs of any visitors.
But my husband is also my “better angel.” He knows the true nature of my heart and that “raging lunatic” is not it. And when I am an assh-le, he kindly tries to steer me back on course. Most of all, he knew, as well as I did, what was driving my behavior.
Old messages and today’s outbursts
At that moment I was too upset to want to hear it from my husband. But as I calmed down, I knew he was right. Had I helped the situation for any future visitors by my outbursts? No. In fact, I may have made it worse. All I did in that moment was transfer all my fear and rage onto that woman. I didn’t make her day or mine any better.
And, I knew where it was coming from. Old messages ran rampant in all those interactions:
- I wasn’t worth caring about
- My needs, yet again, were not going to be met
- I was being treated like trash
- I was frantic and afraid because I knew I needed help in that moment and I couldn’t get it
These were all messages heaped on me in my childhood household. And now, in adulthood, not only did my fear and despair get triggered, but also that Rage Monster. I went on the attack, waging the proxy battle with that woman. It was a modern-day re-enactment of everything I felt in childhood, and this time, boy, I was not going to yield. I was going to WIN. Except I really didn’t.
And then there’s that snake…
My ability to catch myself in these moments is improving these days, but it still has a way to go. Recently we had an industrious little sparrow build a nest over our front door. I was delighted. It was so snuggly to see it huddled on top of the frame. And my husband had photographed the small eggs in her nest.
A day later, my husband mentioned that he thought another bird was nesting up there at the other end of the door frame because he saw something black up there. I stepped outside, looked up, and recoiled. That was no bird. It was a black rat snake! And the bird who HAD been nesting there was gone. In short order we determined that the eggs were gone as well, no doubt eaten by the snake.
So the beautiful, snuggly experience we anticipated was gone. Destroyed in an instant…and by a SNAKE!!! The very thing that haunted my dreams!
A murderous fury flooded through me, and I immediately wanted to kill that snake. I knew that was wrong. This was how nature worked. But I can’t deny that my first intention was to just take that snake out. However, I also knew where all of this fury was coming from.
So instead, I decided I would try to remove it from the door frame. My fear level could not abide having that snake up there right over my head. I just could NOT handle that.
I started to get a rake to take it down, but my husband talked me out of it, saying that since the snake had just eaten, it would probably go poorly for both the snake and me. I relented but told him the snake had two days to be gone. If it wasn’t, then I would remove it. I just couldn’t deal with it.
I was doing better than the past. I was managing to hold my fury in check. I didn’t kill it. I didn’t harm it; I knew what was happening and used my techniques to calm me. And I followed my husband’s wise counsel to give it time. In the past, I couldn’t and wouldn’t have been able to do that. But still, it was difficult.
Fortunately, the next day while I was out, my husband removed the snake, saving both the snake’s stress and mine.
The point of all of this is that as I began the process of feeling and releasing all of my trapped emotions, life would get messy. I would try hard to manage myself, but past triggers are powerful. The best I can say is that my husband is both wise and understands where my fears come from. And these days so do I.
So rage? That first stage was simply – release it, and learn to recognize what was happening, then practice managing it. There would be more lessons to come.
Up next –
During these years, nightmares were rampant, and their appearance AND their nature were definitely being affected by the therapy work I was doing.
Up next: Nightmares #2 – The Viper Pit revisited…
Note:
I am seeking financial support to complete my memoir, work with an editor, and make a visit to my home state for fact-checking. Your help would mean the world to me as I take this step toward healing and giving voice to my journey.
Please like, comment, and share this post to help spread the word. The link for my fundraiser is on GoFundMe. Thank you for your support.
Soul Mosaic 
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