Your eyes shift like Tony Soprano’s when you’re hearing bs. That thin-lipped smile and nod. But, you feel it brewing. The conditions have been set for a massive hurricane to begin to develop out on the Atlantic. It’s just a matter of time until it comes to shore. 

But, the rage is never planned. 

It’s the boiling point and your body gives in and this mass catharsis erupts. God help any bystander because everything is personal now. Every horrible moment of your life – of being picked on, being made to feel lesser than, of carrying relationships out of obligation that make you sick to your core, of being molested, of being beaten, of being emotionally abused, or being convinced by abusers nothing happened and nothing is wrong, of being bullied and your friends stood by quietly by … the list is endless … 

And just as you can’t plan or prepare for the explosion – if you’ve had it, you know there is just a tipping point, just a word said, that last match thrown on top of the tinder that sparks the gasoline. 

And, as much as you didn’t plan it – you hate that part of you – you can’t deny the calm after. 

The analgesic effect the brain releases after the rage. 

Where there was the deadly calm before the storm, now comes the plaintive calm after. 

It’s the dead man’s last refuge to deal with immense pain that feels twenty times his size. The dead woman’s last expression to cry out at the bs she has endured and seeing no way out in a world filled with equal bs around her – by egos, experts, intellect, judgment, and finally, meds. 

The last stand of, “I MATTER,” when your only “I” is the puzzle pieces blown about in the space that makes up your being. 

And, you never plan it. It feels bigger than you. Unattached and unplanned. 

And, the chemical calm that follows, even when probably alone and more alone that you have ever been, brings a serenity – perhaps the worst kind of serenity, but a kind of faint serenity nonetheless. 

And, then comes the next part. 

The consequences. 

Get to the heart of that place in you. 

Talk to it. 

Tell it you acknowledge it. 

You can’t make a list of all the people who have hurt you in your life, work your pecs extra hard, cycle up the creatine, and enact rogue justice on all your childhood demons – as exciting as the prospect might seem when in rage. 

That’s a little too crazy and dangerous, even for you. 

Besides, whether the perpetrators are dead or alive, it doesn’t matter. 

They’re demons in you. 

Ones you haven’t dealt with straight on. 

Why haven’t you? 

Because it takes bravery. 

It takes guts. 

Bigger guts than picking a fight with some poor guy who happens to represent every deep pain you ever experienced. That’s the easy adrenaline part (and really dangerous, needless to say, in a whole ways). 

The really brave part comes in making decisions on the here and now. 

What’s in front of you right now. 

Who is in your life? 

Why are some there? 

Are they leftovers from another time when you were more porous to influences that see in you someone who could be manipulated for their own sense of well-being? 

Are they people with whom you feel trapped in obligation or judgment by the greater community because they are “family” or whatever it is? 

You know you’re flawed. 

You hate this part of you that carries rage. It lies dormant for months. Sometimes years. But, as that line regarding heroin goes in the Frank Sinatra flick, “The Man with the Golden Arm” goes, “The monkey never dies. When you kick him off, he just hides in a corner, … waiting his turn.” 

In a way, rage is like a drug. You just don’t control when it comes on. Have you ever seen anyone faking rage? It doesn’t work. Like an old senator said about the definition of pornography, “I know it when I see it.” 

You can’t control the timing or the dose. It’s a very ill psyche’s Defcon 1 reaction to an internal attack it can no longer withstand. 

So, what do you do? 

Remember, I’m an idiot. It’s the 3rd name in my “sober vegan idiot” pseudonym. 

So, be an idiot. Take off your mask. Admit to the world around you you are not an expert. Maybe even admit you’re a nobody. You don’t have to be “good” or “right” or “fair.” 

It doesn’t mean you hurt anybody. This is so you don’t hurt anyone, including yourself. 

Be naked. Be brave enough to not care what anyone thinks of you anymore. 

Naked. 

That taking your armor off, is actually putting your armor on. 

The armor you will need for what’s next. 

You can now extract yourself from any relationship that is causing you pain. 

You’ll know the ones. If you gently or overtly try to extricate yourself, does the person react? How so? Whatever the words or feelings, is there love in it? Or judgment and gaslighting and a feeling of despair deep inside that puts you back in your inner tangled web where you “belong?” 

You’ll know how to proceed. But, freeing yourself from your own ego of how you will be judged by this world is a good first step. And, secondly, start the inner work that will result in changing your outer world and the people you allow that gift of innermost contact with you. 

What good are you to the countless people in this world if you allow toxicity to inhabit your closest relationships? 

For God’s sake, feel free to be the You that is buried. Whether it’s a “sober vegan idiot” like me, or whatever it is for YOU. “The only thing to fear is fear itself.” 

Take off your mask. Allow yourself to be free of anyone’s judgment. You don’t have to engage with anyone who is a source of deep deep pain for you. 

Meditate. Pray to the God who lives deep inside you, instead of praying out as if God is far off in the clouds. Get into nature. 

You know all those other things. And, remember, I’m just an idiot. I’m no expert on anything. But, you may already have seen many experts, and here you are. 

The bravery of “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” will free you ironically to be a source of love your core wants you to be for so so so many others. It might just even bring the Tony Soprano in you to a …quick final cut to Black. … 

And, however imperfect, perhaps a new beginning. One where the demons of your childhood and life are no longer demons because you’ve talked to them, even told them you loved them, and they feel free to dissipate. If you say “well, that’s not real,” … well, how real was your rage?

As Joseph Campbell said noting the unrelenting power of the unconscious … “Knock. Knock. Knock.” You: “Who’s that?” Unconscious: “That’s me coming up, boy.”

Take off your mask. Remember, let the demons be faced, tell them you love them all for the experience of molding you, and let them go. It takes bravery to live without a care for judgment of others. It takes bravery to face the things deep within that are crying for this attention and acknowledgement.

And, live YOUR life. The one your soul aches to live. 

You’re loved. Even with your rage. 

But, now you’ve got another tool to find some peace. If it works for you. I am an idiot, after all.

 

 

RIP, Jimmy G.        Thank You.