Mount Shneed: A Volanic Eruption of Rage

I blew up at Susan (therapist), yesterday. I never blow up at anyone. Typically, I go home and blow up all alone in the safety of my solitude. I am usually a self-contained, reserved, in-control person whose emotions remain within the shell of my physical being. My personal belief is that people do not deserve the wrath of my anger, and if I become angry at someone, I usually suck in, process, cool off and then diplomatically air my feelings, when they are no longer on display. But yesterday, I completely lost control and unleashed a backdraft of anger, which has been smouldering below the surface of my psyche, probably since Chris fell ill five years ago, and certainly since his death four years ago, but which has intensified over the last two weeks for a number of reasons I haven’t yet fully admitted or realized.

Susan was trying to arrive at an agreement with me about her cancellation policy which, in itself, is an entirely benign subject. Combined with my cup of rage which had been teetering on the edge of “cup runneth over”, the subject opened the gait that had previously contained my fury, and before I knew what was happening, I was yelling, fighting for my right to be loved, screaming at her for “turning on me” and well on my way out the door promising never to return.

Susan’s good. She remained calm and composed, steering me inward, coaxing me to locate the source of my anger. At first, her calm angered me even more and even though I threatened to leave, my inner-most desire was to sit down and stay. My pride almost got in the way, but ultimately, I engaged in battle with myself, swallowed hard and sat back down to disect what happened.

I’m glad I did.

Expressing anger does not come easy to me. I fear abandonment. The fact that I unleashed my rage on Susan speaks volumes about how much I trust her. I hate that truth. I view that truth as a weakness in my otherwise inpenetrable emotional fort that renders me vulnerable to manipulation, deceit, abandonment and to my own fear, which tells me I have never been worthy of love, and that I never will be. Almost the moment I found love, it was stripped away from me in the most final manner, and if that ever happens again I will not survive the trauma. I’ll die a thousand deaths, right where I stand.

I’m committed to exploring my explosion with Susan. I’m terrified of the emotions trapped inside of me, but I want to let go. My anger gets in the way of my natural demeanor, which is mainly composed of light humor, love, kindness, serenity and joy.