Anger is the best medicine…
Most of the time I’m incandescent with rage. I used to think that it was indigestion but since the stomach churning malevolence is still there no matter how many Rennies I crunch, I’m forced to admit that its just my general bad humour. To look at me - you wouldn’t think it. I look calm. Even cold. Most of the time my manners are impeccable (damn them), “Eee” people say when I tell them that I have the worlds worst temper” I could never imagine that of you - you look….” Wait for it - “so quiet”
I am - (oh so) QUIET.
So quiet, that as a child I was locked in the coal shed until I’d worn out my temper. It didn’t work. I just learnt to be silent until they opened the door and then, as the blinding light flooded into the dark outhouse, I’d rush forward and bite the knees of the poor sod who’d drawn the short straw and been volunteered to let me out. Biting knees was speciality of mine until I grew too tall. Ha! I hear all you grade 2 “got-my-certificate-in-a-twelve-week-evening-course-therefore-I’m-qualified-to-pour-my-fatuous-healing-balm -on-the-unwashed-from-the-safety-of-my-nice-emotionally-secure-middleclass-niche counsellors cry, “unresolved issues from childhood, repressed emotions, emotionally repressed parents, probably scared of the dark, no wonder she’s got issues which are manifesting themselves as unspecified, directionless rage.”
The thing is, I haven’t. Got issues I mean (at least not italicised ones) and I’m not scared of the dark either ( which you may have suspected as being a natural result of many sojourns in the coal shed.) Neither are my parents emotionally repressed. Far from it. I’m sure the reason that we used to buy houses in the middle of nowhere was so we were able to have grand rows which from a distance sounded like the flight of the bumblebee and usually ended in the flight of the china. Then, having got whatever it was off our chest - or having got the contents off the chest and the chest off the floor - we’d all make up. We argue at the drop of a hat. Actually we’ll argue about the best way to drop a hat. Our fights are great swooping, flowing symphonies with rhythm and passion and poetry and plenty of room for the theatrical gesture. After all the first word I was aware of was melodramatic (as in “don’t be so melodramatic” - pot? kettle? anyone?) - and the second was facetious.
That’s the thing about anger. If you have rage then you don’t have room for issues. But if you don’t have issues then what do you have to be angry about? Well, start with life and work up from there. After all you don’t want to run before you can crawl. If you start getting angry with life then you won’t have issues. Issues are unresolved anger. Get angry at the right time and you won’t have them…simple. I’m not the miserable bugger (at least not most of the time) that my near constant rage would suggest. I’m probably the most positive person you’ll ever know. So long as I’m breathing - nothing is that bad. I love being alive. I mean I really love it. All that rage rage against the dying of the light and downright refusal to go gently into that good night…that’ll be me.
Having a temper means you can appreciate life so much more. But we aren’t allowed to say that of course. We aren’t allowed to have a temper. Its dysfunctional. (Small point and excuse me for raising it. Functional things are ugly, unless they’ve been designed by Italians and then how many artistic rages do you it took to design, build and manufacture the damn thing?). Introduced by some pathetic passive aggressive politically correct moron who decided humanity should be homogenised, this word dysfunctional has crept into (or should that be crapped over?) our lives. Just consider those two words. Not their meaning - just the words. Which is the most aesthetically pleasing? functional - letters even and measured and boring, or dysfunctional with its wonderful y for i and then sf together.
This hypothesis won’t go down well with the aforementioned battalions of counsellors, psychologists and pharmaceutical companies who are making a fortune shoving Prozac down our throats - but heres a hint. The trick is in how you use your rage. Great swooping arguments are good, descending to the level of a Jerry Springer show is not. Telling someone in no uncertain terms when they’ve crossed the line and using the words that spring to mind without censoring them as they reach your mouth is healthy. Being measured and calm and considering someone’s feelings when they obviously haven’t considered yours doesn’t do them or you any good. Going for the jugular and not pulling your punches is what its all about. Next time you feel pissed off, don’t raise the dosage, raise your voice - you’ll feel so much better.