A Story of Recovery:

Dissolving Rage

Sometimes it seems as if I have slipped into life as into a theatre, when half the movie was already over. In this movie, there has been a complicated plot and I have to determine the first, unseen half of it, from developments in the second. I am never quite sure what’s going on.

Anger is the aspect my character I have the most difficulty in integrating. Difficult, because it developed in the first, unseen part of the movie, my early life as an addict. I know I released anger as rage in an immature, inadequate cover-up for fear, abandonment, and inadequacy. I also know I had to change, to develop, or be written out of the plot.

If only it were really a movie, the protagonist of which “struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.” Of course, I might complete the quotation by saying, as Shakespeare did in Macbeth… “It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing,” but that would be too cruel. The plot is about my suffering in my confused life of addiction, from which I am now attempting to recover day by day.

I want to share with you a breakthrough that, in this infinity of mirrors, I imagine I have had. And I need to preface it with the fact I believed I previously had the anger problem licked. I had even incorporated the story in my FA share, how I had attended anger management classes, had learned to be thoughtful, how giving up flour and sugar had clarified my thinking and enabled me to be introspective and to nip anger in the bud. It sounded good, was sincerely stated, and my intent was to share hope.

But that was before this weekend.

I allowed a fit of anger, which frightened me and indicated, for all my protestations, I was far from cured. I then talked with the person who had sparked me off and with my sponsor, meditated on my feelings that preceded the anger, and the feelings of worthlessness after. It became clear, so very clear, what was happening and I was able to feel some compassion for the ignorance and confusion which created so much suffering.

I had been attending a meeting at which I was the only man. Despite my concentrating on the newcomer, the breaks had become a nightmare. I found it difficult to break into the animated conversations. Then, interrupting her conversation, a fellow turned to me and asked me to adjust the room temperature. She said she saw me changing it before. That did it! I was not the janitor, neither did it help when the fellow with whom she had been speaking, laughed. I felt isolated and humiliated.

I seethed with indignation and after the meeting, seized the opportunity for dumping my grievances on the unfortunate fellow. Well, she listened, and then phoned me later to find out her part in my upset. I must confess she was very kind and understood my angst as we sorted it out.

But, you know, during that moment of rage, I realized I had become a five year old again, whose mother had just died and whose father had left on a drinking binge. Inadequate, fearful, abandoned, but determined to survive in an abusive, complicated and unforgiving world. That realization was visceral.

The one tool of my younger days in my bag was rage. It would cause people to keep their distance and was my antidote for fear. It compensated for my smallness and had the achieved effect of ensuring I was not stepped on. It had worked at the time, but the problem has been that I have not fully let it go, nor am I sure with the best will in the world, I can.

I do have better tools now, but like these events show, even now I can be caught by a flurry of events and forget my mindfulness over this vulnerability.

So, I now have this new experience, which should help me integrate that first part of the movie with the ongoing second half. I’m grateful for the insight and for friends who support me in my recovery. I’m pretty determined to follow through. The tools help immensely. Quiet time gives me a calm point of the day I can touch when things get crazy, prayer gives me a connection with my higher power when I’m feeling anxious, and my phone connects me with fellows who know my defects and who can help me out of an emotional delusion.

The issue for me is in recognizing the triggers for rage for there’s such a cost in not doing so. The triggers are many, but follow a predictable pattern, for example, I may feel anxious and uncomfortable in a social setting, I feel different, maybe awkward, something is wrong! It must be me, I am flawed, less than, somehow bad, quick…I can’t let the others know. I become hyper vigilant and watch for people acting in ways that supports my low opinion of myself. Then, guess what? I find it, I always find it! Then I make a snitty remark to deflate them, I bluster, talk really loud and am ready to up the ante.

What’s sad is that it’s all automatic, very quick to happen, based on false evidence, and is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I know I need to stop and take a small amount of time to process and understand what’s really happening, refrain from acting out, or worse yet taking that bite. In the past, I used to submerge my feelings by medicating with lots of sugar. That isn’t an option now and feelings come through full force.

That’s the trouble with rage and, as my sponsor points out, even more with impatience, irritation, and resentment which are like coals that can flare into a conflagration if I don’t take time to reflect. They contain the seeds of destruction, malice and hatred. They are a reverse of patience and love, for they lead to despair, loneliness, self-hatred and worse, a return to the slippery slope of food addiction.

I want my character in the movie to walk into a beautiful sunset, although I know real life doesn’t really end that way. Realistically, I wish for this character to accept he is loved and that recovery is a good place to be. One day at a time.