My Mr. Hyde side

You want to know something about me? I have a vicious temper. This isn't some quaint character flaw. You know, like Hemingway is a romantic drunk or how your grandpa tells racist jokes sometimes, but you love him anyway. No. This is relationship crashing stuff I'm talking about. It nearly wrecked everything I had and ever wanted.

It makes me ashamed, honestly. I don't talk about it. I try my best to prevent stress. I talk through things with my wife that I used to just swallow. It's there, and never leaves me. But, it doesn't have to ruin me. It won't.

I can't say I'm happy I went through such angry periods in my life. My life is damn good. But, there were times where, despite how good I had it, Mr. Hyde took over. I wanted to break things and scream, and I did. I scared my family. Hell, I scared myself. If anything good comes of out that, it's understanding.

I understand how badly stress affects my life, and how frustrated anyone can become with the right pressures. I understand that real cowardice is denial, not being a tough guy. I know literally what it feels like in my muscles and bones when I'm tense, and what kinds of things start the blood a boiling. And, I understand -- as much as one can -- how to control it.

I had to chuckle a couple years ago when someone at work said they admired how much of a cool customer I was when it came to conflict at work. At the time, I was as starved for a compliment about my composure as I could be -- it had been only a few months since working things out with my wife. The idea that someone looked to me with admiration of any kind for dealing with stress just left me speechless. I had to shrug, not knowing what else to say. Maybe a little afraid of what else to say.

The terrible thing is that from time to time, I see that anger in other people. It's usually men. And, you know, I pity them because I know what that tiny, white-hot part of their mind feels like. But, while I sometimes see this, they usually don't. I see it exactly because I see it repeated, and I know they barely realize they're stuck. My pity doesn't linger. They're responsible for what they do, just like I am. Man up. Get help, I think. All that thrashing about doesn't scare me, and it sure as hell doesn't get them anywhere they think it does. People are worth more to us than we think.

The sad truth is they're powerless. Helpless. Utter helplessness is the cause of all that fury. What worked for me is another person, which turned out to be a counselor and my wife, hearing me out, and then showing they actually understood what I was thinking. That got me off the edge of that angry routine, and I walked down bit by bit from there.

A couple days ago I wrote that not a lot of people really know me -- that fewer people really know me than I have fingers. Not even all of them know all this about me. I guess I just got weary of feeling ashamed about it. Maybe some poor bastard out there can get off that edge, too.