Sans Fig Leaf

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"The Worst of Times"

27 December, 2002

Sometimes I get very cranky.

And I don't mean just a little irritable. I mean foaming at the mouth, ready to destroy things, all out of proportion to the problem in front of me.

It usually happens when I've been stressed for a period of time. Or if I'm worn out and haven't gotten enough sleep. While I know that it is an ordinary part of human nature to become less rational under stress, I still feel like an idiot when it has passed, because I was screaming and generally behaving like a lunatic while I was in the grip of it.

I don't like being that way. I have spent years learning more productive ways to deal with frustration. I've spent countless hours trying to channel the irrationality into productive outlets.

For the most part it has worked. Except when I have the occasional melt down. I almost always have one melt down leading up to Christmas. Rationally, I know why it happens. There always seems to be at least one project at work which they want to finish before Christmas, so I always wind up working long hours for at least part of the month. Then there is the time and energy spent decorating, shopping, making plans.

So there is always at least one point in the month where I haven't gotten enough sleep lately, and something goes wrong and I turn into a monster for a few minutes or a half hour.

This year it was trying to get the camera ready before we went to the party. I couldn't get the computer to talk to the camera, so I could clear off the 102 pictures from Halloween and Thanksgiving from the memory card. I couldn't find the software disc that came with the camera so I could re-install it. I was trying to download the correct software when we discovered something else was missing. I tried to find it out in the car, dropped my keys, broke the LED flashlight on my key ring, and bonked my head with the car hatch.

By this point I was shouting about everything and lacing a dozen cuss words into every sentence and of course, only making matters worse.

The worst part, for me, was that inside my head I knew I was being irrational. I didn't want to be screaming. I didn't want to be slamming things. I didn't want to do any of it. But I couldn't stop myself until the anger had run out. I know where the phrase "blowing off steam" came from, because the frustration feels like a hot, expanding substance inside you, the pressure building to a a particular point and then it has to escape, nothing can hold it back. Nothing can calm it down.

I don't like that feeling. I don't want to believe it can't be mastered. When I was younger, there were many more situations that caused the "steam" to build up to an explosive pressure, and I have learned how to keep it from doing that. I keep hoping and believing that I can find a way to control this, too.

I also fear that I can't. Or that if I do learn how to control this better, that I will unlearn it. I fear sometimes that I am unlearning it now.

Both of my biological grandfathers developed alzheimers. As their mental processes deteriorated, one of the early symptoms was outbursts of anger at inconsequential things. Can't find a cereal bowl? Someone must be hiding things from you. Can't remember why you went into a room? If the people around you weren't doing things to irritate and confuse you, you'd be able to remember.

That's why the meltdowns scare me. I don't like having them now, a few times each year, and I can't bear to think about a time when they became frequent. If alzheimer's (or any other form of deteriorative dementia) is in my future, there's not much that I can do about it.

I don't like that. But then, I've never been very good at accepting limitations.

I'm going to keep working on these bouts of irrationality. I have been able to control lesser forms of frustration. I've taught myself to let the small stuff go, and focus on what really matters. I can continue the lesson. I can get better.

I will. For however long I can.