Beast Mode

Just keep pushing that button Lady!  If you hit it for the tenth time, it might respond.  Oh, not really part of your plan, just keep pushing until you get a response?  Some ding that goes off letting you know you’re efforts weren’t in vain?  Well that describes how my Wednesday afternoon went.  Only we weren’t in an elevator or even a place where there was a real button to push.  This was about getting me to reply to a series of prompts, only I didn’t want to play the game.

The harder she pushed, the further into myself I went.  That is until she just hit upon the right button to select and I started to talk.  And the more I talked, the louder I got until the people next to me started pushing their chairs a little further away from me.  Eventually there must have been enough room for me to swing a baseball bat because the women who had been next to me saw now sitting almost directly across from me.  I didn’t see them move, I was so wrapped up in the growing anger that I didn’t see anything but the blinding emotions coming out.

I wasn’t in the mood to talk, I was there to listen and maybe pick up some advice along the way.  But that button got pushed and I couldn’t ignore the finger poking me in the arm any longer.  I turned into that rage monster I don’t like to let in the room and most times don’t want other people to even know exists.  It’s easy being a difficult person, but once you cross over into Raging Beast Mode, people will always step back.

It was a simple question, why don’t I get upset with people anymore?  The individuals in this group have seen me go from upset at the course of things to being almost passive anymore about my personal life.  Anger has been reserved for work things that haven’t gone quite right.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m anger with people.  I’m at times blinding angry and know not to pick up a phone or look at an email because no matter what the topic is, I’m going to become nasty.  Quickly at times!

I don’t need to worry about an imaginary friend, I write about how life might possibly be different at times and that’s enough pain to make most people shut their mouths and wonder if I’m truly okay.  I’m not!  Far from it.  Not a single rational person would say that I handle the topic of my daughter with anything other than unremitting guilt and anguish.  So having it brought up when I just knew I couldn’t handle it at that moment, it hit just the right button.

There are lots of unpleasant side-effects that come into play with the drugs they give me to deal with the cancer.  Sometimes they are the ones you see or read about, other times I have such lucid dreams that I sometimes need to take a step back later and figure out fantasy from reality.  But the one constant, the imaginary friend who encourages me to do the right thing would be that ghost I fear during my best days.  Once in a while I give into the need for a painkiller and then the marching of costumed children walking by enter the brain.  Is she behind mask #1 or #5?  [guess I shouldn’t make fun of my aunt for having seen Micheal Jackson and his llama when she was in the hospital!]

The interesting part for most people is that I’m not even mad with the person who intentionally set me off.  The world recognizes a fellow traveler on some broken highway, sometimes we flock together out of necessity.  Once in a while we hold hands and give support to someone other than ourselves.  Some times we need to hold onto that hand so we don’t fall down.  Other times we just sway with the breeze and hope we can take that next step forward.

After I was done screaming, I apologized and walked out of the room.  The last thing you want is someone being afraid.  Fun part was I was the one afraid.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Imaginary Friend.”

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