Over the weekend, I took on a writing prompt. I was inspired, but what came of it troubled my conscious mind. Troubled me to the point that it threatened to trigger a migraine. It felt like the left side of my brain was threatening to spontaneously combust. I will publish that short story tomorrow, and I will be reading it live that evening.
I struggle with intrusive thoughts, I always have. I guess it could be argued that many people do.
But mine feel REALLY dark, serious harmful concepts that trouble me, harm of self and others.
When I was younger it was an issue of expressing anger, and I guess it still is, but I have less of it these days. When I was a kid, it was not uncommon to witness me headbutt a door or some other wood structure. There was only one time that I immediately regretted it and that was the day I realized the desks at work were made out of metal… I may have seen stars that day.
But there are other times like driving across long bridges where you can see the water below, that it feels like I’m being drawn off the edge and my brain can’t help but fantasize over the chain of events that would unfold as the vehicle would plummet to the water, but then I become internally horrified by the thought because there are usually passengers in the vehicle with me. Contrary to the assumption that some may jump to, these thoughts are NOT fueled by a desire to cease my existence.
One time I was wrestling with my husband, he had me pinned and even though my hands were free, the only thing they did was go for his throat and squeeze. I released my grip as soon as I realized what was happening, and he had released me at about the same moment. I retreated across the room terrified of myself and the harm I could have inflicted. I could have asked him to let me up, told him to stop, and I know he would have listened… but instead the irrational part of my brain went straight to self defense. He was fine, but I was scarred by my actions, thoughts, and potential to cause harm. We never talked about what happened.
I was recently sent a video of Dr. Maya Angelou titled I Am Human and something she said in that video stirred these memories. Her assertion that all humans possess all of the same components as people who have done terrible things, resonated with those intrusive thoughts and echoed to me “If you don’t keep these in check, you will become a monster.”
But now I have to wonder…
I’ve realized that in my life I’ve used my rage as fuel, in my professional life it became what I used to write strongly worded emails (that sounds so lame). I remember the day that I realized I couldn’t do that any more. It was after I had been put on Hydrochlorothiazide for my blood pressure, which is essentially a water pill, but it has helped. I was working on site, in the same office as my boss and there was some nonsense that was going on in the department group chat that was becoming a problem to both myself and my boss. I jumped in to address it and in the moment I went to type, I had nothing. I could feel the emotion there, but it was just a little too far below the surface for me to use it. I remember looking at my boss and telling him he was going to have to handle this one.
Later I told him what was going on; How I depend on my rage to help me express myself at times, and how the medication has tempered that rage. I eventually vocalized the comparison that this must be what it feels like for a guy to have erectile dysfunction, being able to feel that catalyst bubbling away just below the surface but it being frustratingly just out of reach. We both laughed at my comparison, but I stand by my assessment of it.
After writing the dark short story and listening to Dr. Maya Angelou, it now occurs to me that maybe THAT is what I need to do in order to keep my intrusive thoughts in check. I heard a quote from a show (that I hate) “There are two types of people who fantasize about murder, serial killers and writers…” And while I don’t fantasize about murder, I’m realizing there is a certain amount of catharsis in writing about the darker aspects of the human experience. This may be a turning point in my writing, but I will likely be taking some time to experiment and see where it takes me.
Fiction is not something that comes to me easily, it takes actual work and concentration… not like the stream of consciousness that usually flows in this space. I guess that’s probably why writing that short story literally made my brain hurt, forming new neural pathways.
As with everything else these days, I’m going to see where this takes me. If you’re curious, come along for the ride.
