It’s rising again. The effects from combat stress.
That anger and rage that is just beneath what I can cope with.
I was pretty sure I’d tagged all of the common triggers. Those I can control.
The smell of hot oil or the smell of burning meat.
Low fast aircraft or even high-speed fans.
(Although the low flying Hercules put me on the deck rolling into cover).
Night walkers clicking, metal hasps, straps, or clips tapping as they pass in the gloom.
Firework cannon or low repetitive heavy thumps. That’s a slow build up trigger.
Recently the additional stress of SWMBO’s illness, the worry, the fear of loss, has caused me to lose it on a number of occasions.
It’s not her fault but the remote thought of losing her is not permissible and just thinking about that now is getting me up tight.
Damn, living on a boat, a simple lifestyle, a good woman by my side, things should have been getting better or at least more stable. For SWMBO it is, she loves it. Wasn’t sure at first, but others who do the same are different from the mind dead of civilian street. These people look after their own. They look after her, and after us.
Still, now her treatment has finished, the surgeon really pleased, I should be better but I’m not. Like always, I coped with whatever happens or dealt with what was needed at the time. Then, after, that’s when I go to pieces. The guard drops, the anger rises.
The slightest thing does it.
Split tea, bad driving, awkward people, the dog, no sleep, any official post, cold bacon rolls, or anything that doesn’t work or react as expected.
Damn I hate this.
My adult life had been all about control until I lost it.
You have to be in control with the skill set I gained.
Working with very high voltages, guns, and security in all it’s forms.
All of which could hurt you or others.
The control is still there but just underneath is the rage.
From peaceful to angry in a millisecond by some stupid trigger or memory fragment.
Yet within that anger there is still control and like an automatic switch it cuts in.
That’s training for you.
What was hammered in and forged over time never gets lost.
For that I am truly thankful.
Thus even though I get fuming mad at times, every action is safe and calculated.
Switch thrown, words may be said, but the control is ever-present.
So perhaps there is peace, peace through control.
As one guy who also suffered from this rage put it.
“Just give him a gun and he’ll quieten down.”
Bright guy. He did just that, and instant calm arrived as it passed into my grasp.
He laughed as the shrinks there cowered, but an hour of paper punching and I was putty in his hands. Hell anyone’s hands would have done.
Training, familiarity, and control.
I also chuckled during the film ‘Full Metal Jacket’ with Animal.
It had to be a vet that wrote this line.
“All he needs is somebody to throw hand grenades at him the rest of his life.”
The secret of eternal calmness!