Even on medication, my first response to any challenge (fear) is never, "Let me understand" (reason). It's always, "Let me cut your fucking heart out" (anger). I've done quite a bit of work on myself in the last twenty years and I've come to realize that some of that response is just my humanity -- primal survival instincts. Some of it is my obsessive personality. Some of it was being raised in an unpredictable (alcoholic) household. But mostly, it's because anger is my friend. Rage, not so much, but anger feels so fucking good. It's the sauce that makes the bland noodles taste like God's been cooking. It gets my dick hard, my confidence up, my creativity ticking and focuses my mind like a bloody, gleaming straight razor. I've discovered that I seek out opportunities, consciously and unconsciously, that trigger my favorite emotion. I stir up trouble, then open wide to receive the backlash, using it to feed my beautiful hostile machine. (Wasn't there an alien on Star Trek that did that?)
I am aware that this is probably not the healthiest trait. It's created more than a few uncomfortable work experiences (Fox lawsuits) and garnered at least two or three death threats per season. FYI: I don't carry a gun. That would be bad.
Well, that's it. Merry Christmas, happy holidays. Me, I'm hoping for a stocking full of coal. Just a little something to spin me into the new year.
Peace be with you.
