I wanted to jump...

This is a short, but somewhat disturbing memory.


When I returned from the hospital, living with my parents again and doing outpatient rehabilitation, my mind was in a very immature space.  Now, I’ve always had a temper and fought with my parents, but the anger had taken on a new flair - looking back on events, I will say that my rages had a performance quality to them.

These incidents embarrass me.  I don’t write this to justify any of my actions, but to try and honestly explain my decent into a fury.  What I remember most is wanting complete independence, and I wanted the world, or at least my family, to know how unfair my situation was.  The need for restrictions on my behavior was real, and I could see that - in someways I think I may have raged to prove that I still needed these restrictions.  This self struggle would cause a greater hatred to burn inside me - hatred not of anyone, but of everything, yet often released toward my parents.


The specific memory that comes to me for this entry is in the car with my mother - we were returning from something - it may have been outpatient therapy - and I wanted something that she wasn't letting me have.  I don’t remember specifically what it was, but I remember it wasn’t that important.  The car was a hot bed for my rage as I yelled at her, and I remember threatening to throw myself out of the car and into traffic.  I remember grabbing the door handle and my mother giving up - calling my bluff so to speak.  What is scary is that I’m not sure how big a bluff that threat was.  My hands clutched the door handle - it would be easy and maybe I would die, or if I didn’t I’d probably return to having brain injury - I could go through the miracle part of recovery while I’m in the hospital again.  And she would feel guilty.  I relished that last thought.

Fortunately, the seemingly microscopic remnants of good sense grabbed my hand and didn’t let me throw myself out.  This moment sticks in my head - something I really wanted to do.  It also speaks to the necessary nature of having something to assist with self-restraint.  In the majority of situations, both my parents really were amazing at how they were able to keep things together and help me to remember my more reasonable mind, but in that instance it was close.  Maybe the reason I remember this moment is because that is a moment where I was forced to take responsibility for my actions - it was my responsibility not to be arrogantly obtuse, and what I did wasn’t my mother’s fault.  Maybe I needed to learn that.



That’s my memory.  A hard memory to play in my head, but I share it here in the hopes that it helps someone and may spark some memories for you.