I, Angry Animal in a Made-up World
What do we do with our rage when there’s nothing real to fight?
Fury is strange in the face of a make-believe world.
The sensation of it is so urgent and physical. I can feel it in my palms, how they’re tense and tingling. The urge to sob tugs from somewhere in my skull. Every muscle in my throat is taut as a guitar string. I want to scream. I can smell the boiling in my blood. My body is hungry for a fight.
I’ve never been in a fight — at least, not a physical one. If my anger overwhelms me, I take it out on walls and furniture and myself. I’ve never attacked another person, but I’d be lying if I said my body’s never wanted to. When I’m angry, something hot rips through my veins and up into my brain. If I don’t clamp my teeth together, my jaw moves like it wants to bite. My palms itch where they want to be fists. My arms and legs prepare to pounce.
I’m reminded: I am an animal.
As an animal, I have this curious set of pathways in my body we call the sympathetic nervous system, ironically named since it holds no sympathy at all. When my brain assesses my situation and perceives a threat, it signals to my hypothalamus that my body needs to mobilize its energy reserves and jumpstart my adrenal glands. Adrenaline pumps, my heart starts to race…
