I think I mentioned before that I've been having dreams about the b/f cheating on me. He always does it right in front of me, is not very good at it, and it causes me to wake unrested and thoroughly pissed off. Although tempted, I'll avoid the analysis, except to say he's been acting weird (-er than usual) and I tend to think dreams are driven by narcissism (that is to say, they're all about me, not really him at all).
Anyway, I'd apparently had enough the other night and got my revenge. I became an assistant at my real life hair guy's shop. Apparently I was pretty damn good at working heads (cough...) and was having a blast. My hair guy pulled me in the back room to pick up supplies or something and we made out, for a long time. Sloppy, passionate, slammed against the wall long time. Now for the record, my hair guy would not be my type, and I have no intentions or temptations to cheat, BUT, it was a hell of a kiss.
I awoke rested settled and vindicated.
The Fury
I finally picked up James Frey's "A Million Little Pieces." It has been on my recommendation list over at Amazon.com and it really peeked my interest. In case you haven't heard of it, (can I get the address of that rock?) it a memoir about the author's six week stay in a rehab clinic.
The reason I bring it up is that I'm a little nervous by how well I relate to this character and the issues involved. I've spoken to some others who are reading this dark and dismal tale and they seem to come away with a, "oh my god, the poor guy, I'm so blessed, I'm so lucky, that's not me..." type of response. They can't relate. They can't see themselves wanting to drink until their body can't function; they can't fathom trying to subdue the "Fury" they've had with drugs and drink.
I'm afraid to admit that I can. It scares me that I have this same Fury as the author. We both remember this feeling of internal resentment, hatred, and blinding rage going back years and years into early childhood. While I generally present as a happy positive guy, it's only when I'm drinking that I can feel free of this nagging frustration and contempt (for myself and others).
I don't know the origin of my fury, but suspect it's related to a medical condition I had when I was younger. Without going into details, it resulted in very few friends, being tormented by others, very low self-concept, and a fear of not being accepted by others. (In college I remember priding myself on being a chameleon and manipulating myself into whoever there people I was with wanted me to be. As long as I could keep my different circles of "friends" apart, I was golden, especially when I could drink them all under the table.) My Fury is related to this in that I am set into a rage whenever I feel as though I am seen as a fool, outcast, or lesser person, or when I perceive that I'm being spoken to as an idiot (it's the tone of voice, it's very subtle and my dad uses it. So does his dad. So do I.)
For the record, there are some minor differences between myself and Mr. Frey: he started drinking at age 10, graduated to crack cocaine within a few years; he spent the last few years before rehab on the street, much of that time he's totally forgotten; he was wanted in three states; he lost his virginity to a prostitute while still in high school. The list goes on.
Anyway, I'm not saying it's a "problem" in the most severe sense, but I've always known there is the potential. I don't think it's gotten to the level of having to quit having a drink here and there, but I must explore this issue of this "Fury."
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