A red-filled glare

I've been having rage-induced moments lately. Well, I've had them several times, but of late - say the past year - they've become more frequent. Once or twice a week, in fact, instead of every couple of months.

I remember the attack, and I think about what I could have done. I am triggered by stories about crime, about home invasion, about dignity stripped from helpless victims as they are subjected to torture, abuse and death by callous monsters. And I see myself on the attack, using my body as a weapon, biting flesh from those monsters, gouging out their eyes, breaking their ribs, filled with inhuman strength and throwing them through windows. I think about the ubiquitous home invasion happening to Moosquared and I about go insane. A red film covers my eyes, a roaring fills my ears, my jaw clenches and I go rigid. My foot presses down on the accelerator.

I have to physically pull myself back from the brink. I have to think about something else, slow down, turn on the aircon, open the window, put on calmer music. I have to stop.

I told MadCat yesterday. I know I've mentioned this to him before, in passing. This time I gave him details. And he says these sound like TLE seizures to him.

I think he's right.

I go into a fugue state, I think. I blank out, and only my subconscious is pulling me back and warning me to snap out of it. My aggression knows know bounds. I take pleasure in the thought of using my teeth to rip out the throat or bite off the cheek of someone who dares threaten me and mine.

I've been there, I've been in that life-threatening situation, and I didn't react this way. I made a decision to sit back and wait out the situation until the time came when I could make a difference, or die. I chose to live, but even as I fought for my life I didn't go to extremes; I was afraid to damage too much.

This time - next time - some time ... it will be different. My aggression has heightened over the years; I am far less tolerant, less patient, less willing to abide by society's norms. At the same time, I have become physically weaker.

But I will fight. And maybe that attitude is not the safest to have when my life and the lives of those I love are being threatened.

I don't know if that's a good thing. I don't know if I should be at their side. I don't know how they would look at me afterward.