Hurling Plates!

How do I release such anger; rage? I feel crazy; utterly and totally crazy! 

It’s the summer of 1997; the first summer of dealing with all that is going on in my life!

JMF has moved in with Doo Dah! I vacillate between great sadness and pure anger and rage. Living in ambiguity is exhausting and confusing. Living in suspension is painful. My journal entries account for me hiking to seek some comfort and clarity. I write that “my chest hurts the majority of the time, my heart doesn’t beat normally most of the time and my brain feels fried.” 

I write endlessly about what I want in my life. Here’s one entry!

“So what do I want? I want so much in life. I want passionate kisses. I want joy and laughter. I want to be comfortable. I want to be vulnerable and I want all of these things to be reciprocated.” 

And then July 2, JMF calls to say that he is moving out from Doo Dah’s house. He even cancelled his vacation plans with her. And then the next 10 weeks are a roller coaster. From movies and dinner with JMF to deep worries that I will not be happy if we reunite. He is not well. He is distant. He goes MIA for days. I write endlessly about my doubts. My marriage vows come to haunt me; through sickness and in health? Well f#ck! 

On July 19,1997, I find two phone messages from him. My journal does not recount what the messages are, however my journal notes my great disappointment in his message.

“Saying that I was disappointed would be wrong. I was so mad. Hurling dinner plates off the top of my deck and seeing them explode on impact was of great comfort; a great release.” Please note that it is necessary to scream, “f#ck you as the plate is hurled!”

So the hurling of plates became my “go to” when I needed to release my rage. It was important to note how mad I was during these times. Was I a “two plate mad” or a “five plate mad” kind of day? The summer of 1997 and into the fall was full of rage. I did this so much that JWF comments to me that he won’t mow the lawn anymore. I respond back that the consequence of my actions are that I go out into the yard and clean it all up. It’s quite healing and cathartic. 

Hurling plates off of my deck was my sweet spot. Writing, talking with a friend or taking a walk would not have touched this feeling. I felt helpless and powerless. I was just plain scared that I would be left without financial security for a lifetime. I was plain scared that I would be alone for the rest of my life. Hurling plates released the pain at least for awhile and that is just what I needed. 

What’s your sweet spot when you find yourself enraged: helpless and powerless? I am interested in knowing what you do and covet your responses.