"Be Kind for Everyone You Meet is Fighting a Hard Battle" (W 4th part II)

I wish that I were sensitive enough to have decided to change my inattentive ways all on my own, but alas this is not the case.  I’m thick – I need to be hit over the head (no pun intended) before I get the message.  And the jarring reminder I got was exactly the wakeup call I needed….

 

Waiting for the train, I leaned against one of the faded hunter green pillars, my nose buried in the Elephant Vanishes.   Every page or so I would look up to peer into the cavernous black tunnel, straining my eyes for the faintest hint of headlights, or breath of air from an approaching train.  No luck.  Cursing the MTA, I would go back to trying to concentrate on my book.

 

After fifteen minutes a slurred bellow interrupted my reverie, “Geeeve me ah dolla foh shum foood.”

Startled, I jerked up from the book to see a massive figure sporting a worn leather jacket, over what looked like a bundle of grimy, torn clothing. The formidable man lumbered towards me, thick-fingered hand outstretched.  From fifteen feet, his stench was bad and it seemed to get exponentially worse with each step.  As he drew near, the rank smell of whiskey and body odor made me take an involuntary step back.

 “Sorry,” I shrugged my shoulders;  “I don’t have a job right now.”

Even if I’d had money, I wouldn’t have given it to him.  I have a strict policy against giving beggars money (musicians and artists are a different story).  As often as not your dollar won’t be going towards food, and I have no desire to encourage drug use.  I will however, always give them food if I have it, and because of this I try and carry fruit or nutritional bars with me.  If they turn down the food – you can be pretty sure they didn’t need money to fill their stomachs.  But today I just didn’t have any food with me.

 “Yeah, but yoush gotsh food, yoush gots a home, yoush don gotsh problems.”

Disgusted, and increasingly annoyed, I looked pointedly away.  I was done listening.

“All high and mighty and can’t even spare a dollar on Martin Luther King Day?  B*tch.  People like you can’t even understand what problems are….”  Volume and ranting increasing as he stumbled away, several other commuters threw glances in his direction. 

I am beyond thankful that he didn't stop to argue, for his sake as much as mine.  As he denounced me for having an easy life, and being selfish, myopic, and self-absorbed, I could feel my gorge rising.  My fingernails bit into my palms, as I focused on the pain fighting to keep my mind free from the all-consuming grip of building tide of TBI-driven rage.   Telling me I didn't know what problems were, how dare he?  

Were it not for the rising tide of anger then I would have seen the obvious danger; he was male, twice my size, uninsured, and mentally unbalanced (at the bare minimum).  I should have been able to see the awful circumstance he was in for what it was and felt compassion, pity, or perhaps disgust, rather than rage.  However my anger and outrage corroded all reason, rationality, sense, or thought of self-preservation.   If the man had stayed, and engaged me in a confrontation, rather than ignoring the clearly intoxicated bum, I would have stepped up to the plate and given him a piece of my mind.  

Happily the train came within a minute, just in the nick of time.  I reflexively stepped into the car, and with the change of settings the anger and outrage dissolved.  The man probably wasn't in a condition to think of anyone's troubles but his own.   Though assumptions and prejudgments are one of my pet peeves I have to remind myself to "be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle," and teach rather than react.

Thankfully today my flashes of rage aren’t as intense, and I have come light years in controlling them, but I do still work to manage living with anger and heightened emotions.  As with most TBI residuals, the doctors’ advice is to stay well rested, keep a regular schedule; avoid stress – the usual suspects.  Unfortunately, these things are not always feasible, and even when they are; anger flashes can rear their ugly head.

My best advice for times of agitation, (I wish I had known years ago) is to walk away and get yourself out of the situation if you possibly can – change scenery, change topics, but it is paramount to think about something, anything else.  Often this can be all but impossible for me to do alone because perseveration almost always goes hand in hand with my rage and traps me there.  

This is why it’s imperative to talk to your friends and family about how to handle these situations, for your sake as much as for theirs. Survivors are generally suggestible so the best thing to do is to redirect their attention to another topic, change the surroundings, and the agitation will disappear.   It's almost frightening how well this trick work, and it can be unsettling to onlookers to see such an abrupt change.  For me though, it is a welcome release from the clutches of TBI. 

I would love to hear your stories about similar situations, and struggles with heightened emotions.  Any input on  tactics for coping with anger flashes would be fantastic too.   I always say, it never hurts to have more TBI-fighting weapons in your arsenal.