Extreme Reactions

I recently did some therapy. It wasn’t classic therapy, but rather a technique called ‘clearing your head trash’. As part of the process (interesting, I recommend it) I had to try to ‘squeeze the power out of extreme emotions’. First you had to identify the emotions, which was an interesting process in itself. I identified that I had a lot of anger – white hot fury, if I’m honest – at humans. I consider them to be (generally speaking) malevolent, egotistical, selfish, destructive. By contrast I consider animals (yes, all, even hyenas and rats) to be in essence benevolent, gracious, decent, noble. It was only when I vocalised these feelings that I recognised how extreme they are. I won’t say wrong as I absolutely, militantly stand by them and god help anyone that sits next to me at a dinner party and dares to suggest otherwise.

‘I don’t like them’ said a lady at the next table to me (a street cafe, a busy seaside town, summertime, Croatia). The venom flooded my body and I stared at her, unable to formulate words. I turned, in slow motion, to my husband. ‘I can’t sit here, next to that woman’ I said, loudly, thickly. I realised I was flying in the face of convention, refusing to subscribe to social etiquette, to ‘normalcy’, but unable to help it. He very sweetly backed me up, paid the bill and came and joined me on the street. No longer hungry, we defiantly, fed the street cats the rest of our dinner – unhurriedly, swaggeringly – in plain sight of her.

I don’t think I would have objected had she said ‘I’m scared of them’ and I expect I would have had more respect for her if she’d said ‘I hate them’. But this bland, non-descript tourist had pissed me off monumentally with her neutrally delivered ‘I don’t like them’. For me it just summed mankind up, she embodied everything I hated about human beings. The cats I was feeding (discreetly and under my table, not hers) weren’t hurting her, they weren’t threatening her, they hadn’t even noticed her. They lived there. But she – moon faced, uncaring, stupid, hateful she – felt fully entitled, entirely reasonable, lacking in shame to say this, to demand this, because ‘she didn’t like them’? How very arrogant. How very human.

I felt sick. Part of the Headtrash process I’d been engaged in was about clearing the opposites, squeezing the power out. If I was busy ranting (even in my head), I wouldn’t be able to channel my passion, that was the bottom line. And it was so, so true. I had so much of my energy invested in hatred of this bland, boring, feline hating lady, that it was eating me up inside. My fury had rendered me incapable of a calm, witty,  direct put down to challenge her, to make her think. My passion had handicapped me. I vowed to be smarter, cooler next time.

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