Dealing with Anger

Anger is a part of dealing with a chronic condition. If not dealt with, it can turn to depression and hopelessness. Fibromyalgia brings changes in our lives and learning to express our anger towards situations which are beyond our control is an important part of taking care of ourselves. If we allow ourselves to express our anger in a destructive manner, such as yelling at loved ones, arguing with friends, or even becoming aggressive towards others in society, we aren't helping ourselves.

Our society has taught us to be polite, and aggressive behavior only hurts others and ourselves. There is a difference between being assertive and aggressive. Assertiveness is taking care of our own emotions and expressing our feelings without becoming verbally or physically abusive.

Sometimes it is difficult to express our anger. We may whine and complain about situations, but until we get beyond the anger, we won't feel good about ourselves or our situation.

There are courses in anger-management and assertiveness training. It is obvious that our society has repressed its anger for so long that we now need expert help on dealing with it.

Below is an excerpt from a novel that I've written. The story is of a middle-aged man, Robert, who is dealing with post-traumatic stress from the Vietnam War. Robert has just told his wife, Jausten, one experience that he had in Vietnam. Jausten has fibromyalgia. Matt was the father of Jausten's son. She gave him up for adoption in 1969. Joe is the psychriatrist, and Cassie is Robert and Jausten's twenty-two year old daughter.

'When Jausten got home, the phone was ringing. Old anger rose up within her. Why couldn’t everyone just go away and leave her alone?

She threw her purse and car keys onto the kitchen table and stormed upstairs.

She wanted to punch someone, but she wasn’t sure who she was really angry at. In the bedroom, she threw her shoes into the closet. Rage boiled inside her. Tension and frustration seethed. She was going to explode.

She grabbed two pillows off the bed. Laid them on the floor. Knelt in front of them. Tentatively smashed her right fist into them.

Smashed the pillows with her other fist. Began to plummet the pillows with both fists as hard as she could. Pain flared in her hands and arms, but she just kept pounding as if her life depended upon it. She’d never been this angry before. She pretended she was hitting a person, crushing their face to pieces, but she couldn’t see the face. Whoever they were, she hated them with a venom that fueled her adrenaline.

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