Rage, cold and blinding, rushes over me, sanity fragmenting 
a little at a time. I am absolutely powerless over it, I succumb. 
Tears rush to the front, my hands shake. I know I have let it go 
too far. Fear develops. Past experience tells me I am beyond the 
point of reason. There is no turning back now. Fury running it’s
own course, I turn into a monster. 

On any given day I can be in a perfect mood, floating 
on air, then without warning, words innocently spoken play 
unintentionally on my feelings of inadequacy. Hitting all the right 
nerves the way an guitarist’s fingers dance artistically across the 
strings, hitting all the right chords. 

“Why can’t you guys learn to pick up after yourselves?”Keleko 
will comment. reffering to something out of place, forgotten in the 
course of the day. 

An innocent and valid remark (almost always he is right),  no 
put down or harm intended. My mind warps that, perceiving an
inference that I have failed as a wife and mother, cannot measure 
up to his ideals. 

Deep within there has always been the feeling that I will 
never measure up, never be good enough in any way. I am 
especially sensetive about my abilities as a wife and mother. 
those are my two biggest fears and the areas in life where I feel I
am most deficient. 

Whenever these feelings are reinforced by another, 
especially my husband, Keleko, I feel a rage build, the result is 
frightening beyond understanding. 

I yell back, “What do you want? What more can I do that I 
already don’t? Haven’t I changed?” I fail to see the look of 
amazement on his face, as he wonders what he said this time. 

I feel myself detach, mentally, even visually. A fog settles 
over me. Barely percepbbtible, it envelopes me entirely. I can 
see it in the air all around me, I feel it settle over my mind, 
impairing thought and interpretation, it litterally turns my  heart 
cold. I seem to be “outside” of myself, sitting on my own shoulder, 
watching like a third party, the horrors about to unfold. 

I start to sweat, a rank, stink that slightly resembles coffee, 
the sickly smell of it fills the air. It is not the same odor as the 
sweat of hard work, it has the tinge of insanity to it. I have come 
to know that odor well, I only sweat like that when I enter a state 
of uncontrollable rage. 

Then I start to shake, fists clenched. Every fiber of my being 
shakes with the effort to control what I know is about to happen. 
Knowing does little to comfort or relieve the feelings, only adding 
to the fear. I imagine my face reddens and contorts with rage. 

Without my consent, my hands reach out, grabbing at 
whatever is closest, launching it, like a rocket at Keleko, the target 
of anger, missing, unable to aim very well when so overcome with 
hate and pain. 

Shock turns to anger, as he realizes what has happened, he 
attempts to get close enough to restrain me, which only  adds to 
the building fury. 

More objects are launched, one at a time they fly through 
the air. The sounds of rage assault my senses! Glass shattering 
against the wall, plastic smashing as it hits another object, wood 
splintering as a table gets thrown. 

Somewhere, far away in the house, I can hear the children 
crying. They are frightened, wondering what is going on, 
wondering if anyone is hurt. The sound of it is so far away they 
could be in another universe, the sounds come to me as if 
through a funnel, the sounds broken up, almost fuzzy, unclear. 

Keleko shouts back at me, voice elevated in an attempt to be 
heard over me. Every word he utters, is transformed by my mind, 
turned into more evidence that he thinks me incompetent. 

Every injustice real or perceived now rises up before me, 
and the person I face now, is the object of every frustration and 
disappointment I have ever had. I hate the person before me, not 
for what HE has done to me, but because, at that moment, he 
represents every reason for my feelings of deficiency. 

Catching me by surprise, he gets a physical hold on me. 
Forcing my hands to my side, usually falling to the ground on top 
of me, at the same time avoiding bites, kicks and scratches. 

I scream, outraged at being unable to move or fight against 
all the things that have hurt me. Feelings of guilt are ever present, 
they begin to take over, and to calm me, reminding me that he is 
not the perpetrator of all those things that have hurt me. He only 
loved me, despite the abuses I have committed. I remind myself 
that I am not deserving of him. 

“Are you going to stay still so I can get up?” He asks me, out 
of breath from the effort. I struggle some more not yet aware of 
the helplessness of my situation, still not all the way back to 
reasonable thought, with only the remotest connection between 
thought and action. 

As he maintains his grip on me, he tells me he loves me, no 
matter what, I need to be calm, I will be okay. Soothing me, 
holding me, loving me, reassuring me until I quit fighting, acting 
like a parent that holds a frightened child who is getting a shot at 
the doctor’s office. 

Slowly, cautiously he lets go, a little at a time, knowing from 
past experience that, at this point, it is not always over even if it
appears to be. 

Then I shower, in water so hot it almost scalds me. It 
soothes, calms, relaxes me. I try to figure out how I got there this 
time, but there is no sense ever to be made of it. Now, the only 
feelings left are emptiness and unworthiness. Like a child 
abandoned and alone. 

Now I get to clean up the remnants of another tantrum. The 
shattered remains are reminders of my fragmented sanity. 
Reminders that those around me walk on edge, prepared to face 
a raging monster, without warning or provocation. 

The blind rage is gone, shaking subsides. The pain, for 
now, crawls back into the little black hole that it came from. 
Sanity, a piece at a time, returns. 

For how long? None of us ever know.