I was flying high most of the day yesterday. I had finally finished my latest book, one who is a little darker than what I normally write and had been giving me some trouble. I also got the chance spend some time with wonderful friends that evening. By the time I got home I was lighthearted and happy. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long.
My husband was clicking through the channels looking for something to watch and for some reason he settled on this movie with Keanu Reeves which I hadn’t ever heard of. I wasn’t watching. I was trying to read my novel and begin the major “fixing up” I’m sure it needs, but I just couldn’t escape the dialogue in the movie; the cursing and the plain ugliness of the plot and the characters. I asked my husband to change it a few times but that didn’t happen. The longer I was exposed to the absolutely horrible, gratuitous, violent, and base content of the movie the more disturbed and angry I became. To the point I couldn’t handle it anymore. I snapped! I went to bed feeling awful and had one of the most restless nights of the year.
I’m not sure why I react like this to certain movies, or news, or sometimes even music. It’s a real riddle to me. I have a visceral reaction to certain types of violence which can come in many forms; a scene in a movie or show, an angry song, an act of random violence. When other people love horror movies I abhor them. Not because I’m scared, but because most horror movies of today are just an excuse for creative (or not so creative) acts of mind-blowing violence.
When I was younger I used to think that maybe I had been a victim of a violent crime in another life and that these scenes, or music, or certain words had become triggers for memories I didn’t even know I had.
Music can do it as well. If you want to irritate me in the space of a few seconds play some hard rock loud. Something like Metallica or AC/DC makes me feel like scratching somebody’s eyes out in anger. I grew up with metal so why can’t I ever listen to it without feeling a quickly burning wrath inside of me? Another riddle.
Anybody who knows me also knows I am possibly the least angry person they have ever met. I’m a great believer in second chances and I normally find ways to excuse even the worst of behaviors. Why do these things anger me so then? As a writer I want to believe that maybe it is indeed a reflection of a past life. There’s an interesting premise for a story, right?
What kind of things make you irrationally angry to the point of making your heart hurt? And do you know why that is? Can you help me solve this riddle?