Outbursts

A boy is sitting silently at a dinner table with his family. They’re eating. “How was everyone’s day?”

“Good.” “Oh, fine.” “Eh.” “Good.”

No one is looking at anyone. They glance up at each other, lock eyes, then look away. The boy speaks.

“I think you’re all pathetic.”

His face goes red. He is looking down at the table. He is clearly anxious, but he has a smirk on his face. For a few moments, no one knows what to say.

“Tom, that’s hurtful. Don’t say things like that. Take your plate and go to your room,” his mother says in a scolding tone. He keeps grinning, and he digs in. He’s shaking.

“I think you’re all pathetic, and I think you should all kill yourselves.”

His father slams on the table.

“What the fuck did you say?” He gets up and grabs the boy as firmly as he can by the arm. He drags him to his room.

“Where did you hear something like that? On the internet? You’re going to sit in here until I think of a punishment. No computer. No games. No books. If you say something like that again, I don’t know what the fuck I’ll do. Do you understand?”

The boy is sitting there, silent and tense, grinning, anxious out of his mind. When his father closes the door, he sits there, his mind tingling with anxiety, a dissociated fear.

A man goes about his day. He’s anxious around women. He talks to them occasionally at work, at their service jobs, and briefly interacts with them on the bus. He always gets the same couple of looks. Looks of fear, discomfort, judgment, defensiveness. He tries to be friendly, but it never changes the mood. He learns to shut up and get out of the situation as fast as he can.

He has a crush. They’re friends. She’s one of the few women who doesn’t react to him the way other women do. He gets obsessed, gives a desperate confession, writes gushing poetry and letters. And he sees the same look on her face as all the other women, but more intense, more fearful. She rejects him. He apologizes profusely, he’s ashamed, he’s embarrassed. And his emotions around women get more and more intense.

One day, his mind tingling with anxiety, he starts acting differently. He approaches a woman with a sardonic caricature of a friendly tone.

“Heeey, how’s it going? How’ve you been?” He locks eyes. He gets close, he leans in. She’s scared. She’s a meek woman.

“Oh, uh, fine, how are you?”

“Oh, you know, doing fine as always. Hey, you want to hang out sometime? Hey, how about this weekend?” There’s no one around. He’s got a huge grin on his face. She’s like a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh, uh, sure. Maybe. Maybe not this weekend, next weekend might work. I’m not sure.”

His mind is racing, his heart is pounding. He has that tingly feeling - he’s embarrassed, red in the face, and he acts hyper-confident. He smothers his anxiety by acting as dramatically as he can.

“Great. I can’t wait to see you. You look fucking hot today. Can you give me your phone number, so I can text you about the details. Oh wait, that’s right, nevermind, I already have it from when we worked on that project together. Hey, where are you going right now? I’m free today, I could walk with you, are you going to eat?” He’s laughing anxiously to himself between every little thing he says. She’s freezing up.

“Uh, no, I’m just on my way home. I have some stuff I need to do. Maybe see you next weekend!” She’s walking to her car. He’s following her.

“Yeah, definitely! Looking forward to it! Well, actually, I’ll see you at work tomorrow, but yeah, let’s definitely hang out sometime.” She gets in her car, gives him an anxious smile and a wave, and pulls out.

He has that tingly feeling, the one that comes over your whole brain. He’s in his head, he has a blank stare, but there are no words. Just a rush of emotion. He slowly starts to come down - he starts to worry. But he smothers it. This anxious rush is better than depression and shame, he thinks. It’s how he felt when he gave his desperate confessions. It’s how he felt when wrote all that gushing poetry. But this time he’s not ashamed - or rather, he can smother the shame, he can fight through it by doubling down, again and again. He can make fun of it - aww, poor her. What a victim. What a loser he is. He’s dangerous. He’s a psycho. He imagines people talking about him. And he taunts them in his mind. He just says exactly what they’re saying in a mocking tone, like a child:

“Why are you copying me?”

“WhY aRe YoU cOpYiNg Me?”

He has a big stupid grin on his face. This is a milestone. I’m doing it - I’m getting over it. I’m getting out! I’m free, he thinks. He begins acting more exuberantly, more and more aggressively. He starts pursuing multiple women. The mocking tone of his thoughts seep into his every interaction.

People find out, his friends find out. He loses his job. He’s alone.

A few months later, he kills himself.

A black boy grows up in a black community. When he goes to the convenience store, when he goes to school, he gets dirty looks from some of the white people. But most of them just look afraid. He learns to talk like them. If he does that, not all of them react the same way. But most do.

He only feels comfortable around other black people. And even there - most people are anxious, most people are on edge. He only feels safe around his family, if that. But he has to go outside of his community, for school, for work. The teachers are white. The owners are white.

He has some friends. They’re rowdy. They get into trouble. But they know how to have fun. They know how to let loose. They laugh together. You have to know when to take a joke, and when to push back. They help each other get tough. Or they break each other. Are you a pussy, or are you not?

His friends meet up at a convenience store. There’s a few scrawny white boys there, Lord knows why. They both look on edge. His friends start jeering at them.

“Look at these pussy ass white boys! What they fuck you doing here?”

“Look at them, they’re scared shitless. Better get the fuck outa here.” And they give each other a look, and they get their shit as quick as they can, and they do get the fuck out of there.

And they follow them as they walk to their car, mocking them, calling them weak. And it feels good. It feels cathartic, making fun of their fear. There’s that tingly feeling - the feeling you get when you do something, even though you’re anxious. It turns into laughter. It feels like power. It feels like you’re not a bitch.

And he gets tired of being polite, always walking on eggshells around all these skittish white people. He’s tired of always being careful, always having to ingratiate himself. So he just starts pushing it further and further - every time he’s out in public, every time he sees that look of fear, he stops trying to appear harmless. They should just fucking get over it. If they don’t want to be scared, they should fucking grow a pair, and not be a bitch in the first place. And these jumpy, weak ass police with their loose trigger fingers keep killing black people. If you’re scared, don’t take the job. If you can’t deal, you need to get the fuck out and find a different line of work.

And he just can’t take it - it’s better to get that rush, it’s better to dominate them, make them feel scared, because it’s not my fucking fault their afraid. And he goes to that place - the place you go when you’re scared, you’re anxious, but you do it anyway, again and again. Because it’s better to feel that way than feel nothing at all.

And later in life he goes mad. He loses his mind. He walks down the street, out in public talking to himself, occasionally shouting, watching other people get scared of him. He just can’t get over it - the rush of stepping into anxiety, of smothering your own fear and shame by acting out, becoming a character. It’s not my fault they’re afraid. It’s not my fault they can’t deal with it. You deserve to feel the way you do. You deserve to live in a world full of intimidating strangers. Because you’re judgmental and weak. Because you don’t know how to handle people in their desperate moments. If you were stronger, maybe things could get better. But I know you. You’re a bitch. I’ve seen it a million times over. Pathetic, judgmental people running away from confrontation. Who don’t even know how to handle it when it’s the people closest to them, the people they supposedly love. I’ve seen it a million times over.

All of the inner ugliness I try to express is my gift to you. I want to give you a chance. A chance to understand. And not because I would like to be understood. It’s because this happens again and again, over and over in a million different ways. The same traumatic cycle. Look at history, listen to the stories we tell, and you will see it unfold across generations.

There are people who learn. There are people who become strong, who know how to help people struggling with these emotions. Who intervene in their life with care and affirmation. And they create a peaceful environment for their family and community through their wisdom and strength. And then something ironic happens. They raise a generation of people who don’t know how to deal with these emotions, because they’ve never experienced them. They want to shield the ones they love from these kinds of experiences. The strong breed the weak - because we are all weak to start out. And these sheltered people self-segregate, they become more and more defensive and afraid. And when one of their own falls into this pattern of repression and violent outburst, they scold, judge and ostracize, because they don’t know what to do. That’s not acceptable behavior. The goal is to prevent that from happening, right? The goal is for it to never happen. It is much easier to create an appearance than the real thing. It is much more expedient simply to hide it away.

The goal cannot, and should not be for it to never happen, for the simple reason that it will happen. If we don’t experience it, if these situations and healthy reactions to them are not portrayed in culture and stories, then when the time comes, we won’t understand. If we are taught that it is unacceptable, that it is something to be ashamed of, then we create the fertile ground for vile blossoms to thrive and open. It takes a very specific and prolonged set of conditions. These sorts of stories are warning signs. They are signs of sickness in a circumstance and in a culture, not personal defects. They are pure tragedies. You can judge all you want, but it will happen again - and you will only have your judgment to blame.

We are historical beings. We have a chance to create a culture which cultivates the strength necessary to deal with these situations. But we must accept that a future of sunshine and rainbows, a future where these things never happen, is not possible. To teach people how to deal with these situations, there is no getting around it - they need to be exposed to them. Trying to prevent it creates the ideal conditions for suppression and outbursts to occur. Most of us want better for future generations - but better is not an absence. Rather, it is the nurturing of the healthiest expression and response of these sorts of feelings. The truth is that we cannot simply become strong, stable people overnight. The fictional people I wrote about here wanted to overcome anxiety and shame. They wanted to overcome the fear and judgment of others.

Leaning into anxiety, doing something you’re afraid to do, something you know you’ll be ashamed of - don’t we all want to overcome our fears? Don’t we all want to be expressive, charismatic, to not feel constantly suppressed? Knowing that there is collective shame makes us feel safe. Knowing that we are all afraid of confrontation makes us feel secure, makes us feel like it won’t happen. Who would dare? And so goodness becomes equated with fear of what others will think. If you are afraid, you won’t cause trouble. You won’t create uncomfortable situations. We might not admire the sad, repressed people we are surrounded by, but we do feel safe around them.

But do we want to live in a culture of fear? Is that what we really want for ourselves and the people we love? We are all complicated people. And if we were committed to helping each other be stronger and live our best lives, we would have to be willing to deal with and create tense situations. We would have to be willing to love complicated people, and be complicated ourselves. And the truth is that most of us do not know how to express our frustrations in the healthiest ways. It is something you learn over time. The truth is that it is better that these sorts of outbursts happen than nothing be expressed at all. It goes without saying that they should not become patterns. But when they do, it is a clear sign of cultural sickness. Why did it happen? Did no one express care or concern?

I’m not an idiot, I know the world is complicated, and that people often fall into these patterns even when others extend their compassion and help. But I am ruthless - there is always something that could have been done better, there is always a reason, some underlying fear or shame which didn’t have to exist. I don’t want anyone to bear their burdens forever. Guilt won’t undo what has happened. I just demand that we search - search for something, anything that could have been done differently. I demand an attempt at non-judgmental understanding. I know I can’t force anyone else to do it - but I demand it of myself. And if you want a better future for the people you love, you should take it on as well.

In other places I rail against “morality,” and perhaps what I am saying sounds like I am moralizing. But I’m not - this is, in my opinion, the pragmatic reality of building a good life for oneself and others. There is no higher power which will judge you. There is no objective right and wrong. In fact, the entire point of what I’m saying is that you must go beyond that. What I am saying is much more complicated than simply following a set of rules. Your actions have consequences, and you can choose to understand, or you can choose to look away - and what unfolds will unfold. That is the simple truth of life - that it is unbelievably complicated.

These outbursts are not a reflection of true strength, though subjectively they can feel powerful because they involve acting in spite of fear. They are a manifestation of desperation. But to act in desperation does require some strength. To act in spite of fear is an ordeal, no matter how harmful or pathetic it appears. It might lead a person down a dark path, but it might also represent the beginning of real growth. At that point, at least a person has learned one important truth about themselves - that they don’t want shame and fear to control their lives. If this aspect can be recognized and affirmed, there is potential for a healthier expression. A person should feel capable of making others uncomfortable. But they should be capable of doing this with firmness and stability - desperation leads to cruelty, intimidation and violence. Real strength is to have overcome the fear of imposition. Desperation is to act in spite of it. But we should not expect a person to bunny hop everything which is required for their personal development. We should not expect people to already be fully matured. These things will happen with varying degrees of intensity. And whether a person can survive them with their dignity intact is a key indicator of how they will continue to develop.

I have failed people that I cared for. I scolded them when I should have recognized the suppression they were struggling with and supported them in overcoming it. It doesn’t weigh too heavily on me. All I can do is learn and move forward with that knowledge. I couldn’t help because I was also ashamed and suppressed. I couldn’t offer others what I didn’t know I also needed. So it goes.

I don’t judge anyone for the mess we find ourselves in. It’s your life to live. We all make mistakes. But your actions do have consequences, and your understanding and emotional strength will be reflected in those actions. Judgment is willful blindness - if you look away, there is a lesson you won’t learn. And that ignorance will be reflected in the way you live your life. How you choose to see and react to these outbursts will shape your life. It’s up to you to choose. I only hope this helps.