The gift of baggage

Somethings just make me mad. Whatever situation trips that wire...starts a process. The old blood flow picks up pace, intellect shuts down, and some primitive survival instinct becomes the driver of my vehicle. All normal, healthy people get mad...but not like me. I must have been a puffer fish in another life because I try to blow myself up bigger than the next guy. Being bigger is all I can think about...scare the fucker away, cause really I don't want to deal with them. Not only does being angry put someone else in charge of my machinery, it makes me sick mentally and physically. Once I was on the job with my father (who removes trees) and he had the crew running chainsaws in the dark, trying to finish up a job. It was dangerous as hell, and I told him so. We ended up slinging branches at one another in the dark.. As I searched my lexicon for a suitable curse word( my favorite word "fuckstick" was on standby ), my stomach cramped like the alien was in there, and I fell to the ground. This however only provided a good opportunity for my father to get a lick in and tell me to load the fucking truck or my ass would be hurting too.
Anger is something that I have so much of , but I can't let it out like a normal person. I go from laid back, happy go lucky GS3, to a hair's on fire, and ass is a catching maniac. There is no middle ground for me. I am like David Banner holding in the Hulk, but instead of the hulk I have Mr. Furious from the mystery men. All anger and no power. What am I going to do ? Get in a fight, go to jail, get sued ? I don't want to do any of those things. I can't even argue because the logical part of my brain is not accessible anymore. A big dumb monster is driving my train.

Me wanna kill you
Choke you good

So, since killing is illegal in most counties in Georgia, I just bit my tongue, put my hands in my pockets and try to shutdown the process before it snowballs. Don't get me wrong, I am not a violent person, ...but it has been part of my training. Threats were not just empty at my house they were followed by a flexible piece of leather reality.

Don't get dirty, I''ll beat your ass
Eat your dinner, or 'll beat your ass
Do what I say or I'll bear your ass
If you don't like me beating your ass, then I am gonna beat your ass
Go get me something to beat your ass

It is easy to understand how I assumed that in order to solve your problems you need to beat some ass. There was one problem though. I was and am all fluff. A bear, yeah sure. But a teddy. So I go through life, taking more shit than a little bit and swallowing another gulp of all american rage. Don't worry, you won't read about me going postal at work, or target shooting college students from the top of a tower. I'll just drink another beer, eat another bag of potato chips and have that heart attack I am looking forward too. Everyone will say:

Did you hear ?
GS3 got so mad , he blew up his own heart !
Man, I saw that coming
Me, too

If there is a good way of being angry, I don't know about it. I guess anger is there to protect us and is like some danger detector waiting to go off. My anger must think a monster is after me, because it wants to be real big. I have come to the conclusion that I have been (and am) a victim of terrorism by my parents. Here is the webster definition of terrorism:

the systematic use of terror especially as a means to restrain or dominate by force

My parents in order to discipline me felt they had to put me in "a state of intense fear" to control me. I was just a little guy, and they were so big. No wonder I want to puff myself up. Only now, they are no longer in my life and I still do it. Why can't I ditch this baggage?