The Upside of Anger

Okay, maybe you could say I'm taking the easy way out (you'd be half right), but I'm going to use my 'Upside of Anger' film journal as my last blog. Why you ask (besides the fact I'm taking the easy way out)? Well, I think you can see from the progression of my blogs (save for the 'death' topic) the effects of misplaced anger and the way it can make a person think and feel. So for that reason, I think this is pretty relevant stuff. Anyway...

I watched ‘The Upside of Anger’ by myself, in secret, as to maintain some semblance of masculinity. And, like most every other ‘chick flick’ I have ever watched, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I admittedly harbor an affinity for these things and I have done so since I was a teenager. However, if I admitted the reasons why I would be completely contradicting the ‘cold-hardened cynic’ facade I have worked so hard to perpetuate. With that being said, I responded to this film in a deeper sense than just the warm, fuzzy feeling I felt inside. I was actually able to identify with it…specifically, I identified with Terri’s character. Even more specifically, I identified with her anger, bitterness, and resentment and the toll these things can have on a person. As Terri’s daughter points out, these things can turn one into something they are not…I know that feeling all too well. I suppose that is the source of these ‘fronts’ I feel the need to put up. But it is undoubtedly why- despite the obvious differences between her and me- I related to Terri’s character as opposed to her daughters, who are actually much more similar to me in terms of ‘stage of life.’

The ‘Upside of Anger’ is virtually a film without a discernable plot; it is structured more as a three year glimpse into the life of a suburban, upper-middle class family. It is narrated, perhaps with unrealistic poignancy (not unlike a recent, popular little film called ‘Juno’) by a fifteen year old girl, Popeye, who is the youngest of four daughters of the Wolfmeyer family. The story focuses on this family which is comprised of the middle-aged mother, Terri, and her daughters: Hadley, Andy, Emily, and the aforementioned Popeye. The family lives in suburban Detroit, and it struck me that this is one of the few portrayals I have seen of Detroit on film that did not depict this city as essentially being ‘Murdertown, USA’. The current family structure is left as such by the disappearance of the father, who has presumably left the country with his Swedish secretary. The primary character outside the family is Denny Davies, a burnt-out former baseball player depicted by Kevin Costner, who has basically become Hollywood’s go-to guy for the middle-aged, baseball-playing types. Denny, the Wolfmeyer's neighbor, has his own radio talk show in Detroit and becomes Terri’s drinking buddy and eventual romantic partner. Despite his obvious flaws (alcoholism and, seemingly, a sense of complacency and lack of direction in life), he serves as a protective factor in that he is practically her lone cohort and he fills the emotional void left by her husband’s disappearance.

The primary life event and risk factor which has led to Terri’s emotional turmoil and alcoholism (and the change in life trajectory from a happy suburban housewife) is, obviously, the perceived abandonment by her husband. However, her daughters also present as risk factors for Terri, though it is important to point out that they also serve as protective factors as- if for nothing else- they give Terri a much-needed sense of responsibility and purpose. However, Terri’s oldest daughter, Hadley, seems to be somewhat detached from the mother; a reality which visibly pains Terri a couple of times throughout the film. Furthermore, another daughter, Andy, aspires for a career in broadcasting and, much to the Terri’s dismay, has a relationship with a much-older radio producer in what presumably is an attempt to further that career. Finally, Emily is an aspiring ballet dancer whose drive and focus, though admirable, is much to her detriment as it creates severe health issues. All of these stressors collectively and undeniably complicate the already-strained environment created by the absence of Terri’s husband.

As mentioned previously, I related to Terri more than the other characters. However, that is not to say that I identified with her in every capacity, as I certainly could not. She is obviously, a female in middle adulthood, whereas I am (happily) in early adulthood. Additionally, it appears that she and her daughters are from an upper-middle income family- something with which I cannot identify in the least. However, though I have never experienced something as traumatic as abandonment by a spouse, I have experienced a change in life perceptions due to anger and resentment. Those feelings have been created by various life events, whether it was family hardships or failed relationships. But they are very powerful emotions which will genuinely turn you into something you are not, and this is something I have been trying to overcome for much of my life, from adolescence through early adulthood. So I guess you could say that certain emotions affect one is certain ways, regardless of one’s stage of life. However, as the film showed when it was discovered that Terri’s husband had actually committed suicide rather than run off with his secretary, the source of these emotions is often unfounded. And then what are we left with, and for what reason?

Cold, hardened cynicism...where did you go???

We talked again. We went to the fair. I pissed her off. But I redeemed myself (maybe it was because I told her she looked beautiful…in three days it was the first time I had seen her smile). Then the weekend came…and it wouldn’t end. But then it did, mercifully, and we picked up where we left off. It was amazing- we’re kind of the same, the ‘pretty face’ and I. Not with the ‘petty’ stuff (we don’t have the same favorite bands), but in the whole ‘principles, philosophies, perspectives’ sort of way (see a couple of blogs ago). The weeks rolled by…we got so close, so fast. In fact, we spent every available second together (while still doing our jobs, of course). But the thing is: I never wanted her to leave…I never got sick of her. But then it came…it was the last thing I wanted to hear! She has a boyfriend. But I don’t get deterred by things like that. If this is as right as I think it is- if this really is that Supergirl I’ve been searching for (but not admit I’m searching for), then I’ll know what to do. I’ll just magically know that, out of the millions of poems in the world, E.E. Cummings’ ‘I carry your heart with me’ is her favorite. And then I’ll read it to her. And I did. And it was. But damn’t, the boyfriend is still there. Like a fly buzzing around my face on a hot summer day, I can’t swat him. I mean, she made a commitment to him, and she’s not going waver from it. But, just as quickly as I was (metaphorically) punched in the gut with the news that she had a boyfriend, she didn’t have a boyfriend anymore. I don’t know the details, and I really don’t want to know. I just know that now I’m pretty happy and that is all that matters.

Not just a pretty face...

She was more than a pretty face. I went home gushing that first day she showed up, saying, “Damn, that new girl is hot.” But that’s about where it had to end…after all, the pretty ones never have ‘substance.’ So we progressed to day two. I stood outside her office (in a totally non-creepy way) devising a plan to approach her, as I’m admittedly not the smoothest cat in the world (most of my best lines are regurgitated ‘Cary Grant’…yeah, so effective with today’s women). I just didn’t want to fall all over myself, like the fumbling idiot I can sometimes be around a pretty face. But then I hit a stroke of luck- she needed some help moving around some things in her new office (as fate would have it, right down the hall from mine), so I jumped at my chance. And then, perhaps to try to impress her or perhaps out of sheer panic, I jumped into the most arrogant, self-righteous diatribe on absolutely nothing that’s ever been pontificated. But, as she started to call me out on my b******t, something struck me immediately about this ‘pretty face’- she was smart…really smart. But then we were interrupted and the conversation ended right there. However, she actually wanted to continue our matching of wits, so my focus immediately turned to what I would say the next time I had a chance to ‘impress’ her again. Before I left the office, she gave me a black scorpion plush doll thingy but assured me it wasn't an indication of her feelings towards me. I took my new treasure back to my office, where I was unable to sit still for the rest of the day. Damn, there was something about this girl!

'A Pretty Face'

Well, I’ve decided that three blogs is quite enough to dedicate to my near-death experience, so now I am happily returning to relationships. My previous blogs have been slightly (okay, perhaps more than slightly) cynical given the topic that I chose to write about. Maybe I wanted to use it as an outlet to vent. Or maybe (and this is difficult to admit), I hoped to prove myself wrong when it came to my outlook on relationships in early adulthood. I’ve draped myself in armor for so long in an effort to not get ripped to shreds by girls, but with each word I type here today I can’t fathom how blind I was to the burden, the absolute exhaustion it caused me.

So, she’s the new girl at work. I mean, it’s always the ‘new girl’ somewhere. And now I can’t even write a blog. I lie on my couch and type letters that luckily make words which sometimes make sentences. Maybe she’ll do something wrong and my writers block will go away. The greatest writers in history were all ‘tortured souls’ anyway, right? Surely she’s only a pretty face. Forget the weight and the exhaustion, the armor needs to stay. I’m not that lucky. She can’t be more than a pretty face.

Life Style Changes in Young Adulthood

So I have heart surgery and I think all is well. But I continued to have palpitations. I went back to the cardiologist and I got to wear a heart monitor for 24 hours. Well, now the cardiologist tells me that the problem which caused the 250-beat-a-minute arrhythmia was fixed, but I still have a problem…tachycardia, which I assume to be a fast heart beat ‘in a general sort of way.’ So now she’s telling me I can’t take Adderall anymore because it could kill me (the doc in Birmingham told me I could resume it). Oh, and coffee has to go too. But here is the kicker: she tells me that there is no surgery to fix this problem and I will have to take medications the rest of my life. SCREW THAT.

Naturally, I don’t like what she has to say, so I call my family doctor so he can refer me to another cardiologist for a second opinion. Well, I go see him and he sings a different tune than the cardiologist. He thinks that the problem was never fixed in the first place. He gives me some new meds which aren’t supposed to mess me up like the beta blockers (though its listed side effects are apathy and breast development in males…just what I always wanted). But that brings us to the present day, and I am currently awaiting my ‘second opinion’ with a cardiologist at UAB.

Anyway, the bottom line is that every doctor seems to agree on one thing: my lifestyle had to change. So now I get to be a live, breathing example of how a life event changes one’s life course (yay…Life Course Perspective exemplified). Or, I get to be a stubborn asshole that didn’t pay attention to his wake-up call and dies at an early age because of a lifestyle which would, at times, make most rock stars proud. So here goes nothing…no bad substances (never illegal…just wanted to clarify) and an Adderall-less graduate school experience. Wish me the best.

Gettin’ Fixed (supposedly)…

So, after I was stabilized in the ER I was admitted to the Critical Care Unit at Cullman Regional Hospital. There I was seen by a cardiologist who diagnosed me with a heart condition (Wolf-Parkinson’s something or another) which- so they say- I have probably had my whole life. Apparently, it had just decided to rear its ugly head as of late (though as I said in the previous blog, I have had problems with the ol’ ticker in some capacity for well over a year). Subsequently, I was scheduled to have surgery in Birmingham to correct the problem on October 13th, which is appropriately the day before my birthday. So after spending a couple of days in the hospital in Cullman, I was sent home with instructions calling for a drastic lifestyle change (no more cigs, coffee, or ADHD medicine) and a prescription for beta blockers to keep things in rhythm. The following week, I suffered through the fog induced by the stupid ‘heart pills’ and accomplished absolutely nothing. It was then time for the surgery…time to get fixed. So I have it…I wake up…that meant that I was alive and would get to see that ‘beautiful face’ again (yeah, I’ll get to that). Sometime later, after I was able (relatively) to process a coherent thought, I spoke with the doctor about the surgery. I was left utterly confused by his explanation of the problem and how he went about fixing it. However, I was informed that I had been misdiagnosed and the problem I had was actually a ventricular arrhythmia which, according to Wikipedia (hey, it’s as reliable as a freakin’ doctor) is much more serious than Wolf-Parkinson’s whateverthehell. Whatever, I don’t care anymore. It’s fixed, I go home, and life returns to normal. Right???

A Near Death Experience in Young Adulthood

Well, I’ll begin by saying that blogging about ‘relationships in young adulthood’ (as much as I enjoy it) is going to have to take a brief hiatus, as I have experienced something truly life changing and I feel compelled to talk about it. On the night of October 3rd, I awoke from a nap to find my heart racing…really racing. Now, my heart has been doing some funky stuff for a year or so. However, it’s been in the form of ‘flutters’ which, as strange as they may feel, have not been alarming to the point to make this stubborn guy go the doctor. But this was something different…more serious- and I knew that immediately. So, with little hesitation (or the use of logical thought, for that matter) I drove myself to the ER. After walking into the ER from my car (and almost passing out in the process), I was met with the predictable “sir, you’ll have to wait your turn” line, to which I responded with “put your hand on my chest!” Well…an “oh my God” and a couple of minutes later, I was surrounded by half the ER staff who- after informing me my heart was beating 250 times per minute- proceeded to stop and restart it on two occasions (the first did nothing). This in itself is probably the weirdest sensation I’ve ever experienced in my life: it essentially felt like all the energy in my body was sucked into my heart and then released in the form of a tidal wave which traveled throughout my entire body (except that doesn’t even begin to describe it). And then I was shot so full of Ativan I didn’t particularly care about anything from that point forward.

It would be more than safe to say that, at that time and in my mind, my death was seemingly inevitable…so much so that I had begun to make preparations in the short time which I presumably had left. As it turned out, I wasn’t far off with that line of thought…I was told in the ER that a young, healthy person could survive an arrhythmia like mine for about two hours. Well, my whole ordeal lasted approximately an hour, so you do the math. Throughout the whole experience, I never saw my life flash in front of my eyes…I never really experienced any of the cliché b******t you hear about. I also didn’t think about the things I would have thought. Of course I thought about my religious faith and I tried to come to terms with that as much as possible given my erratic thought processes at the time. I also thought about my parents. But, mostly what I thought about was this beautiful face which had, from out of nowhere, come into my life and turned it into upheaval…but the good kind of upheaval. When it was apparent that I was going to make it, my thoughts quickly turned to that fact that I was happy to be alive because I would now get to see that face again after all. And when I return to ‘relationships,’ I’ll start there.