Intermittent explosive disorder
“My fuse is so short now, I often just explode. In hindsight the matters are not that important, often it has something to do where I feel devalued in my efforts or my view is not taking seriously. But in the situations itself, I cannot think clearly. Often, afterwards, I see that I was looking at how something was said or what was said like through a magnifying glass or microscope. Often, what was said can be understood in different ways when I think about it later, but in that moment, I see it directed against me. For example, the other day I had a lot of stress at work, deadlines, the boss was pushy. I came home, the children were fighting, and I had promised to prepare dinner. Sitting at the table, my husband was asking for some salt, with this sound in his voice, you know, as if he wants to express: what you have cooked doesn’t taste good again. For a few seconds I felt my chest tightening up, somehow knowing, oh, it will happen again, but these few seconds are not enough to get a foot in the door, change what is coming. It is, as if I am on autopilot, a pilot of a war jet. I shouted at him that he never likes anything I do, that he is a stupid arrogant spoiled idiot, a typical British snob who treats me like an A Yi. I threw the salt box at him, hit him over the eye. These explosions happen so often now, two, three, four times a week. The worst thing is, when I shout at my children. A moment later I feel so sorry and embarrassed. At times I feel I am the worst mother. The week before the period is especially difficult, but it’s so often at other times, it can’t be PMS (premenstrual tension syndrome). Sometimes I can’t help but hit my husband. I mean, he is tall and strong, but once I hit him with the wine bottle and he had a black eye. It is like I am two different persons, the normal me and the furious one. I have to admit, that it sometimes feels good to explode, I feel relieved afterwards, all the pressure gone. Pressure, I often fail to recognize building up early on. But that feeling of relief is there only for a minute, then I realize the damage to the others, to our relationship, and I feel so much regret, wished I could turn time back. My father was the same like me. He got these fits so often, and I hated it. Sometimes he hit us. But now I am like him.”
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