The feeling of the Bic Velocity Retractable Ball pen between my thumb, pointer finger, and middle finger was familiar. I always preferred these pens over other models for their ability to lay down a fine line with a gel-like look. The smoothness of its writing was unparalleled in my mind. I thought it was a great pen for writing down the hundreds of transactions I was required to jot down on a daily basis for work. I also thought it was a great pen for lodging into someone’s temple when they least expected it. This latter thought passed through my mind from time to time. I thought the semi-blunt tip of the pen might be a challenge to get through somebody’s skin, but with enough force I could imagine it gliding through the epidermis like a hot knife through butter.
I slowly transitioned the pen from my typical writing grip into a full-hand grip. Having all five fingers wrapped around the pen, instead of just three, felt like a better grip for forcing the pen through someone’s temple and into their frontal lobe. The sweat from my palm made the pen slippery in my hand so I gripped it even harder. The pulse in my temple throbbed like a strobe light at a rave. I was standing directly behind my friend who was giving us our end of the day brief. He was sitting down. My position gave me easy access to see his computer screen, but as he spoke all I could envision was my hand cocking to the side and bringing the pen into contact with his temple as hard as I could. I recognized my very advantageous position to make this a reality.
His back was turned to me as he spoke and my hand hung about the same height as his head. The words he spoke seemed to drone in and out as I tried to focus on what he was saying, but my mind decided my focus would be better off thinking about assaulting my friend and mentor as he spoke to us.
My thoughts wandered to after “doing the deed,” when my escape would be challenging, but didn’t seem impossible. If I took about a half step to my left I would have a clear shot at the emergency exit. My boots slowly inched their way to the left.
I was trying to put myself in a position where I still had clear access to his right temple, while also having access to my fleeting escape towards the emergency exit. About twenty-five feet and five Marines stood between me and the door.
I was wearing my Danner boots. Despite their excellent comfort and quality, they were not designed for sprinting. I have also never been known for my speed or nimbleness. Like I said, escape would be challenging, but not impossible.
“You guys go home and we’ll see you at zero-six for PT tomorrow morning.”
“Aye sergeant, have a good night.”
One moment I was standing behind him contemplating how to force my pen through his skull. The next moment he was dismissing us and I was exiting the room thinking about what the chow hall was going to be serving. Homicide was no longer on my mind.
Sigmund Freud was a greatly respected psychologist. His theory of psycho-sexual stages of development is one of the most famous, if not the most famous, psychoanalytic theories. One element missing from this theory is the desire to punch your psychology professor in the face after learning about Freud and his theories. I don’t think that that’s part of anybody’s theories.
I enjoyed learning about Freud. About the same time I learned about him, I also learned about B.F. Skinner and the famous Skinner Boxes. I was intrigued by these gentlemen, which led me to pursue my professor after class one day to engage in further conversation about them.
This was the same professor I had the prior semester for Intro to Psychology. I enjoyed that class, so I figured I would fulfill my other university mandated psychology requirement with her Developmental Psychology course the following semester. I liked how she taught and I knew how she tested. I enjoyed the few instances I spoke with her outside of class. I liked her class and I liked her as a person. I had no reason to have any feelings of malice towards her.
As I approached her I smiled, and my mind raced with questions I had formulated during class. As I managed to get the first question out of my mouth and she began to answer me, my mind shifted to an inner monologue rather than the conversation we were having.
Now, this wasn’t an inner monologue similar to the type JD has on the TV show, Scrubs. I wish it were that innocent and funny. However, my inner monologue was a constant repetition of a scene from my favorite Gerard Butler movie, Law Abiding Citizen.
In that specific scene, Gerard’s character Clyde and his cellmate are sitting in their cell. Clyde is eating food that was recently delivered to his cell as a part of a deal. He turns to his cellmate and says, “I suppose if I don’t share this you’re gonna-,”
The cellmate finishes Clyde’s sentence by saying, “I’m gonna get the fuck up, cock back my right hand, then I’m gonna split your whole fuckin skull in two.”
This scene in my head eventually parlayed into a vision of my right hand cocking back with the intention of punching my professor in the face. The conversation happening between us about Freud and Skinner became fruitless. My mind no longer had intentions of learning anymore. I waited for her to finish as I fought with my thoughts, and I got out of there as soon as she finished whatever she was telling me.
I would prefer for my inner monologues to be more similar to those of JD’s playful banter and his excursions as flying head doctor. Unfortunately, mine tended to wander from time to time to the absolute darkest corners of my mind. These thoughts of assault and homicide were very few and far between, but they’re still a reality nonetheless. Infrequency doesn’t make reality any better that if I ever lose control of my thoughts, I am aware that I am of capable destroying my own life or somebody else’s in one swift punch or swing of my arm.
I’m 99.9% certain I would never act on these thoughts. However, like condoms and hand sanitizer, there’s always that 0.1% chance that is left unaccounted for. I have discussed these thoughts at length with my therapist and she agrees with me I am in complete control of these thoughts. Knowing that I’m in control of these thoughts, and having a medical professional agree with me, offers me a very slight level of reassurance and comfort. I should place an emphasis on the “very slight”. I would be much more reassured and comforted if I didn’t have these thoughts at all. They’d be much easier to deal with.
However, this is not the case and it’s something I have to deal with. Unfortunately, we do not know for sure where these thoughts stem from, but both my therapist and the PA that I see for my medication have attributed these thoughts as a byproduct of my anxiety. Sans any other obvious explanation, I’m inclined to agree with them.
When I think about anxiety and where it causes suffering, I often think first of the typical situations you might attribute to somebody who deals with anxiety. Being too nervous to raise your hand in class. Sitting in your car in the store parking lot because you’re too nervous to go in, and because you’re afraid of the conversations you may have to have with the clerk or other store patrons. Planning a lunch with a friend and attempting to plan out the entire course of conversation beforehand to avoid potential silence, which you know you will assume is awkward and your fault, thus making you more nervous and forcing you deeper into your shell. Waking up at two in the morning and not being able to fall back asleep because you’re nervous about what you’re going to have for lunch next Saturday.
Thinking of homicide and assault are hopefully not a normal byproduct of others’ anxiety, but they are of mine, so I’m adding them to the list. If we want to remove the negative stigmas associated with mental health conditions such as anxiety, we have to realize the situations I presented above could be a reality for a lot of people and they’re not just things they can “just not think about” or “not be so nervous about.”
Like my thoughts of harming others, anxiety creates byproducts that cannot always be controlled. They exist and sometimes we don’t know why they exist. We try to make them go away. And sometimes it doesn’t work. From my experience, any attempt to eradicate these thoughts often leads me to spin into more feelings of anxiety and puts me into an anxious spiral.
Please understand mental health issues are not a choice and that people who earnestly have anxiety or depression are not seeking attention or having symptoms for fun. Do you think I enjoyed having to walk out of class because my heart was beating at the same pace as a sprinter’s after finishing a 400 meter dash simply because I thought of a good question to ask and thought about raising my hand? I didn’t actually ask the question. I just thought about it and that caused my heart to go crazy because I was so nervous.
Living in perpetual fear of conversation with others because you aren’t able to pre-plan the conversation or because you may have a fierce desire to assault them isn’t fun. It’s something you would think that no human being would have to deal with. Unfortunately, we exist. Please don’t judge us for having to deal with something we can’t control.
“I will break free from walls that surround me, I’m sick of this feeling, I will break free from you.”
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