I have 16 years worth of "he's a controlling jerk" stories from my marriage. I was so relieved when that divorce was final and I had a chance to start over and gain control of my own life - FINALLY! Last summer, when he somehow successfully snagged a serious girlfriend, I went OUT OF MY MIND with rage - that hot girl was in MY house, petting MY dog and how could HE find someone to love when I couldn't and he's rich and I'm poor and life's not fair, wahhhhh! I drove by the house several times a day, used my garage door opener in the middle of the night, searched through the house when he wasn't there, called at half-hour increments, googled his girlfriend, then called and drove by HER house. My anger was consuming me.
After three weeks at this grueling pace of frantic behavior, I agreed to a pool party (yeah, 'cause even psychos need a day off). All day with lots of beer, splashing and sun, my pain and rage were temporarily numbed. I followed the advice in a Supertramp song, and took the long way home, driving by the ex's house out of habit by this time, when I had a brainstorm: I'll STEAL the dog out of the backyard! She loves me more, and he doesn't deserve her! Drama-filled phone calls followed when he noticed she was gone so he called to fight about dog custody (tell me: WHY argue with a drunk woman? Do you think I'm going to suddenly think like a rational human being?). I also vaguely remember calling his girlfriend and rambling on to her answering machine about the fact that she was white trash. I'm quite intimidating with a drunken slur, let me tell you.
The next morning, I was in bed (petting my dog, heh) when my heart started palpitating. No biggee, I'm used to it, it's happened all my life. My arms went numb and I started to worry a little but decided to give it another 10 minutes just to see if it would stop. It didn't. I drove myself to the hospital a few miles away (and repeatedly got bitched out about this, but I have crappy insurance) and could barely talk at this point. After an hour in the E.R. with a heart rate of over 240 bpm, they injected something to make my heart stop and start some sort of normal rhythym...twice! I'm in my THIRTIES!!
Maybe the events are unrelated. Maybe it was a coincidence. But until you're in my shoes, or my hospital gown with hangover hair and your heart stopped, crying with waterproof mascara clumping around your eyes, please don't ask me to hold onto anger any longer than I have to.