My mother was addicted to rage. I could not see that as a child. Only now at fifty-three, am I truly able to step back and grasp a sense of the fear that dwelled within her.
Nothing but intense, immutable and raw fear can provoke such undeniable and untenable rage as that which overtook my mother usurped any possibility of experiencing safety and grounding through life and in the world.
Too many times I saw that rage directed at me, felt the heat of its
My mother was not one for sharing when it came to her feelings. She held them close to her chest, if she held them at all. I now realize that much of her existence fought to escape her feelings. My mother could be described as a narcissistic rage addict.
She was heavily addicted to anger, could have
Since learning of the death of Whitney’s Houston death, Saturday, February 11th, 2012, I held little patience with those who expressed sincere shock and amazement that she no longer lived with us in the world of life on planet earth.
Even as our elder daughter posted comments on Facebook offering condolences I cautioned her to not become so caught up in what I termed, “…one more example of the media bastardizing a very real and human loss in the effort to make headlines and money…”
On Monday I zoomed in my criticism on the fact that while people may miss Whitney, no one’s loss could compare with that of her and Bobby Brown’s daughter, Bobbi Kristina.
During the drive to school on the morning of Valentine’s Day, our youngest daughter said,
Dr. Barbara Sinor will discuss her book,”Tales of Addiction and Inspiration for Recovery”.
Visit Barbara’s blog, Inspiriation for Recovery, and at Facebook.
So tune in.