Rage Inside Your Machine: How Your Brain Makes You Mad
It’s a combination of nature and nurture that prompts your triggers
“The best way to control your anger is to control your body.” — Jiu Jitsu Master Rickson Gracie to Edward Norton (as Dr. Bruce Banner) in the 2008 film, The Incredible Hulk.
Bill Bixby terrified me. He’s the actor who played Dr. David Bruce Banner on the 70’s tv show, The Incredible Hulk. Bixby was a harmless looking guy, but when he’d flash those white pupils — signaling the surge in hormones that were about to transform him — I’d shit myself. The transition from man to monster, the anticipation of the horror that awaited, the build up to the inevitable carnage and destruction scared me to death. When the mild mannered scientist changed into his green alter ego, his brow widened, skin turned bright green and clothes tore from the out of control growth of his freakish muscles (while his pants always ended up making the perfect pair of shorts). Frightening.
I’d hide behind the couch whenever someone pissed Dr. Banner off. My older brother and sister thought it was hilarious, but I dreaded that moment. It reminded me that we lived with our own version of the Hulk.
My father, a giant in my eyes, would go from doting dad to terror inducing tormentor in a flash. He was the scariest monster I knew — I’d hide under desks and fake Illnesses when I knew he was angry. Given the choice, I would have taken my chances with Dr. Banner or the devil himself over my dad’s fury.
I thought I had inherited my father’s anger. Certainly, genetics played a part, but rage had also been programmed into me — to deal with a loud voice with a louder one. To conquer violence with violence. To shout down dissent in my own defense.
I worked my entire life to overcome what I and those around me deemed an anger management issue. It wasn’t frequent, but it was more intense than anyone was used to seeing. Level ten anger for a level four problem. The kind of anger that makes people of all ages want to hide under desks or behind couches.
Was I just mimicking what I’d learned as a kid? Did the build up I felt that led to the eventual eruption signify a flaw in my makeup or morality? Was I just an angry, abusive asshole at heart? All the therapy, books and lectures hadn’t helped. I still didn’t have control!
I’ve spent three decades searching for the source and solution for the anxiety and depression that made so many of my days miserable. I never examined the anger itself. The intense, rage filled outbursts I experienced were how everyone expressed anger in our home. I just happened to be the most intense of us all. I thought level ten anger was normal.
But it never felt good afterwards — I’d be exhausted. Not the good kind of exhausted, like after a grueling workout or savage sex. More like when Banner was just waking up, clothes shredded but somehow still on him, — fearful that he may have done some irreparable damage. I’d be groggy, sometimes in tears, breathing hard, wondering how my temper had gotten away from me again.
I ruined more than one Thanksgiving, pooped on plenty of parties and played the role of Debbie Downer on more occasions than I care to remember. Sure, the triggers were there, but my reactions were so unbelievably over the top that I was too embarrassed to go back and apologize — even though I always wanted to. Worst of all, the people I lost it on were often the ones I loved the most.
In my fits of anger, I became the meanest version of my father. Eyes bulging from his skull (partially because of his chronic thyroid condition), neck and forehead veins threatening to burst, a primal snarl through clenched teeth. Then, a voice louder than the horn on a battleship — violent anger punctuating every decibel.
I’d punch walls or bash my own head against the nearest hard surface when I got angry. I’ve broken furniture, thrown appliances and crushed wine glasses in my hand at restaurants. The rage would only last for about twenty minutes — three or four episodes a year. The rest of the time, I was a tree hugging hippy at heart who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Not Me
That’s why it killed me so much each time I lost control. I wanted to be kind, and I knew what it felt like to be around someone scary. It sucked. Being on edge, walking on eggshells to avoid the explosions. Constant tension.
Some of my jiu jitsu buddies once nicknamed me “Buddha” because I appeared to be meditating when I sparred. They said that it seemed like I could take a nap in the middle of a match. On the days when I felt at peace, I conquered my internal demons by being calm in the face of physical conflict. In real life, when anxiety would hit, the reverse was true. Facing no real threat, fear would grip my body, and I would either whither away or explode to defend myself from an imaginary adversary.
My reactions were over the top because I felt so vulnerable. It always seemed that my mom was afraid I’d get hurt as a kid. I remember stories about how my family almost lost me as a baby or how my aunt saved me from certain death somehow. I felt weak and fragile. Seeing violence break out nearly every day on the streets of my childhood neighborhood only made the fear more real. Whether in a classroom, on the bus or in the bedroom I shared with my volatile older brother, I always had to be on my toes.
It’s no accident that I became a champion bodybuilder and martial artist. Though I wanted to focus on academics, I knew I couldn’t just rely on my mind. I needed to look strong. I needed to be confident in a fight. I didn’t want to be bothered and I didn’t want to be scared anymore. Back then, I didn’t know that it’s normal to be afraid before a fight. I thought there was something wrong with me because of it, so I worked to make that feeling go away.
But the extreme, explosive anger I exhibited as a one-hundred-thirteen pound thirteen year old boy was the same I expressed in my twenties. I had grown into a two-hundred -fifty pound ball of muscle by then, and my devastating bite could be even worse than my terrifying bark. On the inside I was the same fragile person I had always been. To anyone that saw me angry, I was a scary beast.
Looking For Peace
So, like Dr. Banner seeking out Rickson Gracie to calm his inner animal, I sought peace through activity and non-activity. I gained more control over the outbursts. But when I began having episodes on days that I stuck to my rituals and felt good, I knew there had to be more to my anger than self-control. Until then, I had only addressed the depression and anxiety that I experienced since childhood. I had never looked at the anger directly, or at how it made me feel about myself.
Uncontrollable anger was the source of a lot of my shame. Self-control was always what I was after — the freedom to not be a slave to emotion. The power to never instill the kind of fear in another person that my father instilled in me. When I failed to control my anger, it was as if I devolved into my genetic predecessor — morphing into my father despite my best efforts — as if I didn’t have a choice. All the hard work of a lifetime would be gone in a burst of rage.
The realization that this anger persists under the surface inspired me to examine it beyond my triggers, or the deeply personal meanings I’ve attached to them. Rather than only experiencing and then lamenting these explosive outbursts, I wanted to understand why they happened. To do so would take being honest with myself about the circumstances surrounding triggering episodes, as well as a firmer grasp of the general causes of anger. This process has helped me to step outside my anger for the first time, depersonalizing the rage and allowing me to observe it from a distance.
I could finally understand how incredibly out of proportion my reactions were once I reexamined the triggers with my rational mind. This was aided by the fact that my latest episode took place in a hotel room covered in mirrors. I was forced to watch myself go through the entire thing. I had never seen my face — my eyes — at level ten anger. I think I may have scared myself straight.
Observing yourself in an explosive anger episode will either drive you deep into a depressive hole or kick you in the ass to figure out why you can’t seem to keep yourself together. This time, I berated myself for a day before deciding to figure out what was going on in my head, so that I could fix it.
Getting in Your Own Head
The shameful hangover that persists after an episode of explosive rage will only go away when failure to self-regulate isn’t simply labeled a lack of discipline. Subconsciously reprogramming limiting beliefs that have kept you stuck in negative patterns is critical for change, but so is identifying the physiological markers of anger that serve to prep you for confrontation. Knowing that there is more happening in your head than meets the eye gives you an enormous advantage in correcting emotional disregulation. Only then can you train yourself to recognize when you need to course correct , shutting down your body’s irrational reaction before it gets out of hand.
While traditional therapy and behavioral modification may be key in recovery, ignoring the chemical component of explosive anger is discounting the twisted scaffolding on which the ego is built. Brain function is the invisible variable that turns some of us from Jekyll to Hyde — Banner to Hulk.
There are two parts of your noggin that are key in processing anger:
- The Anterior Cingulate Cortex has connections to both the prefrontal cortex (reasoning) and the limbic system (emotion).
- The Amygdala — made up of almond shaped clusters inside the temporal lobes — is also a part of the limbic system, which governs emotion.
An inactive Anterior Cingulate Cortex or an overactive Amygdala can both lead to poor decision making and antisocial behavior .
The Anterior Cingulate Cortex (ACC) regulates rational cognitive function. This area of the brain affects decision making, empathy, impulse control, and reward anticipation. It connects your emotions to your actions and intercedes by considering the repercussions when your lizard brain wants to impulsively lash out at someone or something.
According to leading ADHD researcher Dr. Russel Barkley, clinical professor of psychiatry at the VCU Medical Center, the ACC does nothing in ADHD brains. There is no stopping to self-regulate the emotional state — no holding you back from making decisions that could be detrimental to a future you’re incapable of imagining.
Because ADHD is a failure of the inhibition system, Barkley says it’s critical to decouple events from responses. This can only happen when you stop and engage the prefrontal cortex to devise rational responses to triggers. Acting on impulse can be disastrous.
What Barkley describes as a “nearsightedness in time” leaves those with ADHD blind to the future. Unable to anticipate the consequences of their actions and incapable of self-regulation, they often impulsively act out against their own long term self interest. This can sometimes have severe financial, social and legal consequences.
Barkley suggests designing “prosthetic environments” to elicit behavior modification and assist in self-regulation. By externalizing pieces of information with hand written or electronic notes and reminders, envisioning future events and the sequence in which they should take place becomes easier.
In their book, Nudge, Nobel prize winning economist Richard H. Thaler and Cass R Sunstein describe the vast number of ways our decisions can be influenced by subtle suggestions. Strategically placing reminders to curtail or reinforce behavior, building in immediate rewards and consequences, and manually problem solving whenever possible can prop up executive function and lead to better decision making and fewer outbursts.
While the ACC takes into account consequences, the amygdala is a group of structures in the brain that process strong emotions, particularly fear — provoking an automatic fight or flight response.
Emotional Highjacking
Amygdala hijack (a term coined by psychologist Daniel Goleman) occurs when the amygdala disables the frontal lobes (which govern reason and higher level cognition) and limits some unessential functions in order to prepare the body for conflict.
Stress hormones flood your system, pupils dilate, your heart races, blood vessels constrict and pressure rises. While being on high alert is helpful when facing life or death situations, putting your body through the emotional ringer on a regular basis due to everyday stress will break you down mentally and physically.
Setting off this chemical dance are the triggers that sit atop the surface of your mind like land mines hastily planted by everyone you’ve ever known — buried under all the shit you only think you remember. The stories you tell yourself set off a tingling sensation when someone reminds you of what you don’t want to be. Your thoughts travel and the feeling in your body transports you to a different time and place. The explosions go off, cortisol and adrenaline flood your system and you react as if you are there again.
Individuals with Intermittent Explosive Disorder (IED) exhibit repeated, explosive, sudden episodes of rage that are drastically out of proportion to the trigger. These outbursts can manifest as verbal or physical abuse, destruction of property or personal harm. A study published in the journal Neuropsychopharmacology looked at brain scans of patients with IED. Researchers found that the white matter connecting the frontal lobe (decision making, emotion, understanding consequences) and the parietal lobe (language and sensory input) had less integrity and density than in healthy brains or those with other psychiatric disorders.
With what is essentially the wiring between these two regions of the brain damaged, communication becomes limited. Unable to take in all the information available, you only hear the things that confirm the irrational notions of your lizard brain. Everything becomes an attack. You are looking for the insult that will reinforce the shitty way you feel about yourself. Acting as if everyone is out to get you will miraculously make people want to stay away.
It’s All Perspective
In her book, The Upside of Anger, Dr. Kelly McGonigal argues that it’s our own interpretation of stress that turns it negative. McGonigal says that if we view stress as our body’s way of preparing us for whatever comes next, a rapid pulse can mean excitement instead of fear. McGonigal’s research shows that this shift in perspective leads to physiological changes. Blood vessels no longer violently constrict when the heart pumps faster.
However, the organ itself is still fed more nutrients, making it stronger. As in the physical stress put on your body when you exercise, as long as you do not overtrain, the increased demand over time creates greater capacity. According to Dr. McGonigal, a heart pumping vigorously while blood vessels stay relaxed, “looks like what happens in moments of joy, or courage.”
Meditation is an invaluable tool for transforming your reaction to stress. Dedicating time every day to practicing stillness is the best training for both recognizing the onset of symptoms (by learning to notice subtle changes in your internal state) and shutting down a reaction before any negative physiological effects take hold by instantly being still. Building my meditation muscles before figuring out what was wrong with my wiring helped me find the quiet space between trigger and reaction to perceive my anger differently.
If you see anger as an alarm signaling that some potentially nasty shit is being released into your body, you may pump the breaks when you feel yourself losing control. Doing otherwise is knowingly poisoning yourself. Once you realize what’s happening inside you when you are triggered, you’ll be able to direct the process through conscious attention. The feelings won’t trigger irrational action, but thoughtful consideration. Not only of the steps to take next, but of the source of your emotional response — thereby allowing you to choose to react differently.
When the flutter in your chest and butterflies in your stomach signify fear to your mind, your body will act afraid and your thoughts will race. The bells and whistles that go off under your skin will take on new meaning if you train your body to sit still when your mind wants to sprint. With a little knowledge and a lot of discipline, you can, in the words of the late Ted Cassidy, “control the raging spirit that dwells within.”
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