Daniel Ramirez

February 8, 2017
Composition 1
Mrs. Scaife

Trying to Control the Uncontrollable

Why not? My anger throughout my lifetime has impacted me in ways that have molded me into

the person that I am today. It has caused me to do things I never would do, causing me to not

think rationally, lose friends, and get very violent.

To understand me and my anger we have to start at the beginning. First of all, my

Grandfather. Why my grandfather you may ask? Well my grandfather was a very strict and

corporal punishment, more like beat the snot out of you, kind of guy. My father got beat almost

every day by his father. Now my dad is not much of a talker, however, he has expressed to me

numerous times about all the stuff hes had to go through in his life and dealing with his fathers

anger. The littlest things would tick him off. Sadly my father developed the same thing, that

disease, anger. I thought maybe I would break the trend, but sadly, I couldn't.

Like father, like son. That's a phrase I've heard my whole life. Everyone I know that has

been around me as well as my dad has always talked and talked and talked about how much I am

just like him. Now don't get me wrong, he has a lot of nice qualities that I am thankful for having

as well, for example, well-mannered, social, honest, and hardworking. But just like a priceless

artifact, it may have all these great qualities but if it has a stain on it, no matter what you do, it

will never get off, then it's ruined.

one. How? Well, I was the youngest in my family, just like my father in his and my grandfather

in his, and as the youngest you usually get picked on by your older siblings. One day I snapped

and had enough. I remember getting so mad that I started to shake. I clinched my fist, my nostrils

were flaring, my eyes starting to squint as if the only thing I could see was rage. I walked up to

my older cousin and just punched him. He was much larger than me. I was small, and he was 5

years older. Obviously he got mad and tried to fight back but what I had that gave me the

advantage was anger and thus causing pure adrenaline to circulate throughout my body and

nothing or nobody would stop me. My father had to come in to get me off of him and obviously I

got disciplined but I didn't care because for the first time I felt powerful, and I wanted more.

I was always a nice kid, I always got A honor roll at school, I minded my own business, was

always respectful, etc. There was something about my physical appearance though, I was small. I

was smaller than just about everyone I knew. My family gave me the nickname Enano due to

my size and height. It means shorty. I never was bullied at any time in my life. I was well liked

and, I hate this term but, a popular person. Why is this important? Well, teachers loved me due

to the earlier reasons which became important to letting me get away with my aggressive

behavior. If it was me and another student and I had said I was just defending myself then they

would automatically believe me. The more I got away with it, the more I wanted to do it.

My first fight happened in fourth grade. Lunch had just finished and all the kids were allowed

to go outside for recess. It was just an ordinary day, it was beautiful outside, the sky was as clear

and sunny and wonderfully blue as ever. Kids were expelling all the energy they had, everyone

was laughing and having a good time. Well not everyone. One kid, I don't remember his name,

was getting bullied. No teachers were around so I decided to try to help. I tried to calm the
situation by talking it out but it was evident pretty fast that talking to Victor, the guy who's

bullying the other kid, was going in through one ear and just as quickly leaving the other ear. It

was useless. Victor was very large. I remember him wearing size 11 shoes. He was twice my

size, at least. He then made a mistake that he would soon regret, he pushed me. Instantly, even

though he had not picked on me for years like my siblings had, I became angered just like I was

the day I hit my brother. Victor was much bigger than me, which I love taking on people that are

larger in size. Unlike the suggestion his name makes, I won the fight and again that sense of

invincibility was poured all over me. But even Superman has his weaknesses.

Fighting never solves anything. Violence is never the answer. Two other statements I

have constantly heard throughout my life and again I beg to differ. Sometimes violence is

necessary. If the United States would not have stepped in in World War II imagine how much

different the world would have become. I know that world altering political wars is a huge

stretch versus comparing anger and fighting however in my head they were the same. Except the

war I was fighting was the one raging within myself.

I interviewed Devin Page (name has been altered to protect confidentiality). He is one of my

closest friends. We basically raised up together. He was a sweet kid, but sensitive. My father

always told me never start a fight, but always be the one to finish it. I tried to teach that to

Devin. It worked, but sadly, too well. In the interview he told me about how just last month he

got so mad that he started punching the wall (which I have done many times throughout my life)

and by the time his anger stopped he looked at his knuckles and they were completely busted

open and bleeding. I remember the video he had sent me. His knuckles were bright red as a sign

of fresh blood. It was dripping slowly down his fingers as his hand was trembling while having a
clinched fist. It wasn't trembling out of being scared but because of the adrenaline coursing

through his veins (I knew the feeling all too well).

In 2010, I was diagnosed with severe chronic depression. It affected my everyday life. It was

almost impossible to even do anything or talk with anyone. The only thing that would make me

feel better was anger. The difference? You can dwell on sadness. Sadness lingers and it

dominates your thoughts. Anger? I had no thoughts. It only lasts for a short while and then it's

gone. However, no thoughts means no reasoning, and no reasoning meant that whatever actions I

made I would have to deal with the consequences once my mind returned to my body. That

included the loss of friends and broken relationships.

My friend also told me about his struggle with depression. We have grown up together. In

a sense, I see him as a brother. Over the years, he has found an outlet. His outlet has been

painting. I am somewhat jealous of this because I was never good at painting or anything

visually art related. I do, however, enjoy writing poetry and writing stories. He tells me that

painting does not always help but it does allow the anger and depression to settle just enough to

be controlled. He still gets upset but he no longer has spontaneous outbursts.

I never found an outlet. Every time I tried it wouldn't work. I wanted to go into boxing but my

father wouldn't allow it. I wanted to get into football but my school didn't have a football

program. These were my attempts at trying to control the uncontrollable but sadly with no avail,

at least not yet. August 2014 I had found my outlet. Her name is Taylor. She helped me a lot.

Sure there had been other females before her but she was the only one I had fallen in love with

(and to this day I still am). Whatever she wanted I would strive to do, and yes that includes

sacrificing my sense of power for her. She taught me that I didnt need to fight. Whenever I got

mad and began to get mad she would look at me. I hated the way she would look at me. It was
almost as if she was disappointed. I have become so addicted to getting mad that it is almost like

a drug in a way. So when I got mad and wanted to fight, she would look at me in a way, as if

almost to say Really Daniel? This again? You couldnt help yourself, could you? I would feel

ashamed and I would try to maintain calm as possible...for her. Love is the most powerful drug

of them all. I wonder what would happen if she was no longer around. Would I relapse?

Now, years later, I like to think I have gotten better. However, just like life-long diseases, you

can treat it but itll always be in you, ready to show its ugly face and harm you and the ones you

love. I still suffer with it and the littlest things make it want to come out but I do not allow them.

I always laugh because I find it funny how it's more exhausting holding it in then letting it out. I

never truly understood the quote The bigger man walks away. When I would hear that I would

just think of a coward. But no, actually it is very hard to stop letting your emotions control your

actions way more than you think. Have you ever done things out of emotion but didn't mean to

do them? Can you imagine what its like to live with it every single day? I do. Will I end up like

my father? Will my son turn out to be like me? The only answer is, well have to wait and see.

The one slow to anger is better than a mighty man, and the one controlling his temper than one

conquering a city. Proverbs 16:32

Paige, Devin. Personal interview. February 1, 2017.