THE SCREAMING IN MY HEAD

I’m listening to someone explain or complain, lecture or pontificate, or just ask
stupid questions. “Fool, fool, fool,” I mutter under my breath. Then, the screaming
inside my head starts. I obviously do not suffer fools gladly. I do suffer from the
screaming inside my head.

Other people cannot hear the screaming. I usually do not look like I’m hearing screaming either. I usually look like a somewhat grumpy senior citizen – a fairly quiet, somewhat grumpy, senior citizen. I think the screamer has always been there, sitting in judgment on my fellow man. It’s automatic. I don’t remember turning it on, so I don’t know how to turn it off. Personally, I’m used to it by now, but knowing about it might help others understand why I tend to avoid social gatherings and people in general

In high school I often zinged fellow classmates with stinging remarks. I thought I was just being clever until a friend warned me: “If you don’t stop being so sarcastic you’ll end up with no friends at all.” At home both my mother and grandmother would say, “If you can’t say something nice, then don’t say anything at all.” So, I didn’t. I didn’t say anything at all much of the time. Ultimately I developed a reputation in the family for being “silent and sullen.”

I’ve been wondering why I have the screamer in my head, and think I’ve pretty
well figured it out. It comes from too many years of not complaining in situations where
complaint was called for -- too many years making the best of unacceptable things -- too
many times where I made excuses for bad behavior both my own and that of others. Too
many times when I was trying to be nice, and stifled myself (and my true feelings), lest I be rude to family, friend or stranger.

I once made the mistake of mentioning the screaming in my head to a table of
cousins at a family reunion. Louise, who has a mean streak, made wisecracks at my
expense. Harriet was curious and kept asking me if it was happening “right now?” Her no-win question was really annoying. If I said “no” she might assume she wasn’t a fool. If I said “yes” she might assume I thought she was a fool. I finally learned to deflect that kind of question by saying “not yet” with a hint of warning in my voice.

Ruth, who tends to be compassionate, asked, “Does it hurt?”

“Only when I laugh,” I said trying to turn it into a joke.

I keep wondering if I had told Louise she was rude and offensive, and told Harriett her question was insensitive at best, and told Ruth, “yes, it hurts,” if those expressed truths might have diminished the screaming in my head.

But here I am years later still afflicted by a grudging niceness in the presence of others. And still afflicted by screaming in my head.