Week 27 - the exercise

In the rush I forgot to complete this week's exercise, so here it is:

Create a scenario that arouses real anger in a character from your book or take one of your convictions and give it to one of your characters.

Intriguingly anger is an emotion that I have spent the past few weeks looking at.  It's proposed as being one of the core emotions of a human being along with fear and love.  I didn't really see myself as angry when I first came into AA but I am starting realise how much of it I am sitting on.  Anyway on with the exercise, let's give some anger to Frankie and see how she gets on.....

Version 1:
Frankie was furious, how dare Mac accuse her of being selfish, and as for taking the family on an emotional roller-coaster, what the hell was he talking about.  She picked up the bottle of wine and flung the cork across the kitchen.  Pouring herself a large glass, her body seethed as his words rolled around her head.  He had absolutely no idea what she had gone through for him.  This was most certainly not the life she had wanted and it most certainly was not on a plate.  She took a swig from the glass, still fuming and walked into the lounge, bottle in hand.  Standing in front of the fireplace, she looked at herself in the mirror.  'Who does he think he is, talking to me like that,' she said to her reflection.  'He talks to me as if I was a 4 year old, let him talk to Finn like that but not to me, I'm not standing for it.'  Another mouthful of wine and, putting the bottle on the mantelpiece, she walked across the room.  Her head continued to pound, her breathing deepening as she paced the room.
'Never has this been about me, everything has always been for everyone else.  Moving up here, buying this house, never having a moment for myself, how could this possibly be about me.'  As the wine flowed through her, she began to calm down, each mouthful quickly followed by another, the second glass disappearing as quickly as the first.  She sat down on the sofa and pulled her knees up to her chest.  She was right, as always and one day he would see that, that much she knew.

Version 2:
This wasn't how it was supposed to be, what have I done?  I look up from the kettle and, getting a mug from the cupboard, make myself a cup of tea.  It wasn't supposed to be like this, I wasn't supposed to be on my own with a child, without a job, without a husband, why should I have this, it's not fair.

As I write this, I realise that feeling angry is hard.  I want her to storm around the room, to throw the glass, to shout at her reflection, to slam the bottle on the table and yet it's all so contained.  It's as if she can't let go.  Or, is it that I can't let go?  What am I afraid of, what will happen if the cracks appear, if the heavens opened, if the rains came down.  What will it be?  Don't get me wrong, I can be angry.  I have shouted at my children, I have stormed out of the house and while sober too.  I have been absolutely livid, unable to step back from the volume that erupts from my mouth, unable to stop myself from reacting.  But is that real anger or something else? I don't know, guess that's why I'm looking at it.