A Dose Of Road Rage Exposes My Fault Lines

After eleven hours on the road, albeit a smooth enough 685km (428m) journey from the lovely Herefordshire market town of Ross-on-Wye, I indicated left and turned off the busy A82 into the short lane which led down to the Corran Ferry slipway. The queue of traffic already waiting for the short ferry crossing was almost to the top of the road and I saw I would have to pull in tightly to the rear of the car in front of me to allow other vehicles following me to join the queue. I noticed I should really make my way into the three overspill queue lanes but my access to these was blocked by the car in front, I could reach them without mounting the rough grass verge. Since the ferry had just arrived and was discharging its load, I surmised the queue would soon move forward as our vehicles were subsequently loaded.

The first vehicles off the small ferry were two huge yellow Highland Council road works vehicles, the front one of these obviously containing molten tar because of the signs to be aware of hot liquid the other loaded with grit. These two trucks pulled up to the junction with the A82 and looking in my mirrors I could see a large queue of traffic had formed because of the ferry queue spilling onto the main trunk road. This is the moment I realised it was up to me to move into the overspill queue lanes to ease this pressure but couldn’t do so without mounting the verge. Suddenly feeling indecisive I faltered and hoped the queue ahead of me would soon begin to move as cars were loaded onto the ferry. Looking in my wing mirror again I saw the driver of the first Highland Council climb out of his cab and walk with purpose towards our car. His face was thunderous and I knew with a sickening swoop in my stomach he was about to confront me.

In a matter of seconds he was on our car, thumping furiously on the roof and slapping my driver’s window, all the while screaming at me to “Move my fucking car into the overspill lane! - You fucking cunt of an idiot!” His rage was uncontrolled and for a brief second I wondered if he were about to wrench my driver’s door open and haul me out of my seat. He didn’t of course but he did move round to the bonnet of our car, continuing to thump on the bodywork and scream abuse at me.

Now, I am no wall flower and I have a temper too. In these split seconds my rage surged with indignation and with our eyes fiercely locking I flashed two fingers at him and shouted back “Fuck off you wanker!” No sooner I had expostulated these unhelpful words, Karen calmly suggested I calm myself and do as he was saying. It all happened so fast. I managed to pull our car up onto the verge and drive into the overspill lane but no other cars followed me so I stopped. As soon as I did this, this bulk of a man bore bore on our car again, his bunched fists readying themselves for more than thumping our body work. I prepared myself to get out of the car and face him, such was my anger too. I knew I wouldn’t have stood a chance in a physical confrontation but I’m not fearful of such things.

Suddenly the traffic queue began to move off smoothly and with a look of surprise (and maybe it was disappointment) the raging Highland Council roads operative turned away as I re-joined the queue. The ragefully angry situation was over and traffic was running again.

We were silent in the car, Karen thoughtfully allowing me to fume in silence as I brought myself down to a relative sense of calm. A few minutes later we spoke and both agreed that the man had been unpleasant and needn’t have been so aggressive in pointing out to us that it was our fault there was a queue of traffic forming. As is my wont, I mull experiences like these over and wonder what I could have done differently. It was obvious I should have not dithered when I saw the need for us to drive into the overspill queue lane and I ought to have forced my way through. Doing so would have set the precedent and the traffic stopping queue would not have formed and the Highland Council employee would not have become enraged, I berated myself for my indecision and concluded I had been at fault and suitably chastised myself.

The journey home continued without incident and after just missing the the ferry from Lochaline to Fishnish on Mull, we were home in Tobermory an hour later than planned. The whole journey had taken twelve hours and I was bushed.

Fast forward a day or so after this event and I find myself in an unhappy state. I’m indecisive and my thinking is overly self-critical. I have little goodwill to show myself and I ferociously berate any silly mistake I make. My general mood is low and I find myself cogitating over recent mistakes and a general sense I am simply not good enough. This self-belief of being a useless individual is pretty much a constant in my life. Recently through wonderfully successful therapeutic support I have come to understand more about this belief and its falsehoods but it is deeply ingrained and it doesn’t take much for it to dominate my sense of being.

We had spent the previous week with my parents which was a lovely family event. It was wonderful for us to spend time together after the deprivations of shared contact for over 18 months due to the pandemic and we were royally hosted as is my parents’ wont. I gave up thinking of my waistline and acceded to the offers of platefuls of good food and copious glasses of beer and whisky. The problem with me though, is I find it very difficult to see myself as being someone of worth and most certainly I believe myself to be an inadequate son who has let the family down. I won’t list my litany of perceived failures here, suffice to say, I feel dreadful much of the time when I think of the opportunities for different pathways I let slip by me and deep regret with some of the choices I instead made. I feel deep shame a lot of the time.

Now, you mustn’t imagine I live my life outwardly morose, always opining my sad lot in life. Quite the opposite. These self-critical views I hold on myself are largely masked and I successfully present myself as the cheeky chappie, devil may care, adventurous son, brother, uncle and dad that my family often see me as. Admittedly during this last week, this veneer has been fragilely thin and a few times I let my mask slip and presented myself as an easily injured individual, but on the whole, I think I kept my fragility intact and certainly out of sight.

Now I am home, I find myself fighting off a deepening bout of gloominess where I begin to hate myself and all that I do. I sense depression beginning to loom and I notice I’m thinking of suicide again. I’m certainly not at the level where I fear for my safety, but I realise my thinking is drifting in this direction. I have strategies to combat this deepening low and I have a ‘safe plan’ which I willingly refer to when I find my mood noticeably dipping. Generally a good dose of ‘Nature Cure’ is all that is required to set me back on track again. A few nights away camping and exploring with my kayak works wonders. However, I’m at a point where I find it difficult to allow myself the ‘luxury’ of getting away in my kayak. You see, I’ve been away for a week, I’ve not created any jewellery and I’ve not made any sales. I have to work and work hard! After all, I can see I’m not very good at what I do and I need to get better through hard work and determination. Do you see how easy it is for me to criticise myself?

Writing this has helped me. In doing so I have faced many of the negative beliefs I hold about myself and understand these to be manifestations of both my depression and my unfair self-criticalness. However, I find myself going back to one moment in time and angrily telling myself - “You should have pulled into the overspill lane and then none of these feelings of crapness would be happening!”

“It’s your fault!”

“You are a useless individual!”

So my story continues. My recovery from my depression is not straightforward, no matter how ebulliently I may present myself. I’m in a constant flow of self-query and self-awareness. The general direction is one of happy positivity and as I write those words, I know this to be true. It’s just sometimes my negative self becomes dominant enough to remind me of where I have come from and where I might end up again if I do not take care of myself.

I am determined this will not happen.