Riding in the Car with Jeremy

Jeremy and I set each other off. That's putting it mildly, actually. I spent much of my early life with my father, whose manic attentions to me came to a head when he was trying to teach me how to drive. I was about 15 when I started, and he continued the fruitless and nightmarish efforts until I was about 18. I never did learn to drive from him because of his bipolar rage. He would go off at me at the slightest hint of indecision or fear, which of course made things much much worse. Consequently, it was not until I was well past 40 that I finally got my license, after several sets of driving lessons, efforts by Richard, and by several friends. It took a while to shake the negative conditioning and associations.
It all seemed to begin again though when I put Jeremy into the car (out of necessity) when he was learning to driving. His front, back, side seat driving intensified until it sounded an awful lot like my father's hectoring. Nothing I did was ever right; he would rage and scream, and it would escalate until he ended up slamming the car door and going into the house, where he would heave huge cartons of Gator Aid across the room and throw all my papers into the air.
This happened again yesterday. This was following a discussion we had last week where he denied that he had rage. As usual, it was all my fault because I set off his anger.
It appears that my efforts to avoid setting off his anger are the very thing that do it. I cannot do anything about that. He just needs medication, and I need to keep him out of my car.