MS Fighter

I’ve always carried anger with me. Long before the diagnosis, before the needles and the scans, before a neurologist ever said you have MS, I was already wired different. Some kids grow up learning patience. Others learn charm. Me? I learned rage. It wasn’t always loud—it wasn’t always fists through walls or shouting matches. Sometimes it was just this constant hum under the skin, like my blood was boiling at a temperature nobody else could feel. I wasn’t the guy who sat back and let life push him around. I fought. In school. In the ring. In the weight room. On the streets. That edge, that aggression—it gave me power. It made me dangerous (or not?). It made me sharp. But it also meant I had to wrestle with myself just as much as I fought the world around ne. So when MS came along, it didn’t make me angry. Don’t get it twisted. I was already carrying that fire. What MS did was add more fuel. The days when your legs don’t work the way they should. The mornings when fatigue clamps down before you’ve even started. The pain that sits in your bones like it owns you. All of it? It just pours gasoline on the fire that was already burning.

And maybe most people won’t say out loud that MS pisses them off, that it’s not fair, that it feels like betrayal. And if you’re fighter by nature—if your DNA is wired for defiance—then MS doesn’t break you quietly. It makes you want to smash something, scream until your lungs give out, or punch the air until your hands bleed.

The world doesn’t like angry men. Society tells us to calm down, or be more mindful, or channel positivity. Fuck that. I don’t believe in pretending. Anger isn’t weakness. Anger isn’t a flaw. Anger is raw energy—neutral until you decide where it goes. You can let it eat you alive from the inside out, or you can forge it into a weapon. And that’s what this post is about. Not burying the fire. Not coping with anger like it’s something to be ashamed of. But grabbing it by the throat and saying you work for me now. Because if you’re going to burn, you might as well use the flames to forge steel. MS gave me more reasons to be pissed off. But it also gave me more reasons to fight. And if you’ve got that same fire inside you, this post is how you turn it into fuel.

The Reality of Anger with MS.

Let’s cut the crap straight away. MS is frustrating. It’s not challenging in some inspirational Instagram quote way. It’s a mindfuck. You wake up some mornings and your legs feel like concrete. Other day you’ve got brain fog so thick you can’t even finish a sentence. Fatigue hits like a freight train when all you did was walk across the damn room. And while everyone else goes about their day, you’re sitting there thinking Why me? Why now? That’s when the anger creeps in. And for me, it didn’t creep—it roared. I was never a calm go with the flow guy to begin with. I’ve always had that aggressive streak, that edge. MS didn’t invent my anger, it just amplified it. Imagine living with a beast inside you your whole life, and then someone comes along and keeps poking it with a stick. That’s MS. It doesn’t create the beast, but it sure as heel keeps it restless. 

Now, a lot of people will tell you anger is bad. That it’s toxic. That you need to soften it, breathe it out, find your inner Zen. I don’t buy it. Anger isn’t evil. Anger is energy—raw, unfiltered, nuclear energy. The problem isn’t anger itself, it’s what you do with it. If you let it rot inside you, it’ll tear you apart. It’ll make you bitter, paranoid, destructive. But if you harness it, if you put reins on out, anger becomes the sharpest blade you’ll ever carry.

And MS? It gives you plenty of material to sharpen that blade. The appointments, the medications, the fatigue that doesn’t give a damn about your plans, the moments when your body betrays you mid-rep or mid-conversation—it all fuels the fire. Every flare-up is like a spark. Every limitation feels like a slap in the face. And the choice is always the same—do you let that slap turn you into a victim, or do you turn around and swing back harder? Here’s that people don’t understand—living with MS is like constantly sparring with an opponent you can’t see. Some days you land the hits. Some days you’re on the ropes. But if you’ve got anger in your arsenal, you’ve got something a lot of people don’t, and that is refusal. Refusal to lay down. Refusal to accept defeat. Refusal to be managed. Anger, when pointed in the right direction, becomes grit, discipline, and an unwillingness to bow down to anything—not even a disease with three fancy syllables.

The reality indeed is that MS will piss you off. And if it doesn’t, you’re lying to yourself. But that’s not weakness. That’s not you failing to cope. That’s proof you’re alive, that you still give a damn. Because the day you stop feeling that fire? That’s the day you’re given up. And that’s not in my blood.

Anger as Energy. Not Poison.

The thing about anger is that most people waste it. They let it eat them alive. They lash out at their wife, their kids, their boss, the guy who cut them off in traffic. They slam doors, punch walls, drink themselves stupid. That’s no strength—that’s weakness disguised as fire. That’s uncontrolled chaos. But when you treat anger like fuel? That’s when the game changes.

I’ve been angry for as long as I can remember. Nit in the I had a bad day at work kind of way. I mean a deep, burning, restless fire inside. The kind of fire that makes you want to hit harder, run faster, lift heavier. MS didn’t start that—it just gave it more targets. Every symptom, every limitation, every piece of medical jargon that told me I should accept my condition only stoked that fire higher. The difference is that I didn’t let it burn me from the inside. I turned it outward. Into training. Into discipline. Into action. When I step under the barbell, that anger is right there with me. It’s not destructive anymore—it’s productive. Every rep is a middle finger to MS. Every round on the heavy bag is me saying I’m still in the fight. That energy that could have poisoned me instead fuels me. And it’s not just about the gym. Anger has become my alarm clock, my accountability partner, my edge. Think about it—most people wait until they feel motivatedto do something. They pray for inspiration to show up. Screw that. I don’t need motivation when I’ve got rage in my back pocket. Rage doesn’t wait for the right mood. Rage doesn’t care if you’re tired. Rage shows up every damn day, and it dares you to do something with it.

And the beauty of it? Anger is renewable. You’ll never run out of things to be pissed at. MS gives you a buffet of reasons daily. You can cry about it, or you can feast on it. Use it to push through the sets you didn’t think you could finish. Use it to get your ass out of bed on the mornings when fatigue tries to chain you down. Use it to sharpen your focus when your brain fog wants to turn you into a zombie. Here’s what I’ve learned—anger is a tool. And like any tool, it depends on who’s holding it. A weak man swings it wildly and hurts everyone around him. A strong man directs it, controls it, and turns it into power. That’s the choice. And living with MS doesn’t take that choice away—it makes it even more vital. So on, I’m not here to tell you to calm down. I’m here to tell you to gear up. If you’ve got fire inside you, stop trying to snuff it out. Channel it. Control it. Direct it like a weapon. Because anger won’t disappear—it’ll either destroy you, or it’ll forge you into someone unstoppable.

Training with Fire. Boxing. Lifting. Discipline.

The gym and the boxing ring were always my laboratories for anger. Before MS, before doctors, before the diagnosis, I was already fighting something inside me. Gloves on my hands, sweat pouring, fists crashing into the heavy bag—I wasn’t just throwing punches. I was unloading years of frustration, rage, and fire I didn’t know where else to put. See, boxing teaches you something most people never learn—anger without control will get you knocked out. You can’t step in the ring and just flail around, swinging wildly because you’re pissed. You’ll gas out in one round, and the guy across from you will eat you alive. To survive, you have to master yourself. You have to take that fire and funnel it into precision, timing, discipline. That’s where anger transforms from a curse into a weapon. And that lesson carried over into every part of my training. When I lift, I don’t lift because I’m motivated. I lift because that fire in me doesn’t shut off. When fatigue wants to put me in the couch, when MS whispers you’re weaker today, I don’t negotiate. I load the bar. I wrap my hands. I lace the gloves. I train because discipline is how I control the blaze.

Training with fire doesn’t mean screaming at the weights or throwing wild haymakers in the gym. It means using the storm inside to move with more purpose. Every rep under the bar is sharpened steel. Every round with the bag is calculated fury. It’s not rage exploding—it’s rage refined. Anger is a better motivator than inspiration. Inspiration is fleeting. It comes and goes like the weather. Anger? Anger stays. It’s always there, simmering, waiting for you to do something with it. And when you step into the gym or the ring, that’s your chance to bleed it out in a way that makes you stronger, not weaker. MS didn’t take boxing from me. It didn’t take lifting either. It made both more meaningful. Because now, every jab, every hook, every rep is about more than just fitness—it’s about survival. It’s about proving to myself and anyone watching, that no matter what this disease throws at me, I’ll still show up swinging. 

Training with fire isn’t about anger controlling me. It’s about me controlling it. Anger is my fuel. Discipline is my steering wheel. Without the discipline, I’d crash. With it, I turn that fire into progress, into strength, into a daily war I keep winning. So when people ask How do you keep training when it’s hard? The answer’s simple—I don’t wait for motivation, I don’t need a pep talk, I’ve got fire in my chest and gloves in my hands. That’s enough for me.

Controlled Chaos. Anger Without Direction Is Destruction.

Anger is like fire. Left unchecked, it doesn’t just burn your enemies—it burns you. I know, because I lived it. Before MS, before the gloves, before I had iron in my hands and structure in my life, I was pure chaos. I was the guy walking around with a fuse that was always lit. One wrong word, one wrong look, and I was ready to explode. That’s the trap of raw anger—it convinces you you’re strong, when in reality, you’re just uncontrolled. And uncontrolled means weak.

Boxing beat that lesson into me. You can’t go into the ring wild, throwing haymakers, thinking rage will carry you. Rage doesn’t last twelve rounds. Rage makes you sloppy. Rage makes you predictable. And predictable fighters don’t win—they get knocked out. The same thing applies to life with MS. If you let anger eat you alive, you lose twice. You lose to the disease, and you lose to yourself. Anger without control makes you reckless. You skip rest days you need. You push through pain until your body gives out. You lash out at the people who actually love you. You torch relationships. You sabotage progress. You confuse movement for growth. When you learn to control chaos, when you take that untamed fire and point it in one direction, you become a weapon. Not a loose cannon, not a ticking bomb—but a sharpened blade. You can cut through fatigue, doubt, fear, and pain, because your anger isn’t running the show anymore. You are.

MS is chaos. It’s unpredictable. It doesn’t fight fair. But if you try to meet that chaos with your own uncontrolled chaos, you’ll drown. Instead, you fight fire with precision fire. You learn when to pull back, when to strike, when to stay calm, when to let the fire cook you into steel instead of ashes. Controlled chaos is the edge. It’s why some fighters become legends while others are forgotten. It’s why some men fall apart under the weight of MS while others rise. The fire itself isn’t the problem. The lack of control is. So I don’t fear my anger anymore. I don’t run from it. I don’t pretend it’s not there. I grab it by the throat and bend it to my will. Because when I control the chaos inside me, nothing outside me can break me.

The Fire That Shapes You.

I was born with fire in my veins. Long before MS, long before doctors, long before I learned the science of fatigue and inflammation, I carried anger like a second skin. Some people are born calm. I wasn’t. I was born ready to fight—against the world, against myself, against whatever dared to get in my way. When MS came, it didn’t give me anger. It didn’t invent my hate or my edge. It just gave me a new target, a new battlefield, and a reason to sharpen the blade. And here’s the truth I had to learn the hard way—raw anger will chew you up. Left uncontrolled, it’s not power—it’s poison. It doesn’t make you stronger—it makes you reckless, sloppy, self-destructive. But once you master it, once you train it like a wild animal, once you put a leash on it and point it forward, that same rage becomes unstoppable fuel. That’s what MS fighters need to understand—you don’t need to kill the fire inside you. You need to own it. Anger is not weakness. Rage is not shame. Frustration is not failure. It’s energy. And energy, once controlled, can be transformed into progress, discipline, and resilience. Every rep I push, every round I fight, every time I refuse to quit when my body begs me to, I’m not just training muscles. I’m training the fire to burn the right way. I’m proving to myself that chaos doesn’t own me—I own it.

So if you’ve got rage inside you, good. Don’t run from it. Don’t drown in it. Learn to control it. Learn to turn it into fuel. Because MS will throw its worst at you. Life will test you. People will doubt you. But if you can walk into that storm with controlled chaos at your side, you don’t just survive. You dominate.

At the end of the day, I’m not calm. I’m not peaceful. I’m not soft. I’m fire—but I’m fire that knows where to burn. And that’s the difference between being consumed and becoming unstoppable. So light it up. Fight with it. Own it. And when the world asks how you keep moving forward, you look them in the eye and tell them the truth I don’t hide my fire. I fight with it.