- 4 thoughts
- Log in to add a thought
I want to start off by saying that I feel the deepest of compassion for every one and every thing around me... I'm trying to dream of a better existence, not just for me but for everything. We're smart enough to do pretty much any damn thing we want, but our laziness and governments keep us in check instead. I'm not even really sure what I want to say here. I feel it [RAGE] just under the skin. I don't mean that in a metaphorical way. Days like today, I literally feel as though my soul doesn't want to stay trapped in the shell of my skin. I feel like Bruce Banner. I'm happy with myself as a person in almost every sense of the word, but if I were to let the Hulk out, I'd be the only one who would call it "Incredible". My rage, though, isn't directed at anything specific. It's an unsettled feeling I have as a result of 'lack of control'. I don't 'need' to control people. Hell, I don't even want to. That would be pointless. It's hard to be content when you have solutions to so many problems. Rage is created when you try to share the solutions but those closest to you turn a blind eye and a deaf eye your way. "All I want to do is help by sharing ideas." -"Don't you think you're overthinking things?" Fine. Fuck you too. God forbid we try to work together to move forward... And just like that, Rage is fed.
One of the few things I can honestly and undoubtedly say I'm afraid of is my own rage. There's that part of me capable of disregarding compassion and just smashing things or people past the point of prevention or punishment and straight into the realm of barbarity. I'm confident that it would never be turned on someone I love, or someone undeserving or incapable of defense. But still, it feels almost reckless to have myself around people whose wellbeing I value. I can most easily equate it to having a gun laying around. With or without safety, locked or no, a gun is a gun.
And sometimes when I look at my hands I see them holding weapons that aren't there, smashing people that aren't there. I see myself pounding a bloody face and paying attention only to the patterns made by the blood in the slush under the unconscious body. I remember feeling entirely centered and calm, like that's simply what I had to do. And when I was pulled away, I had the impression that I wasn't done. Like this thing wasn't over.
I remember another time, hitting what I'd come to view as the wall between rationale and instinctive rage. As he swung at me and I dodged, I was conscious of that mental barrier. Then when I didn't dodge enough and felt his elbow hit my face, I remember the distinct sensation of plowing through that wall and disposing of him like he was a cartoon villain and not another human to whom I owe compassion.
I feel it bubble up sometimes. Building and coming to a breaking point. Sometimes I can't hold it in. I can't keep my mouth from opening and all of those boiling vile feelings just tumble out hitting whoever may be there at that exact moment. Most of the time it's not for the person injured by it. Most of the time it's because of myself and yet I still can't keep it down and away from those I love and value.