“I wanted to destroy something beautiful.” –Fight Club

Why does anger so often result in hurting others? And usually ends up hurting yourself, too? I don’t know. Yet, I’ve sustained a high level of anger for too long, and I’m starting to understand. I hate being angry, how it makes me think, how it makes me view the world. It is not a pleasant feeling, yet it is better than the soul-tearing pain it masks.

The tearing of a soul requires answer, requires justification. When there is none, through the inattention of others, especially those who caused it, a release must be found. While emotions cannot be weighed and measured, nonetheless a torn soul requires balancing. Lashing out randomly can ease the pressure somewhat, but when the soul is torn, only bringing the person or persons viewed as responsible to a similar state can truly balance the emotions. At least that is what if feels like.

It is the desire to stop the cause of the pain that drives the soul-torn to anger, because anger is an active emotion. Many people finds it lends them energy and strength. And yet, look at what purposes that energy and strength are often used. Look at the consequences. Lives ruined or ended. Stability overturned. The growth of hatred.

Pain is a passive emotion. It is something you feel when something is done to you. It is viewed as non-constructive, and yet it is always there, hovering at the edges of awareness. People go to great lengths to avoid pain. They tell themselves stories so that they don’t have to experience it. They take risks or throw themselves into round after round of social activity to distract themselves.

Yet in the long run, there are ways to use pain constructively. But in order to do so, you have to live through it, suffer through it, and not let anger take control. In the past, I’ve used my pain to make connections with people on a level many of them don’t understand. It is my pain that gives me the aura of sincerity and gravitas others have remarked on. And right now, I am so sincere that I may as well be on my death bed, I have so much gravitas I might as well be a black hole.

So why am I writing this? Not to attack. Not to whine. It is a last, desperate attempt to avert catastrophe. One last chance to keep from sliding into an anger so deep, I burn bridges I do not want to burn. I do not want to go there, it is not remotely tempting. Yet I feel myself being pulled in. Starting slowly and quickly gaining speed. I see the door at the end of a greased hall, and I know that as soon as I pass through it, it will shut. Forever. And with its shutting, cause a terrifying amount of pain and devastation…and I would be its instrument. I am afraid.

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