It’s funny how the human brain works.
My entire life, any time I’ve ever been really pissed off, anger has always worked the same way; the more time that passes, the less intense anger feels. Sometimes, it takes a long time, sometimes, it happens quickly. But always, it diminishes with time. Always.
Until now.
Anger has always felt like jar of pebbles. The jar represents my capacity to be angry; the pebbles represent my anger. As time goes on and I live my life, I’ve always found ways to take out a pebble and discard it, or somehow rid myself of it. I find things that I enjoy doing, and each one of those things results in a pebble being discarded. Spending time with my wife, riding my bike, going for a walk, spend some time at the river, spend time with my kids, watch a baseball game, make something in the shop, take some photos, listen to music, go to a movie, putter around my yard… There was always something to do that allowed me the opportunity to discard pebbles.
Anger has always decreased until the pebbles were gone, or at least, the jar had only a few rattling around the bottom. Without fail, from my birth to just a few weeks ago at 47 years 3 months 28 days old, I have ALWAYS had the amount of pebbles in that jar decrease over time. As the days slid away, the anger subsided. Time lived up to the cliché; wounds found ways to heal.
Without fail, I have been able to let anger fade, because that’s who I am, and how I was wired. That’s what made me who I am. I have faults, I have flaws, but holding grudges and hanging on to rage and hatred was not one of them. That’s one of the traits I inherited from my grandmother – I always found a way to forgive and forget.
This time, the anger only grows. The rage and the hatred grows. The jar gets more and more full, then starts to flow over. It flows, steady, and without ebb. For the first time in my life, I am consumed with hatred. For the first time, I want to use the pebbles as weapons. I want to take the jar, and hurl it through the front window of those who desperately deserve it. I want to give back all that I was given, with interest.
This time, I will not forgive. And I will not forget. And I will never stop embracing the anger and using it to turn ore into steel, and steel into a broadsword.
Overestimating my tolerance for being lied to and used is one thing, but underestimating the breadth and depth of my resolve rage is something else entirely.
~ R
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