Rage

I have little  respect for anger. I don’t even acknowledge it in me. What’s the point? It doesn’t change anything and it’s a failure of not having sorted issues out way back down the track. Yet other people see rage as sacred. I’d love to feel sanctimonious about rage, yet I feel indifferent. Anger scares me, yours and mine. I don’t want to be on the receiving end of it and I don’t believe in its effectiveness. When I’ve expressed anger no-one cared, nothing changed. Did I feel better? No, it still felt like failure. So I do low level anger like contempt, irritation or disappearance. Not often. But quiet fury is decisive fuel. The only time anger felt satisfying was when I acted it out with kind people I wasn’t angry with. Seeing the power of it; cold, pure, murderous, cutting. If only I had the courage in real life.