Old rage has a distinct sting when it bites, that refinement over time lending it an air of instant release from the mind’s ever more elaborate prison, much like an established villain it can cut through the defences of even the most devoutly composed man. New rage has yet to establish its place amongst the old demons that reside within us, hope remaining as we are still able to cautiously resist the siege of amateurish anger upon a person’s calm.
What hath brought this act of writing into existence are two things, the first was when something that once caused disruption at the worst time threatened to happen again, there is no such weakness as scarily dangerous as a relatively fresh scar and when purest rage flows through your veins as standard…
The second trigger of my unwanted outburst of inspiration is a cruelly obvious reminder of an ongoing battle, this fateful reminder brings into play older demons that continue to plague my unstable psychology, and like old rage the old demons have an air of refinement to shroud their barbarous assaults with a strangely acceptable familiarity.
Old rage is a complex beast that takes many forms, one day it manifests in a seemingly harmless grumble as onto the next 24hrs it takes the figure of a much fouler outburst of unspent aggression, trace back deep enough however and its true nature is revealed in every wretched detail. New rage falters to strike with as much impact, it has yet to establish itself with suitable levels of corruption that make older rage entangled with the very nature of a person’s character, thus it is a more preferred poison as like an unsightly thing it can be cast away with callous ease.
For a professional of the psychological arts this core truth, established fury, that surrounds its self with layers of deception is the true target of any silver bullet cure, should such a perfect cure exist, some truths are more monstrous than others however. Rage, anger, hostility are but symptoms of a more malevolent cause, mere lava that flows from the inner core of a venomous spring.
For me this poses questions: Do I really want to know from where my fury springs? After years of searching for silver bullet cures, can I be freed of its grip? How much of who I am does it define?
More scarily philosophical: Would I recognise the man without the rage?
To the first two questions I feel a warning more appropriate than an answer for as I consider how much of my energy I expend to keep the beast chained, do I really want to stare into the blank mindless eyes of my pure source hatred, or will I find a more chilling reality, a mirror in its place. Soul searching is a term thrown around in popular media and life in general, a casual reference to some process we must go through when faced by adversity; but consider what it entails, consider how much some people avoid having to look that deep into their own nature and why.
To the last two questions I feel a sense of fear, fear of how unredeemable I may have become underneath the facade of publicly acceptable humanity and falsely projected merriness, this facade however is already succumbing to the eroding effects of time as my fear of exploration is replaced with a fear that my true nature will be revealed to less positive reactions. When exposed to the dark undertones of the emotional scale for so long you cannot remain unaffected by forces of darker drives.
I could finish with a dreary summary along the lines of ‘beware the beast within’ or ‘to know your enemy’ but from one who has been forced to see too much of his own underworld of resentment, from which I draw my angry breath, I would say be happy in not knowing what lies beneath if upon the surface all belies the inner turmoil.
“Is it not enough to know that hell exists without looking the devil in the eyes, and how much will you bring back, and if you are truly tainted by darkness’s brush you will see those burning eyes in every act since”