You Wouldn't Like Me When I'm Angry

Alright folks, we're back, relocated, recaffeinated, and (after entirely too fucking long) possessed of internet fit to shake the heavens or something. As is tradition, we're gonna leap right back into it with me ranting. The topic of the day is something close to my heart in several, possibly dangerous, ways. Today I'm going to discuss anger. My anger specifically. Its not that I don't care about the righteous indignation of others or the mindless, squalling, rage that some partake of. It isn't even that my anger is shiny and pretty and made of magical hats, though that may bare discussion at a later date.

I'm going to talk about my anger, and the joys and pitfalls therein, because its the only anger I can effectively describe. As some of the more observant readers may have noticed I'm a bit prone to aggression. Rage comes to me with an ease that has been rightfully described as hopeless. I'm pretty good at keeping it in hand enough to avoid actually injuring someone. Unfortunately that doesn't counter the fact that I regularly get the sort of scorched-earth, damn-the-family-line-forever kind of mad that is largely reserved for doomed anti-heroes and relatable villains. Now, I can't say that was never really a problem, mostly because I never really bothered to examine it, but it was something that I never felt I could really do anything about. I mean reactive catharsis tends to be a dopamine loop of the worst kind, and suppressing anger just seems like a great way to snap your fucking brain and wake up in the ward.

Being angry feels really, really good. Dangerously good. It makes me feel powerful, active, motivated in ways that have been unavailable to me in any other state. Its also caused me to hurt people I care about, lose opportunities that I needed to take, and lose arguments that I couldn't afford to lose, not because I was wrong or not thinking clearly, but because I was mad and so my audience was incapable of receiving my point. I've been trying to let go of my anger recently. Not bottle it up or let it out, just let it go. Stop myself and consider the rage itself. Is it productive? Is it meaningful? Or is it just a fire in my chest waiting for the rest of me to catch. It helps, and it is getting better. Do I still get mad enough I feel like I'm going to pass out from the headache it gives me, yes, but only when a succession of idiotic, incompetent cunts absolutely and continuously fails at their one and only job for two weeks despite proper preparation and constant direction. (Later there will be a link here to Brian's post about our adventures in internet acquisition.) I just try and let the useless anger go, go cook something until I calm down, take a few deep breaths and watch a movie, whatever. This is a troublesome process but it is helping. I'm pretty sure I'll always be a wrathful, hate-ridden person; but I refuse to let that hate run roughshod over my life anymore.