Men often make up in wrath what they want in reason

Today I add another item to the list of the things that I regret.

I look at him and I see the respect he's earned by his utmost rage. He's managed to control them, own them, earn a level of respect that I most envy. I crave to be like him, but I can't. I love them. How could a man express his anger without hurting the people he loves the most? Should he repress that anger, learn to adapt to the punching bag routine? Find a stranger in a dark alley and kick them until he's paid his dues to the lords of wrath that lurk deep within his mind and soul?

Why do they let him behave that way? Is it out of love, respect, fear? How fragile are we?

Two decades and a half; that's how much it took me to learn that to be able to control one's emotions is one's truest strength. I say to myself that giving in is a sign of weakness. I have managed to control many things, repress them if I may say. I have learned to forget but not forgive. I couldn’t care less about revenge. I've always managed to walk away and eventually forget. But it so happens that, during the past fractions of time, I have severely broken all of the rules that I've planted inside myself for many, many years.

I've found someone to hate, seek revenge of; I'm smart about it though. They think I'm neutral. I'd bet it shows. I'd bet they know. What are we waiting for? Are we waiting for one of us to drop dead?

Guilt and shame are self-induced. I carry them with me wherever I go, thinking that if I lay them up ahead, wear them as a mask, I'd never fall into their holes again. I wonder if that is normal. I wonder if that is healthy. Don't answer, it won't do any good.

I've also come across love and gave in to it. I did need a push, though, but I guess so would any emotion. It takes one push to fall off a cliff.

Wrath, however, is what I've feared the most. It so happens that when you lose control of wrath your mind and eyes shut for a few minutes and you black out, thinking that you've clicked the pause button and nothing would be affected by your inability to control your rage. I must have yelled, screamed, shouted at them and at every piece of the surrounding furniture. But then I opened my eyes only to see that look, disappointment…

…and so I left the room, escaping everything that may have happened when I lost my temper, my control, the only skill that I've been developing through out the years. I crawled back to my hole and bumped into a mirror that I've found across my solitude…

I ended up crying.

For a fire has been kindled by my wrath, one that burns to the realm of death below.

Why didn't they come up with a word that means more than just 'Sorry'

Posted by Яαgιи Яαvєи on Saturday, October 21, 2006 at 10/21/2006 08:17:00 PM | Permalink