Finding a way out of anger
I'm not afraid of the fury anymore. For a long time, the fury consumed me. The rage hung around me like a throbbing aura and no matter how I tried, I could not fill it with fresh, clean, thin air. I surrounded myself with anger. I left my home to marry into emotional terror and hatred only to leave it and marry into its physical brother. The fury was so strong that it drug me down lower than most should go and it so numbed me that I didn't realize how it would feel to wake up without it. Rage, wrath, ire, a fuming mass. I was impenetrable. I had no feeling that did not derive from that.
Somewhere in my 23rd year, I looked into my children's smiling faces. I saw their bright carefree auras. I saw how they darkened with each day. And I ran. I ran as fast and as hard as I could from the anger. I didn't go anywhere. I stood running in my same spot while I negotiated a treaty with my seethe. I slowly put out the flames in the middle of a burning life. They fumed and smoked, but eventually they turned to the ash of healing. And then I ran harder. I ran out of the burning life and moved into a bright white house with windows in every room overlooking green grass and happy neighbors. I planted flowers and love for my children.
I was reluctant to call my life too settled. It still churned with the turmoil that it had been since I was a child. The fire of the fury stood burning at my doorstep every time I opened it. It burned on the other end of the phone line every time it touched my ear. It burned in my belly while another child grew from acts of terror and hatred. So I ran farther yet. I ran so far that I no longer had any remnants of the wrath of my past life but those now three bright smiling faces with fresh clean auras and the attachments they brought with them. I hid from the fury. I became so convinced that I could no longer handle the fires that burn around me that I had to live in a shelter to keep from dying. I hid away in a peaceful life for two years. And so peaceful was that life that I thought the fury could no longer find me. I stepped out of that shelter. I needed to stretch my legs. I needed the warmth of the burn of the sun more than I needed the cool shade of the shelter. I was so afraid of combustion that I was fading slowly to nothing.
But through this hiatus, I had achieved brute enough that I believed I could walk back into the burning embers of my nuclear life and not reignite the flame. I believed that my boiling aura had become cool, clean waters that could not be polluted by the mass of trash around me. And I returned to the place I had run from. I returned on the notion of love and family. I returned back to a time when I remember being as happy as you could be in a setting such as that. I cast the old characters in their original parts. Perhaps I thought I could start over. Or perhaps I was in truly in love, then and now. To be honest, I wasn't sure at the time. I was overwhelmed with the freedom I had from the shelter and the fire so much that I'm not sure that any decision was made with a sound mind.
I moved back into the original house of terror and hatred and tried to stretch my wings. I tried to avoid the clips as they came and enjoy only the magnificent freedom. To what end is another matter entirely. I felt free for the first time to love unabashedly and I loved the only man I ever could. But so came the fury. It is not the city that burns in this fire, but the explosive people that I had always known there. I ran from the blaze again and into the love; only to find it burning in its own inferno.
Again, the fury was all around me. The blaze was following me like a wild grassfire. I ignored it because I feared it. I did not want its return. I carried a garden water pot to put it out when it came too close to me. I refused to let the fire consume me. There were times when I fought the particularly furious flames with all of the power of a fireman's hose. I fought them with all the passion of a lifelong of terror and hatred. It only fanned them, but it did not burn me this time. The fury came and it went. It would not overtake me.
I married again, this time into love. I did not marry for any other reason. And one day, the fury came. The fury attacked me so as to make me understand that it was not to be ignored this time. It came through him but came in such a way that every ounce of terror and hatred I had ever known could be represented in some sample during the ferocity of one night. It came with his face, but anonymous in personality. It came as a reminder that in this life, I will not be without anger. It came to remind me that if I chose to take the risk of living a life that was not sheltered; if I chose to live a life with passion and brightly colored experience; if I chose to have feeling at all, anger would come and anger would go as much as joy. I need not be consumed by it. I need not boil in it. I need not take hold of it and let it change me into all that I ran from. I need not run to hide with my life from it.
Yes, I was consumed with the fury. So much so that I could not find any joy. I feared leaving the peculiar comfort of it for any emotion, any experience that would lead me away from it. The only thing I ever was able to do was hide from it. And in that hiding, I was merely allowing the fury to imprison me inside a fortress of fear.
I am no longer afraid.