Nothing works best in exhuming presumably “dead” anger than picking scabs. The drying laceration can become a nasty, pus-laden, infection-throbbing gash instead of drying up and turning to scar. If it is painting a loathsome portrait in your mind, imagine this type of infection happening inside your heart and mind.
That’s how it went when my rage over my past experiences in a hellhole was brought back to life via a conversation with a former office mate. I thought I was finally in control of my anger since it hasn’t resurfaced in a while.
By nature, we tend to focus on strong feelings of anger that’s why they are more poignant when brought back from memory compared to good but forgettable ones. We hold the latter loosely in comparison to the former.
Yep, loose thoughts wander without causing damage like a loose particle idly floating around. But with enough energy and focus, they can become the deadly gamma rays that can fry the hell out of anything they come across. Couple that focus now with rage and it can form a radioactive and volatile concoction. I realized how potent that mixture was when I observed myself as I was, out of nowhere, ready to enter into a brawl with anyone with the slightest provocation in the guise of “defending” myself. It’s that sudden. Left uncontrolled, it won’t stop and respect any reason like a charged particle travelling at the speed of light.
No wonder people die or get hurt during a road rage or during a seemingly harmless confrontation.
But before I ended up from being the adorable Jack-jack to the abominable flaming demon baby, I was lucky to manage the sharp turn from this maniacal rage build up to a dead calm. Thank God I was able to get past this potentially dangerous mindset. Well, momentarily at least.
I often neglect this but every time I let the thankful me take over, I almost instantly feel better despite how shitty things are at the moment. In those instance, I remind myself how blessed I am to have such epiphanies, horrid as they may seem, where I can learn a lesson or two. And they are also opportunities for me to correct my erroneous views of the world, among others that would otherwise be hidden from me while I’m blinded with rage.
I’ve had all sorts of prayers while going through that tough time with difficult people: early morning prayers during my commute, scribbled short agonizing prayers that when combined becomes as thick as a normal book; bathroom cubicle prayers when I felt I can no longer make it through the day alive; on my commute back home and before I lie in bed to close my eyes and call it a hell of a day. If not for God who heard my many many many supplications, I wouldn’t have made it in one piece.
Stop reacting to every stimulus
To avoid picking scabs I figured I needed to stop talking about it with my former office mate. So God help me. If it becomes a scar so be it, it’s going to be that anyway and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. At least it’s going to heal.