Anger
Anger induces loneliness.
A sort of bone deep isolation that runs parallel to the vexed blood coursing through my veins.
I figured Anger is greedy. Its nature is to consume completely and wholly, like a flame burning through wood, inch by inch, devouring it, until timber turns to ash. It seeps through every pore of my skin and nestles in every well-worn groove of my brain, till it embraces me from head to toe; an invisible rope coiled tightly around me, silencing the pleas that endeavour to escape my burning throat.
Anger, I realised, is not willing to share me. It wants to keep me a lone prisoner, a shackled slave to its whims and eccentric desires. It is an emotion oblivious to consent and approval, as untamed and impulsive as a feral brumby bolting in the Australian Alps. It waits for no one and materialises at the most uncanny moments when you least expect it, leaving you vulnerable to a world that’s too quick to judge.
Anger breeds hate in the person that harbours it the most because I believe that it feels misunderstood. It demands respect and it demands sympathy in voiceless desperation. And why not? Anger is worthy of love as well. Until it knows love, it will exist to hurt and tear you apart, albeit not all at once, rather bit by bit, in a manner so subtle that one may not notice it until all that’s left behind is remorse and a weighted sadness.
Maybe Anger doesn’t isolate me, rather it isolates itself in me. No matter how hard I try to push it away and protect myself, I have to accept the fact that Anger is indeed a permanent resident in my mind, that makes itself known when it pleases. It just longs for a companion and the only way it can make a person stay is by entrapping him behind bars of a wrathful fire, because after all who wants to befriend Anger? Who will want to stay long enough to actually untangle the complexities that Anger keeps shrouded in its depths?
People try their best to repel this earthly emotion, only to invite regret. That’s why, I decide to stop fighting.
I sit cross legged in Anger’s blazing cage, chin in hand, a posture that greatly confuses It. I take a deep breath and smile in acknowledgment. And then I start talking. I talk to Anger about memories composed of smiles and ringing laughter, about people I cherish, about happy moments and joyous times. Anger, when acknowledged, is a good listener, but impatient. It tries to stir up resentment within the confines of my ribcage but I do not give in. I replace this with love, with a forbearing tenderness for Anger. I convey my understanding and consolation with gentleness.
And slowly, I can feel it burning away the quivering pillars of negativity. The bars seems to sputter out, fading softly and strongly at the same time. My words offer solace to Anger’s passion. They carry in them, a kind of comfort and compassion that washes away Anger’s pain, imparting commiseration that the both of us subconsciously yearn for.
In the end, acceptance was what placated Anger and it dawned on me that I was fighting the emotion in vain.
I cannot extinguish Anger’s flame forever, nor do I want to because Anger is part of being human.
It exists in all of us and rightly so. The victory lies in how you much effort you are willing to put in to understand your emotions and flaws so as to not get entirely ravaged them.