The truth behind anger
As a child who was growing up in a very abusive house hold I began to hold anger and resentment inside of me. Around the age of 14 I began telling, well more like screaming at my dad “I wish he was dead”, that no one in the family loved him, that everyone was scared of him, and that when he died I would be happy. I said these things for years. And one day I silently watched my brother attempt to stab my father in the chest with a pair of scissors. I didn’t move, I didn’t say stop, I didn’t do a single thing. I saw the anger and pain in my brothers eyes. I then saw the anger in my fathers eyes and quickly realized that there was no way my brother was going to be able to stab him without being thrown across the floor. So I quickly ran but was to late. My father had him against the wall and then threw him out of the bedroom while my mom cried and tended to my dad.
I had literally just watched my brother trying to kill my dad. And I didn’t flinch. Only did I feel fear when I realized that my brother was going to get hurt.
I still remember the anger my brother had, the shock my father was in, and the fear my mother was holding. She wasn’t scared of my dad, she was scared of my brother.
In the end we learned that my dad wasn’t going anywhere and that we were stuck exactly as we were. Not even attempting to kill him would make him stop. Nothing would stop him. Because he held all the power and no one would or could take that away from him.
I realized that there was a feeling I couldn’t recognize that I was having. It was stronger then anger towards him. It was something that I had never felt, a strong and powerful emotion. This feeling took over everything I was, I was suffocated and intoxicated by one feeling. Rage.
I knew what rage looked like because all I had to do was look at my father but I didn’t know what it felt like. I was never an angry child, I was passionate, out going, talkative, loving, calm when needed, and very attentive to others needs. At home I was depressed and afraid but not once had I ever been angry. I was scared of anger. It was something I never wanted to feel and I was terrified of being angry.
And I found myself sitting and realizing that I was boiling with rage. I actually didn’t know the word for what I felt so I had to Google “ what Is a feeling that’s beyond anger”. When rage came across the screen I immediately resonated with the word rage.
People would and actually still don’t know that for about 3 years in my childhood I was the most angry child. But it was an anger that was a fire fueled by gas. It went beyond just the fire, it was the parts that continued to fuel the fire. It was harsh. Loud. Cruel. Vindictive. These things were not me, but I let them define apart of me but only in the walls I called home. Outside of home I was myself, not one friend knew the truth. In fact no one did.