Back to rage.
Dreams of killing. Not randomly; there’s only one bitch on my list that deserves such up close and personal hatred: my sister. Little does she know how fucking fortunate she is. If I was on the same continent as she, I wouldn’t be writing. I’d be taking action.
Today I want to plunge a knife into her fat stomach. Feel the blade go into her flesh, right up to the hilt. Watch the blood, feel its heat on my hands. See the terror in her eyes. I want her to die, die, die. Slowly. Painfully. With full knowledge that she’s the biggest bitch on this planet, that she deserves to die slowly and painfully because she’s worth nothing more.
The part of me that revels in thoughts like that scares me. It’s capable of anything.
Yes, I saw something from my sister in my email. It was attached to a family email. An innocuous statement that really did have nothing to do with me (rare, from her). Just seeing her name was enough to make me hate this much again. Doesn’t matter what she said. Doesn’t matter what eleven words she used to form the sentence in her message.
I hate her. Beyond reason.
Kudos to me; when the fucking thing came thru I deleted it as fast as I could. Didn’t matter, of course. I saw her name and that was enough. My temper flared, my fantasy factory was lit, and here I am fucking RELISHING the thought of killing another human.
So much for my lofty ideals.
It’s stuff like that – like my hate – that tells me I’ve still got a long way to go. I’m still damaged. Maybe I’m not as damaged as I like to think; after all, I’m not acting out on it. You haven’t seen the news button on your browser go red over ME. And you won’t; not any time soon.
But make no mistake: my desire for peace does not rule out my ability to make war. I am very capable of that. Very capable of killing. We all are. It’s just a matter of finding the right pressure point.
…Ah, yes. The first crack of thunder this morning outside my window. How bloody appropriate, thank you very much.
I am so GLAD I’m getting out of the house today. Don’t care if it bleeding rains on me the whole time. Just get me out of this box.
And let me leave my rage here. *crack BOOM* (nothing like a good sound track to your writing)
On the bottom shelf of my room, wrapped in a silk handkerchief, sits an old deck of Tarot cards. I haven’t used them in years. But when I did, when I was younger, I often drew The Fool. In my foolhardy youth, I thought I understood. But I didn’t.
Today I feel The Fool. Fully. How often I’ve stepped off that cliff without looking!
How bittersweet the gift of hindsight. *rumble, rumble*
This rage I feel…I could wrap it up in oilskin and carry it with me. Cradle it, nurture it. Suckle the beast until it leapt from my arms to sink its teeth into someone else’s neck. Let it spread like the disease it is. Let it fester.
Let it all burn. *wet sounds from the street outside*
Somehow I’m riding the crest of the wave this morning. I can SEE how this is my choice. How it’s always BEEN my choice.
Even those times when I felt I had no control.
*distant rumbles; the storm has passed*
I choose to let it go.
If only our moments of epiphany could be encased in something to keep them fresh and alive. This is the easy part; the hard stuff comes later.
*utter silence. even the traffic outside has ceased*
…Just took a moment to make some sound waves in the room. I spoke the words ‘I choose to let it go’ and then continued:
I choose to let it go. The hatred I feel for my sister. The rage, the pain, the sorrow. Even the hope for something better, something different between us. I choose to let it go….Not for her, but for me. To save me. I choose to let it go for me.
I think I just got it.
And my time is up. My brother is awake and will enter this room in mere moments. That’s okay.
Today will be a challenge, like any day. But I’ve made my choice. Marked my ballot. Voted for the other guy.
Hate has a place in me. It has a place in all of us. But hate need not rule me. I can be strong, I can take a stand, I can FIGHT…but I don’t need to hate. Not anyone. Not even HER. I doubt I will ever be able to say anything kind about my sister. There’s not much kindness in her. But letting her ugliness ruin my life means just that. It RUINS my life. I don’t want my life in ruins.