When Life Gives You Anger . . .

. . . make some really angry lemonade.

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This is going to be a very, very weird question.

But, I must ask my fellow bloggers, my blogsters, all you blogging bloggers of the blogsphere:

Have you ever felt the need to really hurt someone? Either physically or mentally?

If you have, was there something within you that urged you along? Did you despise yourself or your life in someway? How much of your anger towards others has ever been a reflection of your own anger directed inward that perhaps you never noticed?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about bullies, about manipulators, about those parents who go on day time talk shows and swear to the God they put their knees on the filthy floor for that one day their child will grow up and be the next Columbine Shooters or the next creepy old guy down the street who secretly severs the heads of corpses in his basement.

There’s a difference between the columbine shooters, or the kid that brings a gun to school, or the bullies in the hall, and people in terrorist groups like ISIS who are brainwashed into believing what they are doing for a divine power–if we consider the divine power their own arrogance and delusional pride in their country.

The kid that brings a gun to school is not brainwashed, and they’re not always bullied. Something else is going on.

People spend enormous amounts of time trying to figure out just why these kids seemingly flip a switch.

tumblr_inline_mjksn3cctm1qz4rgpI was never a child who fantasized about shooting up the school. I was, however, a master manipulator. Although I stayed silent, I’m very good at mimicking behavior and observing how others interact with each other. I didn’t understand how friendships were made, or how they were maintained, or why I never felt like a human among all the other humans, but I did form a sort of algorithm in my head. It essentially mapped out words, expressions, and personalities.

I could smell bullshit from a mile away.

I could smell a genuine soul from a mile away.

I couldn’t talk to you, and sometimes I couldn’t understand what you asked me, but if you wanted a personality profile, I could whip it up in five seconds easily.

I gained a sort of arrogance from this, because suddenly I had a power. Suddenly I knew more about these people then they knew that I knew. Suddenly I could sniff out the quiet kids in class, the ones that were easiest for me to talk to because their personalities were often hidden under anxiety or general disinterest, and snatch them.

I had teachers eating out of my hand, so when I got in a fight on campus with a girl faker than a stick-on tattoo, the teacher blamed her and let me walk away. I dealt and smoked drugs under their noses, I passed classes without ever turning in homework. I had some kids afraid of me, others wanting to, quite literally “follow” me.

Suddenly I had another power, all based on beating others down. And that, to someone consistently emotionally neglected at home, someone who had no real place to fit in other than in her head, someone who ached so terribly inside that shoving that on others created this weird “confidence”, was priceless.

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Many people with anxiety, or trouble speaking up, get bullied. Most people are surprised when I tell them I never did. I never did because I was the bully. And I will admit I’ve often had trouble understanding people’s pain of being bullied. My response was, very unemotionally: “well, fight back”.

But I know it’s not that easy for some. I didn’t learn to respect that until I was around nineteen years old.

I often went after people who could not, or would not, stand up to me. They were the easiest to feed off. The lower they sunk to the ground, the better I felt. I was like that snake in the grass you can’t see, so when you creep around with your back turned, I sink my teeth in your fleshy ass globes.

There were a few times I attacked some people making fun of special needs students, and those special needs students ended up becoming my friends throughout the years. I still consider those justified.

Anxiety is a beast:

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Anger is a behemoth:

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I see red when enraged, and I black out. I’m one of those kind of people.

So when people got an idea that they would try and talk down to me or argue with me, I would be in their face in a split second, fist ready. And yes, I’m a girl. I didn’t put up with bullshit because I had to put up with bullshit at home.

But what I find most interesting about all these experiences is that . . . you know how you find someone and feel such a strong love or adoration for them, that it spreads from person to person? Now that I’m older, and much less prone to be ignorant (although perhaps still a little manipulative, I’m not proud of it), I find it very ironic that inner pain works in very much the same way. If you’re pained inside, it spreads. If you have much love inside, it spreads.

Often, the pain on the inside, if it’s strong enough, overshadows that love and as a result, you have someone willing to hurt others for the sake of feeling paid attention to, for the sake of having an outlet, for the sake of having a moment of power in a world, or environment, that makes you feel powerless.

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That seems obvious. But I think it’s often overlooked when it comes to bullies, mass shootings, or fighting in general. If this is how our kids and our world reacts to each other, what does that say about the vibes we’re spreading?¬†

This isn’t a behavioral problem. This isn’t a mental health problem. This is an inner peace problem. This is a power struggle problem. This is a competitive problem. This is a problem of people feeling like they need to better than the next person, so that next person feels they need to be better than the next person, and so on when in reality none of it matters once you’re lowered in the ground.

This post was inspired by some thoughts I left on another blog, and my own urges tonight. Often I get uncontrollable urges (that I usually manage to control) to fight someone. I just want to grab someone by the hair and smash their teeth into the ground and kick their throat in, or I want to tell someone to come toke a bowl or two with me. I want to feel that power of being in control as I drown in an environment and head of mine that is so utterly out of control.

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Not Going To Argue

The first step to rationalizing your feelings is understanding them on a logical level. Anger is something I’ve struggled with for many, many years. This helps.