It is odd to me how easily a rage can come on.
Perhaps more oddly, it is almost never the doing of an outside force or action. It is, at least for me, almost always an internal business.
The fault that I have is that I can dwell on something - and once I dwell on anger, it quickly passes over into the realm of blind rage. It feeds on itself, a sort of personal nuclear fission that grows and rages like a furnace in my soul, building and building until all of my moods and thoughts have been overcome by it.
If I am honest about it, I know when it is happening and could, if I so wished, stop it. Pretty easily, too: pick another chain of thought, turn my inner eye away, or even just tell myself "No". It is a choice and like any other choice, can be chosen otherwise.
I do not, of course. And that is the more frightening reality.
Why do I do this, I wonder? Why would I willingly create a holocaust in my heart and soul over something which is almost always unworthy of such an emotion? And why do I go back - repeatedly - to bathe myself in its fiery and unholy light?
The one thing that is true about rage is that it requires little thought, once achieved. One's mind is focused and anything like self doubt or an examination of where one has done wrong is banished. It is a singular emotion, a one way thought pattern to amazing energy and forcefulness of action - a very dark energy of course, and the sort of forcefulness that can irreparably harm one's own soul or others by harsh words (or worse). But it can be almost addicting in its power.
So why do I return? I, as with barrenness of thought, wish I knew. But it worries me, this willingness to engage in patterns that are neither useful nor helpful. The only road it leads down is one no sensible person wants to take.