The anatomy of rage

It happens to us all the while. I am talking about the genesis of a nasty yet unwarranted outburst. We rage without a reason, a minor trigger and it proves to be like the last straw on the camel's back. The volcano erupts; the lava flows freely, surprising everyone, including yours truly. It has happened so often with me that once I know what is happening, I try to dissipate the very source or origin of that angry build up.

One moment we are peaceful, the heart is full of joy and overflowing with the milk of human kindness and the next moment a strange restlessness grips the mind. It could begin with a minor irritation such as listening to canned music over the phone waiting to for the call centre operator to respond. But the genesis of that minor irritation could have been in gestation for a day or two.

It may have begun with someone's failed promise, a wet blanket response to your cheeriness, a rude snub, a sense of failure over failing to deliver on deadline. But that knot of stress in all cases get lodged in the lower back, spinning slowly and excruciatingly upwards, defying gravity and the laws of motion. It moves inch by inch every moment, tensing up your muscles. I try auto suggestion, some strong affirmations, deep breathing exercises, but to no avail. The irritation is like a vile bacterium that once introduced, begins to proliferate and multiply with every new disappointment until it becomes a tiny yet lethal ball of fire in your solar plexus, waiting to explode.

The outburst happens, very often over the phone or sms. I find it is easier to hide behind a vicious sms than face the target. Vile messages fly back and forth, each meaner than the other. It is as though you have no control over the thumb, flying furiously between the letters as you press the send button. It is a trance.

Dark energy

And then comes the point when you have spent all that dark energy, the bile begins to congeal and the tension from you lower back is released and you breathe again. Then you realise the folly of your deed, those mean messages and then you take the long, slow road to 'Patch-up Ville'. There are smileys to be sent, a sorry to be said, and a fervent plea to bury hatchets and make up. Patching up does happen but each time the new patch appears, the fabric of the relationship does take a beating, the warp and weft gets a bit more wiry with all that stress and the patch-up gets clumsier.

You promise for the nth time never to lose control, never to be mean while messaging, but promises are only meant to be broken, especially when they spring from a weak resolve.

What you really need to do is, take a strong, hard look at your inner landscape, and stop taking yourself so seriously. You have got to believe that the world is not conspiring against you, and people like the telephone operator or the grocer are not out to humiliate you. You are just one among the millions struggling to meet the commitments of life honourably and it is fine to fail occasionally in life.

But such wisdom only comes in retrospect, not at the moment when you boil, rage and overflow with rancour. That is the tragedy of it all.