The Anger Thing

If I was asked what’s the most terrifying thing in the world, it would have to be that anger that comes with this cocktail of problems I have. A very smooth blend of anxiety and anger issues, along with paranoia and bipolar, all backed up by extensive knowledge in survival, martial arts and information from a certain cookbook have created the most frightening thing I’ve ever encountered. Myself.

This is not one of those self-praise post of “I’m a badass!”, no. There’s nothing about this anger I want to keep. But I will admit that the look in my eyes that others says I have when I’m angry is something that can only be described as insane, scary, and sort of cool. I’ve seen other people with anger issues, depression or bipolar Hulk out before. But none of them, and I mean, none of them have ever came close to the kind of rage that I conjure up.

Just last week, I snapped at one of my superiors. He was a sergeant, an NSF (Singapore’s military conscript) like myself. Someone serving two years of conscription who couldn’t give a long term damn about this forsaken place. He accused me of something ridiculously trivial. I came into the room with another guy leading the way. The guy before kept knocking on the door, about a dozen times in succession, and this sergeant (let’s call him B) got mad. But because I entered the room before the knocking guy, I was immediately pinned as the annoying bastard. Let’s just said I can’t stand wrongful accusations.

See, I’ve seen people who ‘lose it’ with their rage and go on to display them. Dude punching a cabinet repeatedly? Attention seeking, easy to talk down. Guy charges at you in a fit? Punches straight and predictable and take-down easier. Tantrum thrower? Slap them a good one and the pain will jolt them back. Me? Mine’s a seething rage. It’s terrifying because I am still in control. And there’s nothing more powerful for a human than controlled anger.

That spat I had with B? I didn’t once raise my voice above his. Always a decibel lower. It’s a trick I learned as a kid from my mom on how to win arguments with people. You’re loud, but not loud enough to piss the other party off. Your anger level rise but theirs stays the same. In an environment like then, it was key that my voice was heard, as there were other people in the room. But at the same time, raising my voice above my opponent meant he would likely get angry, and with anger, gain strength. So I had to keep his anger low, while raising my own.

Another thing I did was to hold eye contact. Not with the person I was arguing, but a secondary target. It had to be a guilty party, someone who was in the scene as well, but either as a supporter or a minor antagonist to the main person. Luckily, I had such a person. Let’s call him Z. Z’s pretty low-tune by nature, but a lot of a show off and a bit of a kiss-ass. He did all the work in dragging himself into the argument by supporting B, which made things easier for me to drag him in. It’s harder to make an angry person afraid, but so much easier on a supporter who is not as attached to the argument.

Locking eyes with Z while raising my voice against B caused him to be afraid of me, a fear that B will be able to pick up on. It’s a fear tactic that preys on group mentality. When someone nearby is afraid of say, a monster, others would relate to that fear as a baseline and will gain some fear as well. And at the climax, when everyone in the room is silenced by my outburst, I leave. Keeping the fear and tension as they were at their height. But I was ready. I was ready for anyone who came up to me and tried to engage me physically and aggressively to take them down in the most violent way possible. Luckily, it did not come to that.

That’s my anger. The rage that seethes. One that is planned and controlled. A backdraft waiting to happen to anyone stupid enough to open the door. And I have experience to back it up. Ever since my last breakdown last year, I had lost a lot of my fear. I’m no longer scared of authoritarian repercussions, either at the hands of the paper generals of the S.A.F, or the power hungry sergeants.  It’s also true I’ve had my fair share of trouble-making since that depression period as well.

The problem with this anger is the sense of power that comes with it. It’s not like a blind rage where the only up is the feeling of physical power. This is a sense of power that comes from manipulation, control, and physical violence of unprecedented level. I was ten the first time I used this rage and I beat a bully halfway to the hospital with it. The poor sap was so terrified of my mind games after that, he avoided me completely for the remaining two school years. Can you imagine it? I was ten! Barely tall enough to ride go-carts at the fair!

And that sense of power, it’s absolutely into intoxicating. It’s like nothing I have ever felt before. It felt really, really good. As close to an orgasm as you can get without having to wack one off. And it worries me. Scares me even. And I haven’t been scared of a lot of things since last year so that’s saying something. I might be using that rage too often these days. A little too much like how my father used to be. Angry. Powerful. Unhappy. And I’m worried.


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