Inside the Rage
November 15, 2016
“Rage — whether in reaction to social injustice, or to our leaders’ insanity, or to those who threaten or harm us — is a powerful energy that, with diligent practice, can be transformed into fierce compassion.”
― Bonnie Myotai Treace
Explicit and detailed rage scene!
I peer through the widow making sure I’m at the correct house. I spot her sitting in her living room with that same scowl on her face from 27 years earlier. The memories of her hatred flood back with the force of Hurricane Katrina and almost paralyzing. This is the moment at which she would experience the same fear, humiliation, belittling and taunting that I once received from her. I have prepared for this moment my whole life. “Be strong, Dana. It’s now our turn” I tell myself. I knock on the door knowing that I would be recognized immediately. She opens the door. And before she can say anything I rush the door pushing her off balance back into her house and onto the floor. I pull my 9mm out and point it at her saying, “What you thought I forgot?! Now it’s time to even the score. Please I invite you to take a trip down memory lane with me. You might’ve forgotten what was said and done but I never did. And I never will.” I quickly tie her hands behind her with rope and lock the doors. I make her sit in a chair where she’s tied and threaten to be killed if she says anything without being asked. I tell her, “So this is what it’s like being one up on somebody. No wonder you like that so much.” With the “deer in the headlights” look on her face and tears welling up in her eyes I say, “Oh is the baby going to cry now? Bitch suck it up! I had to and I was a child!!!!”
I start pacing with adrenaline and anger at a level that I’ve never felt before. I feel certain that I’ll probably have a heart attack at any moment. But I don’t care. I tell her, “Think to yourself why are you and I back in this position?” Her breathing has become rapid and erratic. Tears are now flowing down her cheeks and she’s shaking with fear. “Hey you little bastard! I asked you a question!” I said as I threw something across the room breaking it against the opposing wall. She starts trying to talk but it sounds mostly like babble. “Shut that hole in your face and talk normal you little idiot! Is it all coming back to you now? Where is everybody to save you? Come on! Say something or do something so I can send your little unwanted ass to the office again. Hell, no wonder no one wanted you. I wouldn’t have wanted you either. You’re just a little piece of trash that no one will ever want” and with that I slapped her as hard as I could across the cheek. A whimper and a whence she continues to cry but now sobbing. “Suck it up, fish sticks! We’re just getting started.” I chuckled and say, “Look on the bright side….at least this won’t be every day for a year in a secluded storage closet.” “I didn’t do anything wrong!” she says. “Wrong answer, dumbass!” and I slam into her throat with my forearm knocking both she and the chair over with a thud. “IT AIN’T FUN WHEN THE RABBIT GOT THE GUN, IS IT?!!!!” She slowly shakes her head and starts sobbing louder. “You know what? I don’t give a fuck what you have to say right now!” I tell her. I rip a piece of duct tape off and put it over her mouth. “You should see how pathetic you look. You could dish it out to a kid but you can’t take it? This time I have a smile on my face and YOU have the tears. How does it feel now that the roles are reversed? Who gave you the right or idea that it was in any way ok for the way you treated children? You fucking disgust me!” As I look into her eyes, I can tell that she is experiencing the depth of fear that I did. The feeling I got was something of validation.
I slowly walk behind her and whisper in her ear….”No Child Left Behind” and “Teachers touch lives for a lifetime.” I ask her, “Do those statements mean anything to you? Because they mean everything to me. Remember when I fell through the cracks and had to endure your abuse by myself? Remember how you would embarrass me in front of my peers with your hatred? Do you remember any of the things I said to you being said to me? And I find out through the years that you’ve said similar things to other children? So why are you so surprised that I’m back? The guilt of not having found a way to stop you so no one else got hurt is why I’m back, bitch.” All she can do is look at me knowing well what I’m talking about but not knowing what I’m fully capable of doing. “You altered the course of my life forever with your abusive hatred! You took my fears and insecurities and used them as a weapon by making them public through humiliation! Your words and actions have left me unable to deal with life and on disability now. I got me degrees to prove you wrong but you still managed to raise your ugly head and cripple me this many years later. I survived you and your abuse. Will you survive mine?” I turn around facing the wall instead of her and I felt a small tear streams down my face. I turned around. I pointed the gun at her and hearing her muffled screams I say to her, “They say the root of all evil is money. But it’s not. The root of all evil is the abuse of power. You don’t matter to anyone. You never did.” As I’m starting to pull the trigger I’m startled by a loud noise. What I soon realize is that the loud noise was the ice maker in the refrigerator here at home. And I’ve been sitting in my recliner for a couple of hours looking at a chair on the other side of the room.
A flood of nausea from a now raging and might I say, angry, migraine is now plaguing me physically. I quickly try to figure out the current situation, time and place. My heart is pounding and adrenaline is rapidly flowing through me veins. I grab my pipe with my medical cannabis needing some ‘hurry up’ relief. I’m already having to play catch up with this migraine. My legs feel like they have been set on fire. And I’m doing my best to hold down lunch. I feel like something is trying to crawl out of me and run. From deep within I hear and feel the panic of “Let me out! Get away from me! Let me out! Get away from me!” This calls for a dab of wax. But not before I realize that the belt is wrapped around my arm as a tourniquet in the familiar preparation for cutting. I just lay back and let it happen. She needs relief and so do I. Several minutes go by and I slowly begin to reorient to my surroundings again with a neatly bandaged arm. I’m weak and exhausted but I now feel now, as though, I might not die. I look around the room and see that it resembles somewhat of a ditch house for drug addicts or the homeless. Things are broken that I have no memory of doing yet I was alone all day. I quietly begin to sob by myself partially out of fear. But also out of relief that this time no one was home but me. And I say once again to my internal guys, “Thank you for keeping me safe yet again.”
“I finally understood what could drive kids to show up with guns and shoot up their schools.”
― Nenia Campbell, Freaky Freshman