Screaming Out Joy Furiously

You should know that I've written and erased a number of answers before coming to this conclusion.

Anger is not an emotion unto itself. Anger is an expression of fear, of helplessness, of frustration, of grief. Where there is Anger, there is something deeper, like the roots of a vine that might strangle you. If you cannot reach the roots, you will not kill the vine.

Anger, though, serves a purpose- to inspire urgency, to act, to move in the defense of self or others, to call out injustice.

Anger is only an evil when it is acted on without discipline. When it is allowed to become a reflex motivator, when it skips higher thought and speaks directly through the teeth and the hands. This is anger without control.

This question has forced me to ask myself if there is a difference between anger and hatred.

Is hatred irrational? Anger may be as well. Is hatred directed to the innocent? Anger can be, too. Is hatred akin to cruelty? Anger, again, is not innocent of needless suffering.

So what purpose must hatred serve, in pursuit of a just world? What can hatred do that anger cannot? What does it mean to hate something?

I'm not a scholar. I haven't studied these things academically. But thinking of my own experiences, and remembering the exact circumstances and contexts and the nuance of every little piece on the board, I can tell you that there was revulsion, and there was myself, and there was forces beyond my control.

I think that Hate is when anger fears it cannot win. I think Hate is when you are faced with something that you want to believe you have possibility of overcoming while suspecting in some way that you cannot. I think that Hate is when you are afraid of the thing that enrages you.

Hate, if you ask my opinion, is a bit like being mauled by a bear, knowing that you will not survive, and going for the eyes regardless, because it doesn't get to grow old and happy if you can't either.

Good for the continued existence of your peers. Bad for everything else.

So I suppose, if you are in a position where a bear is mauling you- metaphorically- hate probably isn't your biggest obstacle right now.

But if the bear is out there somewhere, on the other side of the forest, and you are sitting in a hole somewhere in a stiff rigor of rage and spite and terror, then I think it may be best for you to tell yourself now:

The bear will kill. Killing is in the nature of the bear, and a bear is helpless to change its nature. Knowing the nature of the bear, I will stay away from it, and deter it, and stay away from its path, and I will pity it for the nature it cannot compel itself to resist, and for the wonderful things it will never experience.

I do not need to fear the bear, because I understand its nature. I do not need to hate the bear, because I needn't fear it. All I must accept is that there is a bear, and it is wise to stay away from it.

It's unfortunate that the bear must live this way. It's unfortunate that you share your forest with a bear and not something kinder. But if you cannot change it, and it cannot change itself, then all you can do is accept that it is a bear.

Honestly, I think that since in this situation Anon might be effectively stuck with their parents (i.e: physical proximity, emotional wounds they know to poke), the best solution might be to not engage with the bear. It sounds a little silly but hatred is effectively fuel for the bear. It exhausts and consumes you and it gives the bear more chances to engage with you. Words you say are taken as resistance. The bear doesn't care about how much 'in the right' you are or how you are also a member of the jungle, as op said killing is in its nature. So preserving yourself and taking as few blows as possible gives you a chance to think of ways to increase the distance and flee (if that makes sense, I've found fighting back rarely works. I mean c'mon, it's a bear)

In the meantime, find your own spot in the jungle. Grow some stuff there, see what other animals you attract and know that even if bears do exist in the world, there are plenty of other creatures too.

(Anon, if you're seeing this know that they might not get better but you certainly will (〃￣︶￣)人(￣︶￣〃) )

Also, I think I've recommended this to a million ppl but the Dune litany worked wonders for me when I was scared. So here you go :)

Also I will divulge the backstory for 1 (one) rock.

I was nearly drowned by a teacher.

My dad doesn't like cats because he read a story about one turning into a human and murdering its owners when he was a kid.

I DID have a friend who used to catch squirrels (and pigeons) and they DID leave huge gashes on his arms (aforementioned slipperiness being the cause). My guy used to roam around petting them until they succumbed to his affection and then just- set them free. The freaky thing was he had feline eyes so he'd look like a cat toying with his prey.

And for those of you wondering how he got close to them in the first place, this man was more arboreal than terrestrial. He'd sit quietly in a tree for hours until he was more plant than human. The squirrels (in addition to being slippery) were curious and would play the game of who touches the weird ape and gets away with it first. And he'd let them continue until his hand would shoot out lighting fast and grab one them. The others would scamper and watch as he subjected their unfortunate comrade to affection (the horror)

And yet they fell for it each time.

The air was yellow and Michael was a door. 'YoU'Re nO dOoR' his mind screamed. 'yOu'Re mIcHeAL sHeLLy'. That was difficult to remember these days...months?....years??? Was he Michael or was he Spiral? Was he a he or an it, a who or a what??

Most of all his hands hurt. He looked at them now. His curled fingers weren't supposed to almost touch his elbows were they? When he had first entered these hallways he remembered feeling small and insignificant, a tiny ant trying to traverse an unfamiliar anthill. Now, his head brushed the ceiling as he walked and the hallways- he knew what was around each corner and behind each door. He saw other small ants like the erstwhile Michael Shelley and knew they were soon to be consumed. And the thought filled him with glee.

He frowned then. Michael would have hated that. Pain shot up his spine and through his head and he fell on his knees. 'I aM mIcHaEL' it yelled from somewhere within. 'I aM aS mIcHaEL aS cOuLd bE'

He snickered. What a very Distortion thing to say. Yes, perhaps he wouldn't snuff out the bit of Michael that was trying so desperately hard to hold on, no matter how much he wished to be a what and not a who anymore. The fear that Michael so charmingly exuded fed it. And it had been a while since it'd had its last meal.

<BANG! BANG! BANG!>

He whirled. That door. The one that had just opened. It was the Archive door wasn't it? The Spiral always kept a door at the Archives, hoping for a careless Archival assistant to walk in. Eye coded employees were the most fun. They scrambled around so sure they could see their way out of the Spiral. And that lovely Elias Bouchard never bothered to educate them either....

'MICHAEL'. The voice jarred it out of it's reverie. 'MICHAEL SHELLEY WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?'. That voice.... Somewhere inside Michael Shelley stirred. The most he had in months.

It looked inward, curious. The Michael that had been hopelessly roaming the corridors of Distortion and slowly losing hope straightened from his slumped posture on the ground. He turned and looked straight at him. It flinched. Could Michael Shelley see it? Surely not.... Surely...

'MICHAEL' It turned and glared at the intruder banging open doors with abandon. Was he at fault? This obnoxious man in a trench coat with badly dyed hair. This lapdog of Gertrude's- This Gerard Keay?

It looked inward again and was startled. Michael was closer- a lot closer to it wasn't he? As Gerard's voice yelled, increasingly desperate, it contemplated killing him right then and there. After all it wouldn't stand its plaything being given hope. It turned inward again to give sweet Michael Shelley one last smirk before snuffing out his hope and found it's throat wrapped with both his hands. It locked eyes with Michael as they sailed backwards and found he was the most Spiral he could be. He- It- They collapsed inwards.