Anger is one thing. Rage is different. Rage is anger so powerful, so out of control-dangerous, perilous, dangling on a precipice ready to go over the edge at any second. Rage from PTSD is rage multiplied to the nth degree. It is rage so shockingly fearful and intense, like a wounded animal cornered with no escape, no choice but to lash out and attempt to hurt anyone or anything, even those who may wish to help.
For combat veterans, rage takes on a whole different dimension, in that killing is a line having already been crossed. Killing is no longer a theory, no longer an abstract idea. It is a reality, an experience from which there is no return. Rage for a combat veteran means the return to the killing fields. Ready. Ready to remove another soul from existence. At first, the rage is hot as a blue flame. But when the rage goes cold--when it grows cold--when the killing rage becomes just another business activity--it is at its most dreadful, most horrifying, most deadly.
This rage is valuable in the combat zone. It helps the troop overcome the inhibitions to killing, and helps him stay alive.
Now imagine being in that rage zone one day, and 24 hours later being at home with your wife and child, being told to relax, being told everything's fine, nobody is going to hurt you, you're safe now.
But you don't understand. You haven't felt that cold rage. You haven't crossed that kill line. You haven't felt what it's like to remove another soul from existence so that other soul cannot remove your soul from existence.
This is what society asks of it's troops. Cross that line, it's o.k., the government says so. Come home now, and be normal. When someone cuts you off in traffic and flips you the bird, just relax. Maybe they're just having a bad day.
You introduced me to this rage. So spare me the crying and the pontificating about anger management. You have no frickin' clue. SO ignorant and naive. You think you can turn this rage on and then turn it off like a frickin' water faucet?
Doesn't work that way. Researchers tell us that it's a chemical thing, a rush of adrenaline so powerful that it awakens animal instincts. Once the brain has been flushed with adrenaline in this way, it's done. There's no going back.
Yes, you did it. While you sat in your easy chair and watched the breaking news and waved your flag, you washed my brain with a chemical cocktail that changed me forever.
Didn't change you, did it? After you turned off the TV and had a snack before bed, you slept soundly all night with your snoring wife beside you, then woke up the next morning and relaxed with your cup of coffee, again turning on the news to see if anything had turned in the war before you left for work.
Hooray, the war is over! We won! Let's have a parade, let the troops know how much we appreciate the fact that they doused their brains in a poison cocktail for us. YES! We appreciate the fact that you learned to obliterate others on our behalf.
Now sit down in this easy chair and take a nap, son. Relax. That noise outside the door? Don't let it bother you, it's just the dog next door. He doesn't have an IED strapped to him. Honest. Trust us.
Man, what's the matter with that guy? So touchy. Damn. Relax, son. Everything is going to be o.k.