Monday, January 31, 2011
It's hard sometimes. You know, when I first became an angel, I think I considered the campaign against sorrow to be my mission. Anyone whose heard what I've been saying for a while knows that I've discovered anger to be an equally prevalent force in the destruction of man's complacency. I think when I died I didn't realize how much a rival to sorrow anger was in the basics of the angel's job because I never realized how angry I was, I only knew I was sad. I don't think my anger prevented me from working my sorrow out, but there was something more subconscious about it that just ate away at me without me knowing it. I think I was just in denial. When you consider yourself sad, you feel more like a victim than if you're angry, something about the visceral force of anger that makes you feel more like an aggressor. You feel less worthy of receiving help, and if you feel that way, chances are you won't get it.
A recent subject, Hershel, recently got into a confrontation with someone he knows, someone he didn't know very long but got along quite well with and considered a friend. "I just keep picturing him in my face, ranting and raving like some kind of fucking insane lunatic. Only he's not insane, he was just hurtful. Fucking ruined Christmas time for me. Every time I picture it I just want to break something, punch a wall, I don't know, shoot a pillow like De Niro did in that movie. And you know what sucks? You know why I hardly spoke back? Because I didn't want to cause a fucking scene."
And there you go again with the rewards of virtue. The high road is lined with the bodies of the malcontents, people who proved they were better and got paid in abuse in return for their honor. What the fuck is wrong with this planet that people do this to each other?
At first, this is why I didn't think I could be an angel, and later, why I knew I had to be. If I'm not around to feed my subject the basic, "Imagine how petty, tiny and insecure that person must be to treat other people like that, how sad their life must be," stock line, then who else will show the kind hearted yet angry, that they're lamb and not the lion? Or that the pathetic belligerent one is not the one who stews in rage but the one who releases it towards the unfair target because they're too pathetic and ugly to know what's right and what's wrong?
Well, Herschel seemed to feel better. God knows I do.