rage: noun Middle English, from Anglo-French, from Late Latin rabia, from Latin rabies rage, madness, from rabere to be mad; akin to Sanskrit rabhas violence Date: 14th century. 1) a fit of violent and uncontrolled anger 2) violent action 3) an intense feeling; passion 4) my present emotional state
I sent a detailed explanation of my situation to Dr. Friesen, basically pleading with him to let me walk in graduation. Today I received an e-mail in return that, first of all, was not from him, and second, was essentially a long, formal, impersonal, why-should-we-care-to-be-empathetic, “Hell no.” So I took it upon myself to reply with an email that said not one thing except “super,” which they likely won’t catch as sarcasm.
Now I have to deal with what the hell I’m supposed to do next. I don’t want to go to graduation. I don’t want to go to Forester night. I don’t want to be here at all. I don’t want to talk to people. I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to eat.
I want to take those stupid graduation announcements the school made me spend $65 on and throw them all over Friesen’s and the Registrar’s office. I want to demand that $65 back. I want to pack up everything and never come back. I want to curl into bed and never come out.
So now I have to decide what to do with the depression I have that I can almost directly attribute to this university and the anger that I can directly attribute to a very small group of authorities of this university. The depression can’t really be changed at least not by blind determination to better myself.
But my anger that’s a different story. Because love is not easily angered and I’m beyond angry. I’m beyond pissed. So I already know my reaction is not that of a godly woman. Do I have a right to be upset? Hell yes I do. Do I have a right to be angry? No. This is not a righteous anger. It is selfish; it is fury that I should not be harboring, but I can’t seem to let it go. Nor do I particularly want to let it go. In Ephesians we’re told not to sin in our anger and not to let the sun go down while we are still angry. So am I supposed to walk over to the registrar and make ammends with them? Tell them I think they’re asshats and it’s bullshit, but I deserve it.
Because I’m not mad that I can’t walk. I mean that sucks, but it’ s just a dumb thing anyway. I’m mad that this school has done such a fantastic job for the last four years making me feel like shit. Reminding me that I’m not good enough to be someone they consider a fine example of HU student. I’m not on a sports team, so I’m fat. I never did a summer tour of Godspell, so I’m untalented. I’m not a ministry or bible and religion major, so I’m going to hell. I’m not on JMC, so I hate the community. I’m not on SAB, so I hate my fellow students. I’m not on Senate, so I hate the school. I’m an English major who dabbles in theatre and film and writing. I have friends in all different areas of the campus. I go to events that interest me or if I have the time or means. I volunteer where I feel led. I auditioned for Godspell all three times, so maybe I am untalented. I don’t play sports because I’m too competitive. But I’m not someone the school would want on any sort of poster, because I’m actually a college student.
I don’t know what I’m going to do next or how I’m going to get past my selfishness, but that’s my battle and that’s my next adveture.
I still like you.
Huh. From the look of things, I too am a fat, untalented, hell-bound, community, student and school hating pile of worthless. Oh well.
Anger is not sinful, my dear. In fact, anger is the most appropriate response I can imagine to people who treat you callously. Callousness, cruelty, insensitivity, these are just words that describe “one who facilitates the perpetration of sin or pain on others.”
The idea of not letting the sun go down on your wrath isn’t to say “don’t be angry for long,” it’s to say “don’t allow yourself to obsess over your anger.” God stayed angry at Israel a hundred years at a time, which is a lot of sundowns. What God wants is for you to not let your anger control or destroy you.
You’re pissed. You deserve to be. But, whether you see the value of you or not, you don’t have a right to screw yourself over by doing dumb shit while pissed. Because I do see the value of you. And I don’t like it when you waste it. God feels the same way, I’m sure, he just tends to be less vocal about things than I am.
Here’s advice. Maybe you don’t want it, I don’t care, here it is: Jump through their hoops. Play their wretched game. Do what you have to, because you came here to get a piece of paper, and if you don’t leave with that piece of paper, you’ve probably wasted a lot of money.
We’re your friends because we see in you the beauty that you can’t see yourself. The humor. The talents and wits. The really gigantic boobs. If you don’t see that, then just trust us. If you can’t trust us, then trust God. God made you. God doesn’t make mistakes.
I dunno. Maybe I’ve just screwed things up for you more. Whatever. I want you at Wienies. You get your ass to that ceremony on Saturday. In costume, too. I’m the GWAC this year, and if you don’t come, I will hire goons with the coat check money to come hunt you down and drag you there.
Geez. That was long.