Seven Deadly: Wrath

Aaaand we’re back after more than a year for another installment of ‘Seven Deadly!’ Last time we took a look at Pride in all of its positive and negative aspects. Today, we’re going to talk about Wrath. I’m your host, Me, and joining us today is a special guest– My Temper. 

If there’s one sin I’m guilty of– and there’s not just one, I’m very big on all of them– then it would be Wrath. Sure, I score pretty high on Pride, and I’m so devoted to Lust that I have a hard time thinking of it as a sin at all. But Wrath is the root of many of my problems.

It’s funny, because people don’t think of me as an angry person anymore. In fact, these days people are more likely to describe me as “patient” or “polite.” Frankly, that is the result of a lot of hard work, personal growth, and some good medication. Trust me, I wasn’t always so mellow. 

When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I was an extremely angry person. I used pretty much every platform and excuse for indignation and confrontation you could imagine— from arguing on the internet to physical confrontations. I was mean, and I liked to get drunk as an excuse to be even meaner.

It’s tempting to make fun of that behavior now, but the truth is? I had a really good reason to be so angry. 

(Content warnings for sexual abuse and trauma related things.)

You see, I had post-traumatic stress disorder from a kidnapping, and subsequent series of rapes, that I had survived. 

I was terrified and I was suffering. I could barely sleep, I had flashbacks and nightmares all the time, I was plagued by paranoia and delusions that somebody was in my house. I slept with a knife under my pillow. Every loud noise and sudden motion startled me so badly that I often dissolved into tears.

The secret motivators behind anger are usually: fear, pain, or offended righteousness. I had plenty of all three. Anger was my only comfort. The only taste of justice I ever got was imaginary, and provided by my murderous revenge fantasies.

Anger was my armor. Anger was the glue that held me together when I was falling apart. You see, that anger, as excessive and overwhelming as it was, was actually the healthiest thing I had at the time, because it came from the recognition that what happened to me was not right. If I hadn’t been mad as hell I would’ve been sitting around in despair thinking I deserved it. 

Anger is an energizer. When grief and depression threaten to drag you all the way down to the bottom of the pit, anger can pull you back up. When fear makes you feel small and helpless, anger can almost act as a substitute for courage. When the whole world is ugly and hopeless and unjust and wrong, your anger can feel like a beacon of hope, lonely though it may be. 

Anger was my defense mechanism. I was weak and brittle. Small things could’ve broken me, so I lashed out at others before they got close enough to hurt me.

Anger was my reason to be. It was my morning coffee. It got me out of bed and semi-conscious after my insomniac nights. It gave me something to hold on to other than the horrors of what had happened to me. 

Anger was the only expression of self-esteem (or Pride) that I had left to me. It was the only affirmation I felt worthy of. 

Over time, my anger deepened, and festered, and fermented, and simmered, until it became something beyond anger. It became Wrath. 

Wrath is not just irritation or getting a little bit ‘mad.’ Wrath is poisonous grudges cherished for years– and sudden, uncontrollable rages that flash out in an instant. Wrath is anger at its most powerful, and its most dangerous. Wrath is what you feel when you genuinely want to see someone else dead.

Some of you might be rolling your eyes right now, thinking I’m being melodramatic or reveling in my own edginess. Believe me, I am not bragging. The state I am talking about is not fun, it is not healthy. It is exhausting and it involves hurting everyone around you eventually. If you let it control you too much, it might get you thrown in prison or killed. 

Wrath like that has one function and one function only: to get you through when nothing else can. It’s like a powerful battlefield adrenal useful for life-or-dead situations, but deadly over the long term.