Revenge

I started to write something scholarly about the subject. Something using the third person and a good deal of distancing language. Perhaps I would have even gotten to the point where I tsk-tsked and pointed a wordy finger at the base emotions that want revenge. But I had to stop before I drowned in hypocrisy.

I failed at revenge. I wanted it and meant to take it, but failed. I wasn’t quick enough or strong enough and I nearly got Buffy killed. Angelus killed Jenny and I wanted to kill him. I waded in, all righteous anger, all white-hot hatred. It was insane, but then, so was I. I only wanted to stop the pain I was feeling, and I neglected strategic planning.

Since I didn’t incinerate Angelus, he had the opportunity to torture me at a later date. Death and the near occasion of mayhem. Isn’t that enough to plot revenge on the offender? Apparently not, for me. When I again faced Angel, I invited him over my threshold.

I can’t hold on to revenge as a motivation. I’m a berserker but not a Titus. That’s interesting to know about oneself. But that mad dash into revenge opened up something in me that I long had buried for fear it would overwhelm me. As I was older now, I came more to terms with it, my anger. I can use it now, not deny its existence.

Maybe that was another gift Jenny gave me.