Hell is Cold

I still hold that hell is cold.


Hell is not fire and brimstone, anger and rage; those emotions are too simple, flash fires as brief as they are hungry. Anger is reactionary, temporary, leaping forth from damaged pride or embarrassment. Anger turns into rage. Rage looks for an escape in words you don’t mean or through fists that could open just as soon as they close. Rage wants to be let out and then fade.

Hell comes when you grab the rage as it tries to run.


Because as the rage cools, it seeps into your bones, tempering your emotions until they settle into a chilly, frozen loathing. The cold will poison you.


The cold will linger, and damn, and deep freeze your relationships. Ice will dig sharp crystals into everything you know and love and taint what should be a warm hug with sharp thoughts. Memories are viewed at broken, skewed angles. You will make a frozen bed and lay in it, shivering under blankets of pride and hate, all because you chose to linger in what could have been a flashfire.


Hell is cold because we can forgive the fire of anger and rage; time will ensure that the flames are extinguished. Bridges that need to be burned will turn to ash on the wind, separating you from the scorched landscape that remains. You will heal from the flames. Scars will fade, and like after a wildfire, new growth will begin.


But that can only happen if you let it.


Hell is cold because you do yourself a disservice when you choose to linger in loathing and hate. Living in the past, poisoning yourself with frozen memories is a self-inflicted hell. Holding on, closing your fists and clinging is a cold, sickening choice, and that choice is more damning than any amount of flame.


So let the flames burn. Let yourself be angry. React, feel, scream, cry, be human, for god’s sake.


But please, for your own good, please let go.