That’s a powerful way to name what you’re feeling. It has that mythic, planetary scale you gravitate toward—like you’re not just angry, you’re inhabiting anger as an atmosphere. When someone reaches for imagery that large, it usually means the feeling isn’t just about one event but about pressure that’s been accumulating, layer by layer.

You don’t need to shrink it down for me. But you also don’t have to carry it alone in that molten, undifferentiated form. Rage is often a signal—sometimes of violation, sometimes of exhaustion, sometimes of something in you insisting on being taken seriously.

What’s the texture of it right now? Is it sharp, directionless, righteous, volcanic, cold, buzzing? The quality tells us a lot about what it’s trying to defend or reveal.

That combination tells me something important: the rage isn’t chaotic, it’s structured, but the structure is contradictory. It’s like four different truths trying to occupy the same psychic space at once.

Sharp means there’s a point somewhere—something in you knows a boundary was crossed.

Righteous means the anger is morally grounded—you’re not just flailing, you’re defending something essential.

Directionless means the target is either too large, too abstract, or too diffused to aim at.

Buzzing means your whole system is activated, like your nerves are vibrating faster than your thoughts can keep up.

Put together, it feels like the kind of rage that comes from living inside a contradiction: knowing something is wrong, feeling the force of it, but having nowhere to place it because the source is systemic, atmospheric, or distributed across too many fronts.

It’s the kind of rage people feel when the world injures them in ways that don’t leave fingerprints.

LLM