Ire.
ira initium insaniae
Sometimes I think there's something to that Latin proverb. It means "ire is the beginning of insanity". The person who first made that proverb popular was probably right. I'm angry angry angry without sound reason or cause. I'm angry at nothing and everything nobody and everybody, the slightest noise irritates me.
Anger makes me incredibly tired.
Regards from the rat race.
Everyday it's the same discussions at the breakfast table, I mean, I fucking know I'm not perfect, I fucking know I'm fat and the failure sitting between my two model siblings who could easily grace the cover of Abercrombie and Fitch or something equally stupid and vain. Does that mean she has the right to count every morsel of bread I eat? I'm already hungry 24/7 because I'm too fucking afraid to eat in her presence... still, it's not like I'll be able to be as thin as my siblings by tomorrow...
There's just no time for myself anymore. I'm never alone. I hardly get ten minutes without anyone calling for me, do this, do that. I'm not enough to meet the all their wishes. I'm always just apologizing. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to let you down. It's my fault. I'm sorry.
I don't know if it's gonna be okay. I don't know if I'll be able to keep this up. I don't know if I can afford all of you around me to be deaf to my pleading for some space. I need to breathe, too. I'm not perfect. I never will be. I try. But I won't succeed.
I'm so tired.
Please don't be angry on my behalf. I'm angry enough for more lifetimes I can count.
Please, let me breathe.
Sometimes I think there's something to that Latin proverb. It means "ire is the beginning of insanity". The person who first made that proverb popular was probably right. I'm angry angry angry without sound reason or cause. I'm angry at nothing and everything nobody and everybody, the slightest noise irritates me.
Anger makes me incredibly tired.
Regards from the rat race.
Everyday it's the same discussions at the breakfast table, I mean, I fucking know I'm not perfect, I fucking know I'm fat and the failure sitting between my two model siblings who could easily grace the cover of Abercrombie and Fitch or something equally stupid and vain. Does that mean she has the right to count every morsel of bread I eat? I'm already hungry 24/7 because I'm too fucking afraid to eat in her presence... still, it's not like I'll be able to be as thin as my siblings by tomorrow...
There's just no time for myself anymore. I'm never alone. I hardly get ten minutes without anyone calling for me, do this, do that. I'm not enough to meet the all their wishes. I'm always just apologizing. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to let you down. It's my fault. I'm sorry.
I don't know if it's gonna be okay. I don't know if I'll be able to keep this up. I don't know if I can afford all of you around me to be deaf to my pleading for some space. I need to breathe, too. I'm not perfect. I never will be. I try. But I won't succeed.
I'm so tired.
Please don't be angry on my behalf. I'm angry enough for more lifetimes I can count.
Please, let me breathe.