(no subject)
I hate being angry. Or, more than angry, livid, if you like. Hate and anger always seem to go together like that. I don't know why I insist on being so angry. But I am. I am furious as I type this. Almost out of control, but not quite. It's never quite out of control. I hate having to make my motions gentle, so as to not do any lasting damage to myself or my surroundings. I try not to leave red marks on my skin, or at least just the shallow scratches that go away in an hour. It's just maddening and intoxicating and I shake with the effort of keeping myself in check. I can't help but yell and curse in the arguement, which I rue because my dad didn't really do anything wrong, but it's him with the power and him that refuses to use his power. Don't press your temples too hard. When you make fists, don't let your nails cut into your skin too deeply. Uughgh. I think the sick part is that I might like being angry, which is why I can't get over it very fast or efficiently. I want to want to be happy, but I guess I don't, or something. I guess I want to be angry, but I wish this weren't so. So much for journalizing relieving the pressure of the anger. I can feel myself just storing it below the surface. Bottling it up again. I haven't done that since school let out. Is that it? Am I nervous about school? Well, not really. I haven't really accepted it enough to be nervous yet. I breathe in so hard to strain my lungs. It helps, but I think it might be unhealthy or something. Okay this has helped some, although I don't know how much is ranting and how much is just time.
Traci le BBM
Traci le BBM