Angry. 

I feel like a dramatic teenager. I have this inner anger that sometimes feels like a blowtorch. I open my mouth and fire consumes me. It destroys everything around me. I have to actively look at my life with fresh eyes. Remind myself. 

I’m alive. I’m still able to be angry and I’m grateful for that. I talked about Boo a bit instead of bottling it up and instantly regretted it. But I admit it felt good. I had to think over and over, reminding myself that I’m still here. I’m still right here. 

There is a spot on my floor that has a gap and I fell walking across it. I just sat and cried, glad I had an excuse for my tears. I had to remind myself that I’m okay, that I’m still here. 

But I’m so tired of crying. I want to cry all the pain away. I want to be done. I’m tired of being angry. 

Angry about my boob, and my brother, and my bank account. And a thousand other reasons. 

I’m angry that I hurt people I care about and feel like I really should come with a warning label. 

 Warning: combustible. 

Am I angry enough to change? I so tired of being angry. I don’t know though. Anger has served me well the last few years. 
What would it be like to not be angry? I want to find out. 

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