I posted something last night that was a puddle-deep wallow in self-pity. The kinda shit that makes me want to bitch-slap myself. It makes me angry, you know, when I feel like that. I get angry with my own inability to express myself verbally, by inability to just spit out what bothers me. So I […]
I posted something last night that was a puddle-deep wallow in self-pity. The kinda shit that makes me want to bitch-slap myself.
It makes me angry, you know, when I feel like that. I get angry with my own inability to express myself verbally, by inability to just spit out what bothers me.
So I go mute – and the muteness makes me angrier. I’m angry and want to be left alone, when what i need is contact; I isolate myself from the treatment I need.
It becomes a cycle, a spiral, and the only things I can think to get me the fuck out of it require that I reach out.
Even now I’m thinking, fuck this, I want to delete it, I’m just fucking whining.
I’m in that teeth-griding state of low-grade irritation; I’m looking for someone to hit, metaphorically. I need to take the slow-boil of rage I’ve had sitting behind my eyes, in my neck and shoulders, and point it at something.
How many times have a written this same fucking entry? This is why I think I should give up blogging.