Sometimes inspiration is taking what you feel angry about and fighting against it.
Well, I’m not fighting today. I’m taking all of this accumulating anger and pushing them into words.
This is about recognizing what you’re feeling.
Then it’s having the balls to write about it.
I Hope You Know
I hate admitting that I still think about you.
I hate it.
I have never been more angry with myself or with another person.
I have never expected more from a human being who has let me down.
You make me angry.
It’s crazy how quickly my anger dissolves when I try to confront someone.
It’s like I have two people sharing my body and the nice one always overrules the mean one.
My words come out kinder and where I want to say “you are awful for what you did to me” I say “it’s okay”.
But it’s not okay.
It was never okay.
I need a formula to tell me how much time passes before you don’t cross my mind every day.
I need a million dollars to pay off my University so I can finally leave these towns and these memories.
I need a plane ticket to the next town out of here.
Because I am sick of being the girl who can’t stand up for herself for fear of being mean.
I’m sick of fighting for people that fight way too hard to be let go by me.
Some people deserve to feel your anger.
You, especially, deserve to feel my anger.
Because I have never felt more rage than I have had within me.
And as badly as I want to march to your door, punch you square in the jaw, force you to apologize and walk away, I somehow control every heart-wrenching emotion and I fight it every single day because I tell myself that it’s not worth it.
It wouldn’t change anything.
It sure as hell won’t make me a better person.
It sure as hell won’t make you snap out of it.
It sure as hell won’t give me any answers.
And that’s the worst part.
Knowing the cowardice behind fake answers and I don’t knows.
Because you do know.
And it’s not worth my time anymore.
But it doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.
And I’ll keep thinking about it until enough days pass that the bitterness fades or I just get used to it being a familiar friend.
No one will ever understand the strength it takes to write about pain and what you’re feeling. It’s terrifying and vulnerable. But I found that vulnerability only hurts when you don’t use it. Vulnerability is beautiful and that’s why I write about what hurts. I have decided to be a completely open book in these next few posts. Honesty is beautiful.