by Rie

I am angry.

On one hand, the past two weeks have been good. I’ve been happy. I will not question if it were a deep joy or a superficial, transient thing. I’ve been buoyed too high to want to drag myself down again.

On the other, there are these crevices in my brain that remind me how hollow I actually feel. When I am in this frame of mind, I’m not capable of expressing myself. My words slip and trip faster than usual when I speak. When I write, I see plain letters forming plain words; there isn’t any force of emotion behind them. Drawing is just lines on paper.

Doesn’t that mean I am a shell?

As for the anger? They feel like the emotions I had tamped down with fear: the anger for every moment I was scared when I could have been angry.

And anger is reckless. While depression is a lazy, slow burn, anger burns quick and fast. It consumes and grows and reaches its fingers to the sky: I destroy what is in my way because I can. It’s a false sense of power. I cannot run anything down with anger. I shouldn’t want to.

I haven’t felt it in a while.

And, now, I’m mostly angry with myself. For being confused when I could have walked a straighter road. For choosing people over myself (but isn’t this altruism?). 

I’m back in square one, aren’t I? I’m confused and scared and angry. It just feels like a different square. Like board games have been swapped and I’m throwing the wrong dice, playing by the wrong rules.

And as for vet school? I have a test in…3 days. I should probably have started a week ago.

What am I doing really? What?

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