“How can I still be angry all these years later? I look at myself in the mirror and I am so different but still I am exactly the same. I’m losing myself into anything, just trying to hold on to a purpose somewhere, but I cannot find it. I don’t think I ever will.
I play it off as depression or anxiety or grief. But it’s anger. Raw, unfiltered anger threatening to eat me from the inside out. Threatening to infect my lungs. And I’m terrified that it’s already too late.
It’s easy to forget the things you’ve done after some distance. Hundreds of days or hundreds of miles. I’m living a different life than I was before. But tonight, it’s hitting me in waves. You’re hitting me in waves.
Everyone tells you how surreal it feels to be loved unconditionally, but they never tell you how much it hurts when you’re not. When every person in your life cannot love you in the same way. So you’re stuck in a bar with shitty friends, pretending the reason they’re leaving you out of the conversation is because of the loud music, and that you’re just slightly too far away to hear above the bass. But the truth is, you always hear. You know about the coffee shops mornings and the night parties. You blame your busy schedule, but you know your nights are as empty as the space in your ribcage.
Time and time again, you’re buried under sheets of resentment disguised as stability. You’re fine, everything’s fine.
But yet, you still wake up one day and you realize how fucking angry you are. You never believed in God but you’re angry that he didn’t fix you. You’re angry that you spiraled so far down into the aches and bruises patterned along your body that you never even noticed that your broken heart wasn’t the problem anymore.
Anger is just the residue of love. When you can’t cry into their chest anymore, it’s instinct to tear apart your own. But you can only survive for so long with open wounds.”
theartofmadeline
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