Rage
It infuriates me.
It infuriates me to open up to people I consider trustworthy, only to be hurt, judged, and given directives.
It infuriates me when people can't handle the boundaries I set when I decide not to be a puppet of their disguised cruelty and ill intentions masked as "life advice."
It infuriates me that, to protect their egos and maintain the facade of being good people, they throw back gaslighting and hurtful words at me.
It infuriates me (perhaps to continue trusting in the goodness of the world) to bear the guilt of "oversharing," when all I sought was comfort in what I believed was a safe circle. It infuriates me, that subsequent burden that eats away at me.
It infuriates me how people are incapable of keeping secrets and respecting feelings.
It infuriates me to be pigeonholed: the foolish one, the vulnerable one, the ignorant one, the pitiful one.
It infuriates me how tightly people cling to unforgiveness.
It infuriates me to encounter people lacking empathy who strive to sound brilliant, articulate, and knowledgeable about their subject of study: me.
It infuriates me how narrow-minded people can be.
It infuriates me how hypocritical some can be, boasting about being confrontational in private but acting diplomatically in public, without even daring to take risks when circumstances demand it, or speaking honestly when truth is necessary.
It infuriates me when people can't put themselves in someone else's shoes.
The self-inflated image of perfection infuriates me.
Shielded egos infuriate me.
Malice infuriates me.
Tasteless, hurtful jokes infuriate me.
It infuriates me that if you're not compliant with all of this and don't smile like an idiot, you're automatically labeled as crazy.
It infuriates me.