Ramble

I’m not an angry person.

I used to be, when I was younger. Well, no I wasn’t really. I just acted angry because it was easier.

I was quick to anger though, easily pushed into it. Then it would linger under my skin for days.

I always acted on it, whether it be shouting or just fighting. I let it overtake me and just acted.

I’m calmer now. Or I just don’t act on it as much. There’s a rare occasion that I do, usually when a family member is involved.

I’m still angry though. All the time, even if it’s just a quiet anger.

I’m angry at myself. I see who I am, see my life and I just get angry because I’m more than this. That I know. Yet I’ve let the depression sink into my bones and now I don’t know how to escape it.

I’m terrified that theres no remedy for it.

Then I think that I was just born for this really. I was born during a divorce, an unhappy accident. I can’t remember growing up but I remember being overlooked a lot. Ignored, forgotten.

I remember my sister always being more important because she was ‘sensitive’. I’ve always wanted to shout when I heard that. Instead I self harmed, got angry, got into fights. I shouted at everyone but the people I actually wanted to shout at.

I’m alone. I have been since my birth. I’d say that you get used to the isolation but you don’t. It’s cold, unwelcoming. It hits you when you least expect it too.

I’m the person who just gets used. People don’t stay and if they do, it’s for no good reason.

It’s like. There’s this thing in my chest. And it feels empty. And it doesn’t leave.

I don’t know what to do with that.