take care of yourself, honey. scream into a mirror. kick down all the doors. throw your pillow at the wall and cry for people that have never fucking been yours. think about death and fate, and try to find a story in it all. boil it to pulp, and pick out the seeds. take a break and go insane, your mind spinning like static electricity. work yourself to death, and imagine you’re just like sleeping beauty. start a journal, take up sewing! almost lose it on the phone, about things that happened years ago. clench your jaw and bite your lips. bottle up until your back is sore. it’s all right, you’ll figure it out eventually. read through old journals, and try to meet the pictures in the eye. snap and scream it all out, but only in your mind. with every word beg for compromise, and closure, homesickness swirling in your gut. maybe i’ll never muster up the courage to leave this town. i don’t know how much more of this i can take. i’ll start drinking decaf! write a poem about rage! you’ll be over it soon, don’t worry. this is just another phase.
I’ve been having one of those weeks where no one thing in my life has actually been going especially terrible–actually, a lot of things are going really well. But there are enough things that are about a 5 or 6 on the frustration scale, and I am terrible enough at actually expressing my anger in any productive way that might lead to solving the issue that it has just been… kind of building up until I am just ready to snap. There’s nothing I can do about any of these situations that are driving me crazy; I’m in the position of having no other real choice than to deal with some BS, and suck it up for the next little while until these mostly fleeting issues pass, because getting angry is just going to make it harder to deal with, and in the logical part of my brain, I know this. I just have to wait it out. (Also, I’m terrified of conflict, which doesn’t help–but really, all of my problems right now are very much out of my control.) So yeah. Sigh.