Anger. I feel a thousand ghosts scrambling about in my wake. They tear
with jagged claws against ever surface I pass. They, my inner selves,
reveal my own hypocrisy. I hate this world, even as I cling to it. I
know nothing else.
What am I to do? I put on a strong front for
those whom I know need to believe in my strength. And I believe in my
strength as well. But I need permission to have bad days. I need to rage
and snarl and gnash my teeth. But my venting will scald those around me
more fragile than myself. And so I bottle up my rage. I feel that this
is not the wisest course. I need a better solution. No. What I need is
an actual solution. What I have made do with previously has been only a
bromide.
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