No Title 1

I guess a part of me was lying dormant for years. Until I started living on my own, I never imagined that I (still) hated myself. For the most part, I love myself. Certain parts of myself I love. It was something I had to learn through experience.

I hate anger. That's what makes me feel uncomfortable. It's that flash of pure hatred, that moment where I just want to lie down the details of why this moronic person in front of me deserves to be beaten, broken hearted, humiliated, and shamed for bruising my (very) tender ego. And I would. I've fantasized so many inappropriate things. I've almost built up a lust for it. I would scream at the top of my lungs, bite, scratch, and hiss at them till they run away traumatised. I know that if I unleashed my truths to people, they will never look at me the same way. Perhaps even at all.

Also, I find that any displays of emotion is when I feel weakest. Balling my eyes out in public. Being so enraged, you say really stupid things. I told myself once that I would never give into something so disgusting. I don't want to feel like a worm before people who have no sympathy for me. I used to wear my heart on my sleeve. Now I pretend it's not even there. Not even in my chest. They can't hurt what's not there.

viviirose viviirose
18-21, F
Dec 13, 2012