Sometimes – a lot of the time – I am angry. I am angry at a lot of things.
I am angry about my almost constant, inexplicable headaches that don’t respond to painkillers and make my vision blurry and painful and my brain slosh in my head.
I am angry about my sister, her bullies and her bullying, her parroting of views taken from people stupider than her and the fact that she just – can’t – get it.
I am often very angry about my parents: my patronising, boring dad with his dysfunctional kingdom of three and my nervous, submissive mum with her backward views and one-track mind.
Angry at people who look at me sideways in the street for what I am wearing, at everyone who has ever told me I am nothing special, at the patriarchy in general and at the group of men that whistled at me when I was walking home in specific, at my friends for not being as angry as me, angry, fucking angry at everything that is wrong and could be better.
Sometimes I sit in my wardrobe and think about this and clench my fists or my voice breaks with it in the middle of a completely unrelated sentence, or I write swear words in Sharpie on my wall because nothing else seems to show it, the absolute fuckery of shit fuck cunt bitch fuckfuckfuck.
The thing is, I am a teenager, and a teenage girl at that, so these sort of feelings are not encouraged. MY reputation as an angsty, worked up melodramatic girl precedes me, especially as I, unlike the rest of my family, restrict my drama to my room and myself. *pointed staring*. My little sister sits on my bed and tells me “not to be a teenager” whenever I stay in my room and listen to loud music, cry, turn up with suspicious scars on my arms and back, swear, get into arguments, wear make-up or strange clothes, express an interest in important political issues or quaint notions such as feminism, or do anything that could possibly let off a bit of steam in this boiling head of mine.
I am 90% sure this is angst. But the thing is, as my uncle so eloquently said, teenage angst doesn’t go away. It just turns into adult angst, which is compounded by problems such as jobs and doing your own laundry and having less time to cry on other people’s shoulders.
It just seems like a waste, really, to lose this, passion, for lack of a better word, that comes with growing up. In my better moments I feel that the fact that I care could be used for something; to change a life, to save the world, to love someone and see it not go to waste. I need to stay angry, otherwise I will be sad. And I can’t let that happen, can I, nopt when the world is going to pieces.
OKAY I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA HOW EVERYTHING I WRITE TURNS TO ANGST MAYBE IT’S A SUPER POWER OR SOMETHING BUT ENJOY? IF THAT’S THE RIGHT WORD FOR THIS PIECE OF SHIT? I AM QUITE AHEM ANGRY AT THE MOMENT AS YOU CAN SEE AND A LOT OF THINGS APPEAR TO BE SHITTY BUT I FEEL THE ONLY WAY TO STAY ON TOP IS TO TURN WHAT COULD BE A BAD DAY INTO A DAY WORTH HULKING OUT ON
NOT EVEN SURE WHAT I AM SAYING HERE OKAY BYE
i love you all