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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