bag of bones. Wednesday, Aug. 26, 2009 9:16 PM

Ever since my parents announced their desire to split up, I've lived with an underlying anger in my chest. It only surfaces now and then, only makes itself really known on occasion, but it lives within me all the time. I can deal with that, I'm okay with understanding it, but the times where it rears its head make me consider suicide far more strongly than any depression ever has. I don't want to be angry. I don't want to be the person I become when I am angry. I take it out on my friends, on my family and most of all on those who choose to be romantically involved with me. My poor man... Patient as the day is long, even though he said that I was so angry that I was spitting nails. And I hate that person, the part of me who can't be rational and logical and just listen to the wholly necessary reason that should dictate my life.

When I feel that rage begin to choke me, when I feel it turn into a burning ember lodged in my chest, when I feel that red haze descend over my eyes, it is then that I absolutely desire to die, because no living body should contain so much hatred, so much negativity... And especially because no one should ever have to deal with a person like me, when I feel that way.

I wish it could end.

action or consequence