In order for me to be as open and honest as I could be, it would be best to start at the beginning.
By beginning, I don’t mean the beginning of time, where the worlds were created by either God or just nothingness, or when I was born.
By beginning, I mean when I started realizing things.
It began when I realized I was not the centre of the world. I did not have authority over anyone but my mother. I could kick and scream and they would glare at her, knowing she spoiled me into believing I owned everything.
I was no longer lucky. I used to think I was unreasonably pretty and would be for the rest of my life. I wasn’t. There will always be someone prettier, someone smarter, someone more than me. And realizing that pained me enough to withdraw myself. I got angry.
I was angry enough to begin writing these hate letters aimed at insulting people who did me wrong, they were amusing years later, but at the time, I was so pained. Anger brought out a lot in me.
Slowly but surely, I began to love life again, I found someone who made me the centre of their lives and for a time I was fine, blinded by being treated like a princess that I didn’t remember that princesses were property, not power. I was ignoring all the bad because he was only human and we all have our bad sides. But this began hurting me. I got angry again. Way more than before.
This time I didn’t write, I let it boil up inside me until i eventually burst open, in flames, on everyone surrounding me. I had a habit of burning down doors that opened for me.
Anger is a realization that life is not how we imagined it to be. Anger is how you feel when you realize you are not going to get what you want but you want it anyway so we fight. we fight with our bodies and our minds about why this cannot work for us. We, as women, deal with so much bullshit but we let our anger subside because “THEY ARE ONLY HUMAN”
but I am done not writing about it. I figured the best writing comes from emotion we cannot control. What better emotion than anger?