Trying to pretend anger doesn’t exist in my body isn’t going to work much longer. Today I feel like a boiling pot about to boil over.
I’m angry and upset and frustrated with everyone but mostly—largely—myself.
I’m angry I waited too long to make the Thai dinner I was supposed to make and when I went to make it today one of the ingredients was spoiled and another I didn’t realize we were out of. So it’s a made up dish now that no one will eat and is probably a huge fucking waste of time and stress.
I’m angry I yelled at my kids in the process—they just wanted to help but nothing was going right and the whining over who got to help threw me right over the edge.
I’m angry the banana bread I tried to make to salvage old bananas and my motivation to complete something edible for my family today literally exploded in the oven. It’s not edible. It’s only symbolic of my emotions and life. A huge fucking mess and useless.
I’m angry at my body.
I’m angry at my mind.
I’m angry I am made this way—feeling so much all the time and not being able to handle it properly.
I’m angry I’m alive.
I’m angry that all of the parts of me just want to be loved and I am often unable to make space for that love and hold on to it.
I’m angry I can’t find my worth or value and that I feel like I’m failing my life.
I’m angry that I care about my weight and size still, and that I believe that will never disappear.
I’m angry that I am a huge waste of space.