There is one rule: do not drive when you’re mad. And do not write either. But oh, fuck tonight. I’m mad, yes, mad at someone and I’m holding myself from metaphorically yelling at this guy, since I can’t yell in a text.
I hate it. I hate not having the chance to speak, the time to be heard, the way to show my good intentions. I hate this fucking distance ruining every good thing that happens to me. I hate myself for being so weak that I cannot stand being ignored for half a day.
I hate that I have to keep myself busy at all costs to avoid going down the road of the depressing thoughts. I hate that I lost the pen I used to write all my negative emotions with on my diary. I hate getting a stomach ache everytime I hold those emotions inside…
And I hate not being able to speak and clear out such a mess, and instead I’m staying still and crying silently, so to not be heard and not be judged.
It’s a living hell when you can’t explain these things. It’s a living hell to be ignored. That, out of all things, is the worst one can get when one needs to be listened to.
It’s all so unfair… I can’t.