Rage. Pure, unadulterated, rage. Swirling just beneath my skin, my eyes narrowing and my muscles tensing. There is no fight or flight reaction, because I have nothing to fight, nothing to run away from. It's pissing me off.
I want harsh metal. Skillet. Guitar. Music. Screaming. Through. My. Ears. And. Plugging. Up. Every. Other. Sound. Energy compounding in my stomach because of all the s**t I ate today. Too much food in not enough time. I won't puke, but instead feel mad for being stupid for eating too much.
Anger rushes through my mind that the only thing I want to do is break things. Puke up all the s**t that is turning into fat and get it out of my body. Go for a late night walk. Work out until I pass out from fatigue. I don't even know what I'm mad at. I don't know why I'm mad.
It bothers me so much. But better to hurt myself instead of the people I care about, right?
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Lauren's Journal
Whatever I feel like typing.
My soul is composed of music and a Player's words, dancing across the stage in a fanciful fashion.
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