I’m still angry.

I’m still so angry.

Maybe I will be angry for my entire life. Maybe that’s just me.

Maybe I did think that keeping a blog would transform my anger so I wouldn’t feel it. Maybe I wasn’t being honest with myself.

But I see so many others and am so angry.

They get to be so average.

So fucking behind in figuring shit out and we just let them. We have to move at their own pace.

mmmhmmm yes I know this is a burden. I see this clearly.

This is reflective of the pain I have suffered that no one let me go at my pace.

No one let me figure things out in due course of natural development - it had to be figured out so far in advance.

But there is also this reminder that feelings themselves are not the problem. It’s the shaming of those experiences.

But then balancing that with this desire to exert some form of control to be able to get somewhere, do somethings, that can’t happen in this totally free floating space. To do that there has to be some level of control and influence.

And a sense that one can’t win.

That one just has to pick something and go forward. There is no RIGHT way. There is just the way that you choose. Which is deeply woven into the social fabric which you exist.

You are not separate from it. You are deeply a part of it.

I struggle - I am stuck.

But I am angry that I am here at this age. Don’t come at me with that age doesn’t matter thing. Because it’s not the age per se but that it represents by now that I am still stuck on patterns that don’t serve me.

A way of being that does not serve me.

The change I thought I was going to overcome by now.

But have not.

Below this anger is sadness. A deep sadness that the hope that I held on to, what which pulled me through many deep, dark, painful times in my life was still not my salvation.

Not my transformation.

Not the answer.

The realisation that it was merely the tool. The thing that got me to here.

But from here, there must be other things I use.

New things I grasp on too.