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What Made You Angry Today?

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Some punk trying to impressed his girl, backed up his car about 30 foot (9 meters) spun the car the other way in order to put highbeams on me (as I was smoking a cig standing under a tree). He then gunned the gas with braking motion to inch the vechicle towards me with noise...
I stared about where the driver should be (jacklighted by the carlight) kept smoking and blew it towards his car.

Must have made him nervous as he stopped moving forward after a few times, when I didn't back up. I was counting on the tree behind me to ef his car up if he continued and to be honest ... I think I made him nervous as he squealed wheels and tore off as I finished my cigarette.

It is hard to get a smoke in now-a-days...
 
MOTHERf*ckER! This. This is why I f*cking hate stuff. If I don't have it I can't lose it. It can't be taken away. If it's not branded on me, cut on me, or inked on me, I don't f*cking want it.

I lost a token, today. Not today. Sometime. Recently. I think I heard it drop. Can remember the moment like a damn cymbal. And if so, it's gone forever. I decided it sounded like a rock, was just a piece of gravel, striking odd. Rock? Certainly. Gravel? Hardly. And the only way I'd even be able to think of being able to replace it means flying to motherf*cking Brazil, and going three days back country to the motherf*cking mine it came from. And, oh, resurrect a few dozen ghosts in the process. Which should be a piece of f*cking cake after magicking up the capital needed to make any of that even begin to happen. Motherf*cking, cocksucking, puta, bitch. You f*cking lost it.

Dammit. Why does losing the token of them, hurt more than losing them? I can't replace it. It's gone. The last thing of value I had left, they gave it to me, and it's gone. I need to go to Brazil. Not now. But dammit. Damn damn damn dammit. I f*cking hate stuff.

***

Someday, if I live long enough, I will be a very old woman sitting on a beach in Brazil, drinking a caipirinha, watching the beautiful boys with their baskets of puppies... Chasing the memories of my youth. And until then, we will think no more of it. Gone & Done.
 
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Today, I was pretty much told to f*ck off because they didn't believe I have CPTSD. Because I am open, helpful and kind, am I not able to try to get pass the disease that could destroy any ounce of humanity I have left? I decided to just leave and stay here. I read some of the stories here and that really made me burst into tears. I was shaking after reading one story and I wish I could've held her tight and tell her it was okay.
I wish I could hold you all...and just wave my magic wand to make everything alright...
 
Forgiving is not always healing. I dont know why people keep on preaching this, it might work for some, but not for all. It implies (Can imply)that you ignore your true emotions. So keep the repression going..
If you dont forgive the abusers you receive no peace.Your hate is making you ill. You must forgive and forget. Then you will be well.” But it was not hatred that drove patients to mute desperation in their childhood, by alienating them from their feelings and their needs. It was such morality with which they were constantly pressured.(I think I read this somewhere)

The other day I was asked to apologise for something, where no apology is necessary. I decide that. And when I feel its not necessary to apologise, I dont.
 
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Relatively petty seeming bullshit meaning many big things.

& That my mentor again had to sign at me how the f*ck he means because I wasn't grokking words at all. Maybe that's a good sign. 'Cept it makes me feel like a total useless idiot.

Nevermind self, looks & gestures are more of negotiation than words every so often anyway, you know this, quit this panic line.
 
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