I want to scream, cry, tear at the fabric, bite the flesh that hurts me. I am fighting blind against enemies unknown, but familiar and all around me.
How is it that I feel so out of contol? Why is this feeling strangely familiar?
Not being told the things I should know. Being made a competitor in a game I don't want to play. No, your life is not harder than mine. No, the reason why I can manage to live day by day is not because I am privileged or lazy. I have no demons to play with. And that drives you fucking nuts.
I've had a hard day today, and the difference between me and you is that I wrote this little angry letter. And you? You just throw it all away. Soon there will be no one left to listen to you.