It's not like anger at certain persons or situations or concepts. Those are pretty clear. Anger with myself is a tightly tangled mess of steel wool threads. Yeah yeah there's the LoveYourself blah blah blah and I do. I think I'm an adorable creature. My mother called me that in French, une adorable créature. But there is still anger with myself and no chocolate-covered blindfolds can erase it. Maybe it's necessary. Legit.
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