Stormy

Maeghan Bielski

I am 17 and have always loved both reading and writing. J.K Rowling and Margaret Mitchell are two of my favorite authors and one day I hope to become as amazing a writer as they are.

Message from Writer

Just Do It.

Floating

March 11, 2015

PROMPT: Floating

1

Every day I would wake up and the feeling would be the same. Anger. Irritation. Annoyance. And sometimes hate. Mostly, I kept it burried. A small flame that I kept tame. Sometimes though, it would flare up. It was caught in me, trying to break free; it would slowly overtake me.

 I felt like the anger caued me to feel unattached from the world. I wasn't happy. Even when I was happy, the anger was still there, lurking in the shadows. Instead of being able to release steam when the water boiled through a spout, the steam was forced to stay inside, building up little by little. Usually, nothing caused this anger. It was there all the time; I even remember being angry when I was younger, except I didn't control it as well. But sometimes someone or something would turn the flame on high, add some fuel to the fire. And it would burst. And when it burst, I felt like I was hovering on insanity or reality was a thin wisp of smoke, barely there.

 Control was hard to regain. I knew this wasn't "normal" but how did I get it to stop? I was too chicken tor hurt myself and I was not the type to hurt others. So I hurt those close to me verbally. My mouth became my most lethal weapon. I wanted others to feel my pain, or at least some part of it. I wanted others to know what it was like to feel like you're bordering on insanity or hoevering in the air. I needed them to understand how I felt and they could only understand if they felt it, too.

 But after, I always felt ashamed. How could I ever want someone to feel what I was feeling? Hell, it made me so miserable, that looking back I question why I would ever dream of hurting someone else so they hurt like me.

 Of course, I felt even angrier about the fact that I was angry becauase I was angry. Who wants to feel angry about the fact that they're angry? Does that even make any sense? Untethered or floating or adrift or hovering does not even begin to describe my feeling. I felt released. But chained. Like at first I was chained to the ground with handcuffs, but now I only have handcuffs now. And the key is in my backpocket, but I can't quite reach it. I'm so close.

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