Rage

I hate elitism. Yet I am prone to it. It disgusts me and also makes me convinced that everyone else judge me as I judge them. Especially now. I don't know the borders. I don't know the limits.

I feel like a volcano that is too tired to erupt. I don't know if I know how to do this when it doesn't come pouring out of me like when a dam has burst. It creeps back into me. I push it back without wanting to, because I don't have the tools or the language for this. And I don't have any security, any safe space where I can try and dig it up again. No respit.

I'm so angry at myself that I could scream. I want to scream. I want to bash my head against the wall to punish me for my own blindness and stupidity. How could I do this to someone I love? How could I NOT see these things? How? Why? I have no right to feel cheated or robbed.

And all I do is putting a new layer of paint on this empty rotten house that is me. It feels so pointless, so meaningless. And yet I get some kind of perverse pleasure from it.