Holding Back

I used to have a friend who was crazy. She was crazy in some of the ways that I am crazy, but she was more histrionic. Sometimes she was manic, funny and adventurous. When she was depressed, she would lash out at anyone around her. I started to resent her, because she would yell at people when they - we - were trying to help her.

I realize now that I didn't hate her. I envied her. Because she expressed what she felt. She was able to yell when she was angry. Maybe it means she was a bitch, maybe it means that she couldn't hold on to any friends, maybe it condemned her to a solitary existence. But she was lucky, in a way. She expressed every thought and feeling she had. She probably felt guilty about it afterwards. She apologized. Some people never forgave her. But when she felt like shit, she spoke up. When she was angry, even at the people who were trying to help, she said so.

She was free.

I will never be free in that way. I am chained to my ideas about what it means to be a good person. I can only swallow my anger and let it rot me from the inside. It is probably for the best. Still. Sometimes I wish that I could be selfish, too. I wish I could hurt the people who have hurt me, and not give a fuck about their goddamned feelings.