This is a post which I wrote yesterday.

‘I don’t get angry, I just get disappointed’ 
Well if that’s a fundamental principle, then I am disappointed to the point of disgust with you, and hatred towards myself. Never before have I considered myself to be an idiot and somehow, it seems that you have shown me another side of myself. 

Thank you, I appreciate the lesson. In return I want to teach you that no matter how open you are in words, open arms are a million times more comforting. You never fell into my arms, though I fell at your feet. My moral was decimated and my principles, humiliated. 

At some point I will break into poetry that gives a snap shot of the hour, a shard of the piece of glass that just shattered on my skin. I tried in vain to explain and yet agonisingly, you make me wait. I can’t even bring my pen to explain the words that are falling like tears on the page that I just want to tear up and roll into a ball. 

If you have read this far, what do you care? What do I care? These are only more words on a page that are unfit for purpose and will only drift between the unconscious minds of many, until someone perceived as precocious will look down on my words and, with a frown, deem them as inadequate as you have so often done. 

Why am I writing this? Because £20,000 of therapy never helped anyone and they’ll just put a label on it. You put a label on it. I’m done. It is now one minute past one and I simply don’t care. Maybe I should set the feeling as fine. Just fine.

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