I used to be so angry. I'd spend days raging and when no one else was in reach I'd hurt my own body. I was both miserable and miserable to be around. It's unfair to talk about that, unfair to keep speaking as if I am better. I am not, not yet. But the anger has died down, leaving absolutely nothing in its place. I stopped the pain from hurting me by fighting back, but then I stopped. I stopped fighting but I didn't stop trying. I cut my losses and went off on my own. While on my own, I pulled all of the thorns out, thorns I thought were there to protect me, but really were just open wounds, forever unhealed. In place of the thorns were empty holes. I had hoped that flowers would grow, but I need to water those areas first, and let them grow in the light.
So here is the emptiness
