Growing up I was one of those kids who internalized everything. My outlet was my journal. I loved writing. I could be myself without fear of judgment. Until that time my dad and step-monster decided to read it. After that I got into the habit of writing in ways that were almost coded for their eyes. Code switching with myself so as to not get into trouble. It didn’t work and in the midst of my teen angst after the god-knows-how-many-times they’d read my journal and chastised me I just burned the fucking thing and stopped writing.
But I still have that nasty habit of worrying about someone reading over my shoulder so I try to be careful. It may not seem like it, but I promise, if I wrote everything the way it appears in my mind I would likely alienate a lot of you, be misconstrued by others of you, and worry the rest of you. But I cannot couch what is going on in my heart and mind anymore.
I am angry. I am sure a lot of you are. I have awakened every morning since the election with kno…
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