Why thank you. I am indeed angry.

So I have a resting bitch face. This means I almost always seem angry. It makes it very difficult to approach me. I cannot even begin to tell you how much I enjoy that. It gives me the space and freedom to be in my head, and not be aware of my surroundings. So the very few times I notice a guy working up the courage to walk up to me and strike a conversation with me, I can almost bet his opening line will be, “You seem angry, but I just wanted to say you are beautiful.” More often than not, I usually find myself wishing they had stopped at “You seem angry.” I think that is the greatest complement anyone can ever pay me. Let Me explain that. I don’t want someone to walk up to me and tell me,”You seem like you have anger issues. You should probably see a therapist.” Though if someone did, I would find it refreshingly honest and maybe even sexy, because I do have quite a bit of anger issues. I think anger is my primary emotion. Just the mere sight of people enrages me. I am taking my introversion a tad too far. I digress. Here is the thing, I think anger is what drives change. If you can get angry, it means you care about something. It means you have the potential to make the world a better place, as lost as that course seems to be of late. Also, As I said before, It takes quite a bit of honesty and courage to tell someone they are angry. And the world needs a bit more honesty and courage. Telling someone they are beautiful is such a generic thing to say, so much so, it doesn’t even have to be true.

But more than that, I believe that people, especially women, are a lot more interesting. To tell them they are beautiful, would be to dumb it down. Because it is important for women to understand that they do not have to be beautiful. They do not owe society or men a symmetrical face. It is pretty cool to have a beautiful face, but you know what is even cooler? A kind soul, a curious mind, a big heart and my favourite, an angry personality.

Every once in a while someone asks me why I write and I usually just shrug. Because, what else I am going to do? Where else will I channel this anger? I can’t particularly say I know why I am so angry all the time. But I do know it has shaped me into a better human being. Is it exhausting to be on the verge of an emotional breakdown every single second? It is. It is exhausting as fuck. (Is actual fuck exhausting? I don’t know. Everyone has an opinion these days. As it should be. Because Fucking is a personal thing.) My whole point, before fuck hijacked my train of thought(I regret saying that. The double entendre. I’m not going to delete it though.) was that accepting and reeling in my anger has shown me the depths of my personality. I don’t think my eleven year old self knew I could care so much about feminism and racism and corruption, let alone be so outspoken about it. My anger helps me understand other people’s anguish and I think that has ultimately made me a better writer, if I do say so myself.

I keep visualizing the kind of world it would be if women owned their anger. If we understood that being angry doesn’t make us flawed and ugly. If we all understood that anger is an essential part of our humanity and that finding healthy ways to express that is integral in any kind of relationship. Think about it, emotional abuse stems from someone telling you that your anger, and feelings in general are not justified. That you are overreacting and being crazy. And if they do it long enough, you begin to believe it and doubt your instincts. You begin to rely on them to second your feelings, and before you know it, you are letting them tell you how to feel. And I think that is how we lose ourselves.

Now I’m not saying that our feelings are absolutely rational. But no one should ever make you feel like you have to apologize for feeling a certain way, for being angry. You can and should apologize for smashing his windows after a breakup, But you should never apologize for feeling hurt. Because when all is said and done, how you felt about things and people is the only measure of how full your life was. You can’t let people take that away from you.