Who’s this person staring back at me? She looks tired, her eyes lack that sparkle. The corners of her lips are tilted downwards, her brows furrowed. Who is she?
Oh, she is me.
I want to bury myself in the covers and hide away from the world. The conflicting mix of frustration and empathy is churning crossly within. I’m angry, so angry with the people who are nearest and dearest to me. They can’t seem to understand my point of view, my sense of urgency.
Would I be so frustrated if the acts weren’t committed by people I love, I wonder.
I don’t care. I don’t want to speak to them. I just want to hide away in my bubble world. Find me under an avalanche of work and resentment.
Do I sound like a spoilt child?