there it was. Friday evening, the minute I felt the safety of my bedroom floor. A deep breath leaked out of my lungs and brought out every acidic thought I’ve had for weeks, months, years, and some I suspect will follow me for the entirity of my life. Overall, it was an angry cry. The kind that prevents you from breathing, pushing harder for one more tearing sob, pulling at your soul. I cried for hours, on and off, for a spectrum of reasons. A spectrum of reasons with one revelation: I am angry. That is not a pleasant place to be, especially not when I thought things were looking up. It wasnt’ the kind of cry that happens, and then it’s over and you feel better. Rather, the kind that makes your body ache, and leaves a nasty taste in your mouth, a bitter reminder in the back of your brain. The very worst part is: I haven’t a clue what to do about this.