You need to do something about this anger…
Says my nutritionist, says my ex shrink. Did what happened to me happen to them? They can hear a door slam and not jump. They can chop a tomato while hearing the phone ring and not end up in the emergency room almost severing their finger. They can look at a cupcake or a slice of pizza and not suffer from the waves of panic that when I see them, suffocate me. Do what I say, and you can have some candy. You bought me Pizza and beer, that means you like me, so I can force you to have sex with me.
After winning my case with the hospital over the horrific way I was treated a few months ago, I wanted to feel better. Instead, I feel worse. My idiot ex shrink vilified me over this incident. What if you got so out of control with your PTSD, that you hit one of the paramedics and were charged with a crime?
For the love of Christ as we approach Ash Wednesday....PLEASE!!!!! After going through Manhattan criminal court, not once, but TWICE, I for sure know that DA’s have bigger fish to fry. My guess is that this was not a lesson he was taught in Social Work School.
Everyone says I am angry, and I don't deny that I am. Who wouldn’t be if they were me? But that's only one side to me. None of the professionals who psychoanalyze my level of anger see me when I am out dancing with my friends, when I am volunteering at church helping people less fortunate than myself, when I am relaxed and knitting or just doing everyday things young single people my age do. Everyone makes me out to be a basket case because I am very outspoken about what happened to me and I speak my mind when it comes to my feelings about our criminal judicial system. I fight for what I believe in. What’s wrong with that? It's not all of who I am or the only thing I am about.
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