Chapter Text
Dear diary, hello. Fuck you. You don’t get a date.
Diary recently I’ve been thinking about anger. About how it makes me feel, specifically. And diary I know that sounds obvious, oh duh duh duh, anger is a fucking FEELING. Of course I feel things about it.
But diary.
Listen.
You have to understand. I have a COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP with my anger. It is very complex and immaculately wobbly. Wiggly as well.
It’s like marriage.
I am in a marriage with my anger.
And oh gods. We are in a messy fucking divorce.
Allow me to explain.
All my life, diary, I have been SO fucking mad. Just mad. Just pissed and fucked up and gods damned furious . Furious at so many things! Furious at Phil, at Dream, at Technoblade, at Phil again, at Wilbur, at Dream! Mostly at Dream! I got mad and furious at Tubbo once and said something that was SOOOOOOOOOOOOO FUCKING BAAAAAAAAD, you don’t even underSTAAAAND. And one time I got really upset at Ranboo and pushed him into a big nasty hole inside a dark cave up in my own head. :( I am not very proud of that. I am not very proud of any of it.
I don’t like how I get when I’m angry.
I get bad.
I get all mean .
And not fun mean. Not mean as in jokes about Ranboob or where I call Tubbo an idiot. No, I mean I say things that are really bad and I hurt peoples’ feelings. And yeah okay, sometimes they, IDK, they maybe deserve it for being mean to me first? And like Puffy said it’s a thing where sometimes I have to be mean to stand up for myself and tell wrongings what-what. But even then, it FEELS bad when I say stuff when I get angry. Getting angry is how I hurt Tubbo. And when I was angry, I got hurt by D
Scratch that, fucking SCRATCH THAT SHIT, DIARY, WHY DON’T YOU RESTRAIN ME WHEN I AM HAVING. A fucking moment. What do I pay you for? Really.
But ANYWAY moving on, fuck all that. I don’t like to be angry. It isn’t fun. It wears me out and always leaves me so exhausted. It’s fun when it happens. I guess. Not really though. Getting angry hurts and leaves gross tingles on my skin. Like when your foot falls asleep because you sat on it wrong, but like for my whole body, and I get really hot and really sweaty, and sometimes I cry because I get so mad, kinda like Tubbo does. But Tubbo probably doesn’t have super bad headaches. Unless he does and I don’t remember because I’m an idiot. Which could very well be the problem!
I could be the problem.
Why did I write that?
Being angry now feels like being the old me. Old Tommy. Old T. Past Innit. I used to be so angry, back when I was a little kid. I was loud. I was annoying. Everyone thought that I was stupid and they were right because I was a big huge idiot. And like I know that isn’t all of it. But it sure is a lot. Me being pissed really did cause a lot.
Puffy says that’s self-inflicted victim blaming and that it’s not good and that saying it is wrong. But she also says that you’re the one who gets to hear all my Secret Feelings. So there’s one for you, but it isn’t a very big secret. I’m sorry.
Old Tommy was always mad. He screamed and yelled and swore and caused all kinds of trouble. One time he I stole some drugs from Wilbur and put them into some guy's beer. He got really sick and threw up until his face turned all pink. I laughed and then I broke into a person’s coop to let out all of their chickens. They went everywhere! I laughed when she got upset. And I also burned things and destroyed stuff and did it and stole. I stole a lot. Lots of things from everyone. In my defense, we were really poor. But still. I did it because it was fun and because I was always fucking mad.
Why was I mad back then? Do you know, diary? Because I sure don’t. Maybe I just was . Maybe I’ve always been.............now I’m sad, and sad feels cold.
Anger. Is. Hot.
Not sexy hot, I’m asexual, I don’t get that.
But like. Temperature. Temperature hot. Anger is hot and it leaves me super warm. It’s filling. Filling is the word I wanna use. It’s like lava and I’m the volcano. It’s bright and red and hot so hot super hot even, and it bubbles up and comes flying out ALLLLLL THE MOTHERFUCKING HELL OVER all over, yes, and when it does it’s FUN and while it happens I’m warm and not so afraid.
But then the anger stops. And then I am not so warm. When I’m not mad, I’m sad. And sad is so cold and so empty. It’s a big dark cave filled with nothing but ice and the things I wish I still had.
I HUG my anger.
I hug it so I won’t be so cold.
It hurts me, and it burns the people I love. And it drains me of everything I have to give. I’m not a big volcano. Just a little woodpile with some logs and a bunch of twiggy sticks. I give it everything for a bit of warmth, until I’m just nothing, and all I have to give is ash and sad and whatever else I’ve got left. And that isn’t fun.
I’m not as angry as I’ve been, anymore. Sometimes I am. Sometimes I get so so fucking mad that it’s all red and my wings are probably burning. But now, it just feels
fake
. I don’t feel like I’m
really
getting mad. I get annoyed at Tubbo and Ranboo when they’re being stupid. I get upset when Dad pushes too much when they’re asking about my day. I get bothered when Chad doesn’t answer my texts or Eryn ignores my phone calls. Why do they ignore me? I went through exile. I was alone for so long. Why can’t I be fine w Why am I so greedy??
See?
I should be fucking pissed.
But I’m just. Not.
I’m just sad. And tired. And sleepy because it’s half past twelve and I should’ve been in bed over three hours ago. And that’s good and I want to be glad. I hate being angry. I didn’t used to be so angry.
But it feels wrong. Because without anger, all I have is the sadness. And it’s cold. But I guess it is also a bit soft.
Is this good, diary?
Am I good now that I don’t get so mad?
I don’t know why this has happened. I don’t know when it happened and when I got sad more than I get mad whenever I get all scared. Because that’s how it works. Or at least how it used to. It used to be that someone would yell or scream or be an ass and I’d get so scared that I’d scream at them until they cut the shit. But now I just cry. I just cry. It’s all water where the lava used to be. I’m a raincloud. Being a raincloud makes me feel very confused. Confusion is all wiggly. I’m too tired for wiggly raincloud shit.
Old Tommy was a volcano. But really he was just a pile of twigs.
Sometimes I miss when I was Old Tommy.
Lately I feel like I have been, kind of. I feel like I’m still him. But he’s so small and I’ve gotten so big. Old Tommy was 5 years old. He had 5 year old anger. Now I’m 16, and the anger’s gotten bigger, but it’s then gotten so small. In a few months I’ll be seventeen. Seventeen with five year old anger that’s bigger but is also just the same. Like it’s there, but it isn’t as loud. It doesn’t want to burst.
Do you understand this shit, diary my pal? Because I sure the fuck don’t. I don’t understand anything except the words Puffy taught me. Words like ‘projection’ and ‘compartmentalize’ and ‘trigger.’ Trigger is a thing that sets you off. I used to get mad whenever I got triggered. Now I just cry and get scared and try to get Dad to hold me.
It’s not BAD.
It’s just DIFFERENT and I do not understand.
I feel……….lighter???? I guess? I guess it’s a bit of a GOOD different to not be so wrapped up in the anger. But I wasn’t really wrapped. It just came out when I got stressed. So. Is it good that I don’t get wrapped up when I get stressed? Is that good? Is that safe?
Wait. SAFE, IT’S ME BEING SAFE, MAYBE? IS THAT IT? DIARY WHEN I GET PISSED PEOPLE YELL AND HURT ME AND THAT’S SHIT AND I HATED IT BUT WHEN I GET PISSED NOW PEOPLE DON’T YELL AND THEY LISTEN AND THEY HELP ME AND THAT’S GOOD AND MAKES ME FEEL NICE, OOOOOOOOOOOOOH SHIT, I’VE HAD A EPIPEN. That’s right, yeah? That’s the word? Ahhhhhhhh, fuckit.
DIARY. I need to go to bed. I am not angry, just tired. A proper sleepy lad. Puffy says I’ll probably feel worse the more that it gets cold. That’s shit and I’m pissed about it. But like, Old Tommy kind of pissed, yeah? Just small and annoying but not too hot to the point where I get burned. And I think that’s alright? And I think that I’m going to be okay.
I don’t know. I don’t know a lot of shit.
I know I miss when it was warm.
I miss my brother. I’d do anything to see him again.
I miss when feelings were easy.
I miss when things were so simple.
I know that I’m mostly happy most of the time nowadays. I know that it’s gotten easier. I know that I feel okay, in general.
I know that I am closer to the old me than I’ve ever been, childish anger and all. And I know that it feels good and that I am warm. And I know that it’ll be okay. At least I’m pretty damn hopeful it will be. It is already, at least compared to the rest of it.
And I know I’m tired. Maybe I’m not divorcing the anger. Maybe the anger’s just different and I need time to get used to how we’ve both changed. I’ve really changed. I want to be kissed on the cheek by Ranboo because he is so handsome, and I want to lay on Tubbo’s wonderfully muscular yet also incredibly soft chest while he preens my wings. I want to go in my garden and feed my moobloom some flowers. I want to fly around in the sky where it’s all blue. I want to play with Sam Nook. I want to hang out with my friends. I want to go to therapy each week and then go lay in a field under a night full of pretty stars, but only in the summer, cuz fields are cold when they’re covered in snow because that’s how the seasons work. I want to go home. Feels like I’m already there. That’s the same as I’ve always been. I’ve always wanted to go home even when it’s not there anymore because I’m still getting used to this new ‘home place.’ I want to make breakfast and get my hair brushed by my dad. I want to go to bed. I want to be alive.
I didn’t used to be this angry. And now I’m not as angry as I have been, and I think that’s okay. I think I like the me who only gets mad sometimes. I think Newer Tommy is okay. New Tommy was also fine but still got really pissed a whole lot. He had reasons. But he still felt super shitty. Old Tommy is still around, and that’s also alright, because he was five or seven or ten or eleven, and he was small and mad at the world and also mostly Dream as well as sometimes at Wilbur. And he was right to be mad. It’s not wrong to be mad. I’m just mad a lot less than I have been before. And that makes me feel more okay.
We’re going to the beach tomorrow. That’s gonna be poggers. Excited for that. I hope I don’t ruin
.
.
.
I’m tired. I’ve had enough introspection for the day. Goodnight diary. Be a friend forever. Love you.
Prick.