My anger has always been a reflection of how hurt I was. Not a reflection of who I am, not a declaration of who I want to be—but a mirror to the wounds I carried when no one else would notice. People see me explode, see me yell, see me throw words like daggers, and they think I am the storm. They think I am overreacting. But I am not. I am expressing what has been building inside me for years, for decades, in silence.

Would you want me to bottle it all up? To lock every hurt, every betrayal, every cutting word, every time I was ignored or dismissed, inside a tiny glass container? To walk around smiling while my chest feels like it is cracking from the weight of all that unspoken pain? No. I will not pretend that silence is strength when it is slowly killing me from the inside.

Yes, sometimes my anger is sharp, loud, even frightening. But it is honest. It is real. It is proof that I feel, that I care, that I am human. It is a voice for the parts of me that were silenced, for the parts that were dismissed as too sensitive or too dramatic. And if you call that overreacting, then perhaps you are afraid to see the truth of my heart, afraid to witness the depth of my hurt.

I am tired of people mistaking my fire for cruelty. I am tired of having to apologize for expressing what has been ignored for too long. My anger is not a flaw—it is a survival mechanism. It is the echo of every wound I have endured in silence, every tear I swallowed, every moment I wished for someone to notice that I mattered.

So no—I will not suppress my emotions. I will not hide them in a bottle. I will not shrink myself to make others comfortable. If expressing my pain is loud, then let it be loud. If it is messy, let it be messy. Because the alternative—the quiet, the suppression, the pretending that nothing ever hurt me—is far worse.

And maybe one day, someone will look past the storm. They will see that the fire was never the enemy. The enemy was the pain that forced me to ignite. They will see that beneath every shout, every sharp word, every burning glance, there lies a heart that only ever wanted to be seen, to be heard, and to be understood.