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Depression, The Rage Factor, and Making Healthy Choices

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You’re running late for your favorite gym class. You speed all the way to the gym and curse every red light you hit. You finally get to the gym, run through the parking lot, and dart past the front desk after swiping your key tag. You rush toward the locker room when suddenly you SLAM into a girl coming down the stairs with boxing gloves on.

You automatically offer a rushed apology: “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” And instead of saying sorry herself, or that it’s okay,

She just fucking LAUGHS at you.

And it’s not that, “how funny we just ran into each other!” laugh. It’s that SINISTER laugh that you’ve heard so many times before. That demeaning laugh. That laugh coming out of so many middle and high school girls’ mouths when they knew something was wrong with you, but didn’t have the right word for it. So they called you “crazy bitch” and “psycho.”

And you turn your head in disbelief at this rude bitch as she’s walking away, still laughing. You want to follow her, yank her by the ponytail, rip off her gloves, and ask this dainty cunt just what the FUCK she’s laughing at.

You want to make her face look like Ronda Rousey’s after Holly Holm was done with her.

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And if you were drunk enough and ran into this same bitch stumbling out of a bar, you probably would.

And that scares you.

You don’t know where this rage comes from, because your parents NEVER raised you to think or be that way. It’s so alien and you know it’s not who you really are.

Instead of following her, you go to that gym class. And you turn your focus onto that hateful bitch in the mirror instead.

And you kick. her. ASS.

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