Anger is like a cheat code of emotion. Like vomiting then immediately feeling better.

Thanks testosterone, you cunt.

That’s my secret cap.

One of the things I love about my late best friend is how he reminded me to be angry.

When facing exceptionally difficult circumstances for an extended period, it’s easy to slip into a survival mode where you become so accustomed to your unjust situation that it feels normal. As we grew closer, my friend would often be shocked and outraged on my behalf upon learning about some of the nonsense I’ve had to fight, which always surprised me — by that point, I’d internalised a lot of nasty stuff, because sometimes it’s easier to blame yourself than to acknowledge how broken the system is.

In some ways, it doesn’t matter whether I’m angry at the system, or turning it inwards on myself; I, alone, can’t do much to fight the systemic injustices of the world. But learning to get mad at things again has been immensely grounding, and that has served as a good foundation for building solidarity with others. Mindful anger is powerful