Angst: a feeling of deep anxiety or dread, typically an unfocused one about the human condition or the state of the world in general.
Explain to me, please, how from the time I turned 11 years old to the current day I thought angst was an angry and evil thing. I have thought that every time I yell at my mother and she yells at me, or every time I kicked over my little brother’s new Lego sculpture that I was demonstrating a very good example of a little thing called Teenager Angst.
When really, every time I was worried if I was going crazy or if I would turn out to be mentally unstable, I was displaying Teenager Angst. Every time I worried if I was socially acceptable or had a weird condition that forced me to worry and wonder and think about things that nobody else thought of, I was suffering from Teenager Angst.
My Conclusion: They, whoever they may be, has to term wrong. Or maybe I’m interpreting it wrong. Wherever the wrongness may be, I figure I shouldn’t worry about it. They don’t know what’s going on in my head and as long as I like what’s up there (because I’m the only one with the means to do anything about what’s up there), I’m good.
From the world of the not-so-ordinary,