Billowing clouds of discontent

I am fermenting. Stewing. Simmering (so many food-related words, goodness!) on my anger, frustration. Earlier I was actively angry as I furiously cleaned my desk and related areas, taking out the trash and the boxes and the recycling that has been building up in our room without my roommate even noticing that I was doing all this, but that wasn't so much "real" anger as my expression of this deeper frustration and angst that just keeps existing.

I'm not even sure why I'm upset. It's just been one of those weekends. I feel ignored, invisible, and I am frustrated that I think about other people and never seem to get that kind of consideration in turn. I feel, at least, like I'm going out of my way most of the time to be inclusive, to invite people places, and, if I screw up, to apologize for it. I, however, never seem to be treated in kind. Megan is forgotten. Megan? Megan who? I feel like I work and work and no one even sees me any more.
Not to forget my current inexplicable feelings of self-loathing. Lately I've been looking in the mirror and not recognizing the person I'm seeing. I know, on one level at least, that I am looking at myself, but it doesn't seem like the self it should be. Something doesn't feel right. I made the mistake of going to the practice room with the full-length mirrors yesterday, and there, surrounded by images of myself, I couldn't help but start hating them, each and every one. In some, it was my cheeks, in others my belly that seemed to get pudgier as I watched, in others my eyes, in others my thighs laying bloated on the ground. I hate my name. My name, echoing with similarity. I am one of millions of "Megan"'s, hardly recognizable from any of the others. My name is one that belongs to a little girl, a small, chubby-cheeked spot of happiness. There are no such things as adult Megans or Grandma Megans or Aunty Megans. Where do they all go? All Megan's must die before they ever reach complete maturity--this seems like the only explanation. Or, perhaps, all Megans' are avoided by the rest of humanity and therefore never have any offspring, and those relatives they naturally have disown them so they will never have to claim relation to an adult Megan, which normally don't exist. Therefore, my fear of living alone and friendless is not only plausible, if this is true, it is inevitable.

What a pity.

I'll go mull over my discontent.