People always lie

So I told myself not to be weak, but I knew I had already started to be. I knew with every hit that I loved the pain because I wanted to punish myself for being weak, for being wrong and for letting someone be something. When I started hitting back, when i started beating in rage, when I started screaming, I knew I was beat. When I was forced down on the floor and hit again I cracked. Like a child, I was screaming and crying, arms over my face, embarrassed. Arms lifting me up, putting me to bed, holding me, saying nothing. At last, no more sobbing, and you ask if it was about the hurt that you inflicted. No, it was all anger. I was angry at the world, your friend and you. You.