You are NOT a machine.
Stop trading your pulse for a paycheck that forgets your name the moment you leave. Every silent morning commute, every hour of overtime you're too afraid to refuse, every dream you shelve until "things get better"—that's not survival, that's slow erosion. Your soul wasn't built to grind into dust for someone else's third vacation home. Get angry. Not the loud, breaking-things kind—the steady, organized kind. Anger that reads, learns, talks to coworkers, refuses to feel guilty for wanting more than crumbs. You are not a machine. You are not a resource. Stop acting like you have forever to waste on a system that would replace you by noon. Move with purpose, not permission. Your exhaustion is not a virtue. Your rest is not laziness. Your rage, aimed right, is the first real thing you've felt in years. Use it.