I’ve never in my life been an angry person, but anger has become my bosom buddy. It’s always so close, just under the surface…ready to grab me by the throat at the least provocation. Or more accurately, make me want to grab someone else by the throat. Or ram them with my Jeep when they’re going 10 kph under the speed limit in the fast lane.
As I said in an earlier entry, dealing with things that were previously Stephen’s job makes me angry. And oh, so resentful. We had a contract – we were supposed to grow old together. While he did technically live up to part of that contract – ’til death do us part – it wasn’t supposed to be so fucking soon! How dare he leave me alone, he promised he wouldn’t ever do that. He promised me, and he broke that promise. I know it’s irrational, believe me I know. I’m just not a rational person these days. I’ve accepted that, and it is sort of freeing, giving myself permission to be crazy.
As I work my way through the grieving process, I’m meant to find a way to integrate it into my being…I will be forever different from the person I was. I resent that too. I like the person that was Stephen’s wife. I grew up, I blossomed under his loving gaze. I became the best possible version of myself…he gave me the space and freedom to be exactly me. He adored every neurotic tic. That person I was is gone, irretrievably. I’ll be different, on the other side, and that saddens me.
I’m not yet at the point where I’m looking forward to seeing what the future holds. I’m told that will come, and I suppose it’s true. But where I’m sitting now seems like Everest base camp, an impossibly high mountain to tackle looming over me. In working my way through the stages of grief, I seem to be cycling through them, revisiting stages, and acceptance seems like a mirage in the desert. All I know is, my future doesn’t have him in it, so I’m in absolutely no hurry to get there. I may even be fighting it off as hard as I can. Maybe I should look at that a bit more closely? I’m told that he will always be with me, love never dies…BLAH BLAH BLAH.
While I do believe his love will be with me always, it’s not the same as being able to put my arms around him, or kiss his bald spot, or attempt to braid the hair on his chest while we cuddle. And I resent that, deeply.
Express your anger girl!!! Much better than keeping it all inside bottled up. Anger means movement and you certainly getting moving through your grief. How long it will take and what’s left as residual feelings are up to you. Keep writing!! Love ya!
I have a lot of anger to get rid of, and you’re right i can’t keep it bottled up. Love you too, Auntie.
if it helps….welcome to the anger club….but remember it is such a lonley place to be…people tend to block you out when they realize that the core of being is based on anger….take blocks of time to just be yourself with your friends without being the angry one or the grieving one….just be the friend that listens or who cares about them…..you have a life to live after him just as you had a life to live with him. try and let the anger stay at home when you leave the house. it does not have to be a constant part of your being, get back to the person you were, the secure one filled with love, and love will rebloom in your heart.
No, I can’t live like this forever, it is very isolating, and it takes so much energy. That’s worth a try, leaving it at home when I step out the door.
My anger was like yours in that I blamed Mama for leaving me. I even screamed at her (where no one else could hear me) for daring to leave me before I was ready.
And if one more person had dared to say , “She’s in a better place” I had this waking dream where I clocked them. Right in the face.
Anger is a necessity in a way. It can help…wait. It did help me burn through some of the grief. For me, it was just grief coming out through different filters.
Beat up a pillow. Kick and scream. Have a tantrum. Snot cry (you know the hard unrelenting child sobs?). That cleansing is there. You have a right to your anger as much as to your grief.
And you are working through it. Little by little. Hang on. It’s a crazy, awful ride for now. Just hang on.
Kicking and screaming sounds good, I haven’t tried that yet. So many times I want to pimp-slap someone who speaks without thinking…and then I have this moment where I’m not sure if I actually did, or just visualized myself doing it.
I’m hanging on by my fingernails, but I am hanging on.
I swore I would need nail implants by the time I was through with all of that. Bloody tips is all I had some days.
And you know what? That’s okay. Because you are doing this. You are working through it. And pimp-slap made me giggle.