Both Pastor and Freud have now made suggestions to me that I write about my feelings either in a journal or in letters to people that will never be mailed. So here I am. My deepest darkest thoughts always go here in my anonymous blog where they are read only by anonymous internet people. Just because my deepest darkest thoughts no longer have to do with infidelity and indiscretion doesn’t mean they are fit for public consumption in the light of day so they seem to be appropriate here.
Grief. One of the stages of grief (and they aren’t linear you know but more like a spiral) is anger, and oh boy do I have a whole lotta anger going on lately. There are very few with whom I am not angry, and my anger gets pointed in many directions. My writings now and at least for a while are going to be my expressions of all the anger I have so that I can work my way through it. It may get ugly. It may not always make sense. It may seem ridiculous. That’s okay. It’s all just me being me and trying to come out the other side a little saner and hopefully a lot less angry.
At the core of the anger is that I hate not being in control. I am a control freak. I like everything just the way I like it. Death very clearly removes any illusions a person may have about being in control. If I were in control I certainly wouldn’t have allowed Dad to die within two months after my grandmother died. That is just not fair. It is not fair at all that just a few weeks after burying her mother my mom had to bury her husband. Life is not fair, and that just pisses me off. I am angry. I know that there is nothing I can do to change the way things are, and that makes me angry. I am angry at the world. I am angry at God.
I am angry at everybody who expects me to just pick up and move on. I got the three day bereavement leave at work, and then I’m expected to be back at it. That’s it. Suck it up buttercup and get your work done. Well, sorry but it doesn’t work out that easily. I’m distracted. My mind wanders. I have moments of overwhelming sadness. I have moments of clarity and focus, but they are fewer and farther between than they need to be for normal functioning. I’m told by those who know – like Pastor and Freud and by others who have lost a parent – that what I’m going through is normal, that I should be easy on myself and not expect myself to be okay yet. Well, sure, but they aren’t my bosses. They aren’t the people that expect me to just keep on keepin’ on.
I am angry at W because he doesn’t cut me any slack either. All of the little things and big things that annoy me are magnified, and it makes me angry, and he doesn’t get it, and he wants me to cut him some slack because he’s grieving. Sorry buddy, but it’s my dad that just died, not yours. You have got to stop expecting me to do everything just like normal and to react just like normal and take care of things just like normal. When the fuck does it ever get to be my turn to be the mess, to need help, to be taken care of? WHEN?
Anger.
It is so overwhelming right now, the one overriding emotion that is swallowing me whole.
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4 comments:
You know my story TS. The anger tore apart my relationship with my kids (we all had anger issues), and nine months after my wife and dad died I had to quit my job before I completely lost it. I ended up moving to Oz for many reasons, including my need to get away from all the reminders.
One of the things that allowed me to realise I could do this was when my grief conselor told me I needed to be selfish for myself. I found out the only person that could take care of me WAS me. No one else.
My circumstances were different, kids grown, on my own. But I hope you find a way to help yourself through it. Blogging helped me, in fact it's why I started blogging. And it led me to start a journey. And now here I sit in my dad's old easy chair writing to you.
I SO remember the anger your feeling right now. Once in a while, even five years later, I still feel it just a little bit. Nothing like it once was though.
Time will heal. Another thing my grief conselor told me was to "be gentle with myself". More good advice. I wish I could tell you how I dealt with the anger when it came up, but I can't remember, odd, eh? All I know is I did, and you will too. Hugs from your not anonymous internet friend!
John, Thank you soooooo much for your comment. You make me feel like I'm almost sane, or at least sort of normal, or well, you know what I mean. One of these days I'm gonna make a west coast tour, and you're definitely on my list of people to visit, my dear not so anonymous internet friend. :-)
I'm having anger management issues for a whole host of other reasons...
"When the fuck does it ever get to be my turn to be the mess, to need help, to be taken care of? WHEN?"
Boy can I relate! Right now I'm sandwiched/strung out on tightrope/insert metaphor here between the needs of son/parents/husband/employees & of course Val seems to be very far down the list. Let's not even talk about ongoing "co-parenting" negotiations w/sociopathic ex...
I fantasize about breaking free for my own lil' cross-country visits to all my friends in the computer, not that they wouldn't run & hide if they suspected Da Truth...
Sorry I'm so late getting here, Truey. . .
It's now a couple months since my dad died, and the grief 'process' (if I can parse it in such a 'clinical' manner) has been. . . not what I expected. I expected the loss of my dad to be an utter earthquake in my life, but it really hasn't been. Dad was 89 when he died, and given his family history, I've been mentally preparing myself for his death for 20 years.
But it's been more like an unrelenting background sadness that just stubbornly won't go away. I'm not angry - at least, not that I can tell. And I really am utterly grateful for his presence in my life, for as long as I had him here (and the fact that he was in my life well into my 50s is a blessing of the highest order). In some ways, it feels like depression, but not really that, either. I can still function fine, and I take joy from Jen and the kids, and all the close friendships I have. But there's just this sadness. I miss him. . .
I know, I should be posting this on my own blog (and I'm sure I will), instead of cluttering up your comment-space with it. Just know that I have some intimate personal knowledge of what you're going thru, and I do pray for you. . .
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