I needed a break from everything. Not just writing, which has been sort of a lifeline to humanity, but the pressures of life surrounding me. Getting so spun up because some members of my family made the holiday worse than it already was for me, it sent me back to the hospital. The anger was so out of control I wasn’t able to rest and I couldn’t find any peace.
The funny thing is that the push over the cliff was caused by something so petty, it should have just been forgotten right afterwards. Someone getting upset because they couldn’t understand why they didn’t get an ornament for Christmas and having the gall to complain about it at dinner? Sorry, my father had too many other things going on and just plain forgot to order more.
It was a circus without the entertainment value! And quite selfishly this wasn’t how I wanted to spend what most likely is my last Christmas with anyone. I know my family well enough to not expect harmony, but this was just the beginning of too much complaining.
Maybe my perspective is colored by my own life experiences at this point. I looked at the tree and missed my daughter. The suncatcher I gave my parents last year shining brightly down on the tree kept her in the forefront of my thoughts. Even though the windows were open and the weather was warm, I still had on a sweatshirt and flannel pants. Later I sat in a chair wrapped in a blanket my mother had made for me, mid 70’s be damned!
By the time others got down from Boston to help return me to my tranquil life, I was hooked up to the wires and fluids again. If my niece had been there she would have most likely let loose on my family in a way that would have made me proud, but also sad for putting her in that space.
Getting rid of the anger has been the most difficult part of my life. I’m at times ashamed of it and other times I know it needs to come out or it has the potential to destroy me. In the past I would have just picked myself up and walked away, it’s a little harder now. When I did go lay down people kept calling my name forgetting that all-day marathons are not part of my life anymore. 20 minutes of mattress time was too much to ask.
I would do just about anything to not feel this frustration. The inability to express it without taking a part of myself has been confounding. History proved that I could just sit and talk out my frustration until I felt like I wasn’t being heard, then the loud voice had to come out. But everyone feels that at times, volume being a measure of the emotional state.
A friend keeps reminding me that maybe I should spend some time writing about this anger and how I have dealt with it. That the subject matter is rarely dealt with from my side of the equation. My uniqueness might at some point help another in the future. He may be right, I try sometimes to put it to paper but it also means going back into some things that I don’t know if they should ever be brought out of the closet again. Protecting some people is still a core value, even when I have faltered I still know I have to do so. And back comes the anger.
Hopefully I’ll be able to continue writing. The pain of the medical stuff I can handle, I always have been able to. But lately I just keep clinging to a promise made years ago, to be a better person for my kid. That single thought is what has kept me from sometimes doing even what I know is the right thing. It might end up hurting someone else.
So I guess my best option is going to “Tuesday with Morrie” route. Keep writing and trying. Same lesson I always told someone else, just keep trying. I catch you when you fall.