The sadness is a given. Everyone expects that and is tolerant when I tear up over the littlest gesture of kindness. But what do I do with the anger? the hatred? the outright venom that I want to spew all over the freakin place?
There is this part of me that find great solace in being able to cry freely. I know I can close my office door and have a good sob when I need to. I now have Norman Rockwell's Four Freedoms hanging on my office wall to examine when I have to deal with a particularly difficult phone call. I'm learning to cope.
But then there is the part of me that wants to smash something. I want to kick and hit and bite (nobody in particular...just everyone I see). I want to throw things and tear up anything even remotely destructable. It's funny too because none of it is directed at myself. The experts say to watch for self-destructive behaviors when you're grieving. I have yet to hear of anyone warning about the possibility that I might want to go on a homicidal rampage. I guess that would be self-destructive in a way, but it's really just outwardly directed at the universe in general.
And I can't do it. My office is...well...my office...and I don't want to get fired. In my car, I need to maintain my senses in order to get safely to my destination. At home I have dogs, a child, and a husband who all need me to not lose control. It would probably frighten all of them if I went on a mad rampage. Heck, it frightens me.
I've read a couple of those self-help grief books and they suggest starting an exercise routine. Apparently the physical exertion helps to take the edge off. And since I still have 5 lbs baby weight to lose, on top of the 50 or so just plain fat pounds I should lose, I'm going to give it a try. I'm going to hate every step of it...but if it makes me feel less like running over the little old lady in the grocery store parking lot, it'll be worth it.