Anger revisited

Going back and reviewing my archives, I found that this is about the time anger set in last year. So you'll be glad to know that I'm right on track as far as that goes. I really can't think of anything to say that I haven't said a million times before. I am not "resolved" in my grief. I don't think I'm even taking steps toward resolving my grief. But my archives say differently. It's a damn good thing I keep a blog...if only to self-diagnose and self-treat my own mental breakdowns.

Yes I'm angry...let me count the ways (with apologies to EBB)...

At people who complain about mere annoyances as though they are real problems...and expect me to agree.
At the rain.
At people who ask me how I'm doing. Really. How do you think I'm doing?
At my body...wash, rinse, repeat.
At my dead children...I mean, it was all under their control, right?
At happy mommies. I want to choke the living snot out of all of you (yes, I know you don't deserve it).
At my house.
At this acid indigestion I've got.
At the fact that Boogie won Big Brother All Stars.
At the rude Manager at Michael's who wouldn't give me my coupon off the regular price of a Thomas toy because it was already on sale and she didn't know how/want to override the register.
At myself and the fact that I can't, despite all my best efforts, write a shiney happy post on this blog.
I read another blog today that said, "I don't want this to turn into a grief journal," and I was immediately pissed off at that too. Why not? What's so wrong with grief journals? When your support network falls away and moves onto happy places and you are stuck in a dark dark place where there is only a pinpoint of light to guide you out...a grief journal can be salvation. Don't make me ashamed of it.

Last night, mid-rant at Steve, Sam said, "Mommy..." and I turned on him and snapped, "WHAT?!?!"

He put his hands on his hips in a frighteningly accurate imitation of yours truly and stated very matter-of-factly, "You don't have to yell at ME."

And so it goes in our household.

There have been a few things I've been mulling over that other people have said to me...along with a few things people have not said to me. But I fear that to say anything would only serve to unnecessarily feed the anger. If I don't pay it any attention and don't give it any nourishment, I am hoping it will grow too weak to control me anymore. I know it will if I just give it time. But I am growing weary of waiting.

And so it goes on this blog.