anger

When I was a good bit younger, I use to get mad about the stupidest things. I mean, seriously, "stupid angry" about insignificant problems that weren't really problems. I've gotten a lot more mellow as the years have gone by (being a PW will do that to you), and now reserve my anger for more important matters. That is to say that I rarely get angry.  However, if I do, watch out!

That anger is a lot different than the anger experienced through the grief process. Being angry about illness makes me ill as a hornet. It's like my nerves are on the outside of my body and those who dare, touch them. I hate that feeling. I've had to do a lot of praying to get myself through that stage quickly, and xanax helps too!

I just couldn't stay parked there because it made me feel worse; and while I feel as though I am through it, I still feel it rear its ugly head from time to time. I have to stamp it down, and remember that there is a purpose for this. The bad thing about any of these stages of grief is that they can revisit at any time. This is one stage that I don't want to revisit or stay in.

I have to say that blogging again has cleared my head as I'd hoped it would. It helps me put things in perspective. While the writing is no where near my standards, I haven't seemed to care because it allows me to get it off my chest and move on. There are some things, unfortunately, that I can't even share here. Poor Steve has been getting an earful lately about those things I can't write about. I'd never want the superpower of reading minds. I sure don't want anyone to read mine! It is hard to not have the ability to share things with someone. I really don't want to burden Steve, and I truly hate talking on the phone. So, I'm glad the walls can't talk. I know Steve won't judge me, and that's important to me at this point.