I haven’t done it in years. Different events trigger it, but in the end it is always the same. I’m lying on my bed with my fists clenched, yelling through my tears.
“Why? I don’t understand! Why me? Why does this have to happen? It’s not fair!”
I pound the bed with my fists. I kick at the blankets.
Sometimes it is just seems too much. It doesn’t make sense and I rail against the world that made it this way.
There is no consoling me at that point. I just need to be mad at the world.
Eventually I tire myself out, curl up in the fetal position and let my husband talk me back from the edge. In the end, regardless of the why, it’s about our children.
These are not the days I talk about when people ask how I am. They are not me at my best. What I’m learning, though, is that it’s good, even healthy, to get angry at the world. Life is not fair and every now and then it’s OK to kick and scream about it.