Skip to main content

Anger - Seething Rage

My husband and I fight. We argue, fuss, scream, and yell. We struggle to be heard by one another and we are determined not be walked on. Both of us do this, not just one of us. We have sought counseling on more than one occasion with mixed results. Some days it seems that it is just not worth the struggle and on others, there is no doubt that the work we put into our relationship is worth so much more.

Saturday morning, following a fairly successful 'Date Night', I succumbed to the inner turmoil of my mind (I was PMS-ing as well) and let loose with fears and emotion that had bottled up inside. My husband went into indignant mode and stood solidly against me (or so I judged). I felt marooned and alone on my island of misery. I was hurt and knew I was overly wrought but I was powerless to stop the onslaught of my own emotions. I explained, I pleaded, and eventually became so enraged that I drop-kicked a bagful of groceries we had packed to take with us over the weekend. Man, the chips really flew as did four small cans of Fancy Feast we had packed for the cat. I am so ashamed.

My husband's answer to this was to leave. Who can blame him? I have a heightened fear of abandonment. Likely due to parental abandonment at an early age but I'm not young anymore. In the midst of a heated disagreement, I feel so unworthy, so toxic and poisonous, and then when I can't stand another thing, it happens. I get left...alone...to deal with all of those negative emotions piled up in my heart...dragging me down...crushing my spirit...threatening my very life. I may be the cause of the abandonment today (not the former parental abandonment) but I feel so powerless and ashamed for not being able to rise above the situations which cause my pain. I feel so ashamed for the pain that I inflict upon the very person that I love most.

My answer? Look for my part, readily admit my wrongs, ask for forgiveness, work towards forgiving myself, and try desperately not to repeat the mistake.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I Remember...

I remember catching fireflies,  putting them in a jar, as a girl of five. I picked pears off a tree that overhung an alleyway on my route home from school, then enjoyed the forbidden fruit. .I had a golden cat who chased a gray mouse through our living room sending my mother, 3-year old sister, and me screaming atop the sofa and chairs. We lived in a farmhouse and I watched Romper Room. A daddy longlegs skittered across my dirty kid legs as I teeter-tottered on a broken kitchen chair back. I played grocery store and laid out a bedroll for group nap time in preschool. We lived in an apartment attached to a bakery. My maternal grandparents visited and a photo was snapped. Grandma held Dawn and Grandpa held me. I held Grandpa's chin. Walking through the back of the flour-caked kitchen, I saw scrumptious pastries and colorful toys stuck in the cupcakes with my hungry kids eyes. We lived in a two-story apartment building next door to a large farmer's field.  That field was my...
3 comments
Read more

Lashing Out

Fed up. Sick of hearing, "I'm sorry."  Apologies don't erase the pain you inflict on me. You pull my pubic hair. Your nitrile gloves pull the hair from my head. Not once in a while but day in and day out. You turn me in a manner that suits you rather than in a manner that doesn't stress my body. Why won't you use the pad and sheet to turn me as one unit? Instead, you allow my body to twist as you hold me one-handed. How good you are at your job. What part of "my muscles are dying" don't you understand?
Post a Comment
Read more

Fall

Orange, gold, rust, burnt sienna, ochre, raw umber; the riot of fall colors, in the trees and at our booted feet; a drive in the countryside; the taste of hot apple cider on my lips; the satisfaction of a truckload of firewood we gathered and cut ourselves; elk herds on the move; hearty stews, savory soup, crusty whole-grain bread, pumpkin and gingerbread spice lattes; these are the memories I tap into the most this time of year. Cabela's fliers in the mailbox; Carhart's camo-clad hunters swarm outlying areas; mushroom garthering; huckleberry picking; logger burgers; forest service roads; cheese sandwiches on the woodstove; warm quilts, cool sheets, and flannel nightgowns; cold butt, warm heart.  Immensely grateful to have the well of memories to draw upon.
Post a Comment
Read more