On a scale of 1-10 of anger, I’m at a 100. If there were a blood test for anger, I would have that critical high value that gets the doctor paged right away to review. Ninety-nine times out of one hundred if you ask for a word to describe me at that moment, it would be angry. Ok, ok, you get it.
I looked at my tags that I’ve used in writing this blog for the last few weeks and I am blown away that I hadn’t yet tagged anger.
People are supposed to go through the five stages of Grief, right? Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance
I’ve done that, time and time again. But I think the stage I sit in most often is the anger one.
I hate being so angry all the time. I don’t know where to direct it, but I know I’m not doing a good job with it. I’m not supposed to hold it in, because I’ll lash out at the wrong time, right? But then how am I supposed to get it out? The stupid little things get to me like no other
And yet, I also know that anger is all that gets me through at the moment. It gives me some small semblance of strength to put up with all the BS our surrogacy agency is presenting. Or just enough strength to call doctors and deal with bills and all the other reminders of all I’ve lost. I feel like if I didn’t have my anger, I’d be done. I’d curl into a ball and just give up.