I arrived home bloody livid. I have not felt such anger since my 20s. Raging against the wind - howling at the moon. Utter frustration.
I was grateful for nothing.
I had spent the previous three weeks or so fighting for my life. Was shattered and had been bitterly afraid.
I raged at my condition. Was unfair. I allowed the self-wallow. I saw people who could move and I was deeply jealous. I had tried all the nice stuff and now had no more nice left.
I threw stuff out of the car window on the way home. I broke the car keys by stabbing them into the dashboard. I kicked the fridge and hurt my foot. I slammed the back door and the handle fell off.
I smashed a glass onto the kitchen floor. He didn't get what I was saying so I smashed another and told him to bugger off back to work.
Slammed cupboards, upended chairs.
I went into the room and pulled the curtains off the rails. The room looked like a bloody tomb. Needed light. I now had privacy. I lay upon the bed and cried my heart out until I slept.
I howled for all the vulnerability and humility and the ever present state of fear that had been the last few weeks.
The energy it took to do all that was phenominal - I haven't factored in the pain element or that I looked like a junkie robot.
I had tried for so long to accept and be nice and in the end I just couldn't do it. I had to rage.
Cost of exercise approx $2 for two drinking glasses plus replacement car key and plastic curtain thingy-bobs.
Best thing? The tantrum released a huge pent-up store of negative energy. Normally I am a crier - but this time just straight out crying wasn't going to do it. Looking about at the mess I couldn't believe I was able to do that - it made me feel strong and was proud I was able to effect it, in the most silliest possible way.
I woke from the sleep feeling a lot more grateful than before it. There's a lot of truth to the saying - storm before the calm.