You may have heard about Seasonal Affective Disorder, also known as SAD. In a nutshell, it occurs during the seasons and in the areas where there is less sunlight. People become depressed and withdrawn simply because they are trapped inside without access to enough light. Treatment is often phototherapy; they are essentially prescribed sun. I wish there were some sort of similar prescription for my current ailment.
I have recently (or maybe not so recently – perhaps like SAD, EGADS is cyclical and I’m unfortunately on an upswing) developed a severe case of the EGADS, aka Every Grief Acts Differently Syndrome. It could also be referred to as Each Stage of Grief Appears Differently Syndrome, but ESGADS just doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it?
Although I haven’t posted in quite some time, things have been going quite well for me. In the past six months or so, I have completed my MBA, gotten engaged, started a new job, been on my first cruise ever (and second, and third, with a fourth this coming weekend!), and gotten married to S! There have been so many positives in my life and so much happening.
Then, EGADS! Where did this anger come from? EGADS! Why is it harder at almost six years than it was at 5? Or even 4? EGADS! Why am I being such a %$!@?
I’m not an angry person. I’m an annoyed person. I get frustrated and ticked off and irritated. But not angry. Not want to throw things or punch something (or someone) or storm off and slam doors. But that’s where I’ve been for the past week – angry. It’s unnerving. I’ve certainly shocked myself, but more regrettably, poor S has borne the brunt of it several times.
It’s not as if he has just been minding his business and I sneak up and ambush him. No… it’s more that he commits some minor transgression when – EGADS! – I unleash to a degree the infraction doesn’t warrant. To his credit – and my great frustration – he is maddeningly patient and refuses to engage with me when I’m in that place. Part of me wishes he would, so I wouldn’t feel so guilty about lashing out; the other part is thankful he can still tolerate me in the aftermath.
I’m not sure whether I should be grateful that this anger part of grief took so long to get here, or angry (a great irony) that it bothered to show up at all. I could have done without it, I can assure you. What I may have considered anger in the past six years pales in comparison to the emotions roiling through me in this stage.
With April looming, my subconscious likely decided to make sure I remembered it was coming. As if I have been having too much good happening and I’m not allowed to be that happy, that the life I had been living is over and what right do I have to enjoy the one I am presently living. Now that I have determined where this rage is coming from, though, I can address it and (hopefully) find a more productive way of expressing it. Certainly one that isn’t directed at the man who loves me. It isn’t fair to him, no matter how exasperating it is to find the cupboard doors open… again.
So I’m going to try to simply take a deep breath, count to ten, and close them. EGADS!
Copyright Many Faces of Cheri G 2022