Mr Angry from Melksham

Wednesday Wisdom

I figured that it was about time that I tackled anger.  I don’t know if this is a phase that I am going through, or something more permanent, but I am certainly angry, and have been for some time.

Last week, I received the edited version of my book back with all the usual corrections to syntax and grammar, but there were also a lot of comments on the content, its contradictions and inconsistencies.  My initial response was one of anger; how could this person comment on how I felt?  Having calmed down, I gave it some thought and it occurred to me that the book was being edited by someone who had absolutely no concept of what this type of grief felt like and was commenting from a position of ‘ignorance’ in its truest sense; he was entirely ignorant of what this feels like.  The impact of Evie’s death on me is something that the editor could not comprehend because he had never experienced it, and my comments at the beginning of the book that emotions relating to this type of grief are volatile, didn’t sink in with him.  The point that I had been trying to make was that all of the perceived ‘norms’ disappear for us bereaved parents.  I was angry that he couldn’t understand that.  I was angry that the death of my daughter hadn’t connected with him.  I was angry that there was no comment on the loss itself.  But…….  Why would there be?  I had written the book as a way of unloading the pain, using it as a way of examining my own feelings and healing at least in some way.  The editor was just doing a job in an objective way.

The more I thought about my anger at him, the more I realised that at my core, that I am angry at everyone because Evie has gone and the rage that I feel needs an outlet.  Just like all bereaved parents, I am angry that Evie is dead and yet so many others continue to do evil or wrong.  And I am angry at myself because I can’t change it, I can’t bring her back.  I’m angry that fixing things is what I do, and I can’t fix this; it is beyond me.  Her death is brutally unfair.  I lose my temper at the simplest thing.  Whatever triggers me isn’t the problem, it is the fact that I don’t have an outlet for it.  I can’t vent that rage anywhere.  Relaxation techniques don’t work for me.  I need to direct the rage somewhere and release the pressure.  I suppose that I need the world to understand what this feels like, all day every day.  As each day passes, more people step back.  We struggle to fit in with a world that doesn’t understand.

Basically, I want Evie back. I want her here in my arms. I don’t understand the unfairness of it, and that makes me angry.  Worse, I have no idea how to tackle it.  Another topic for counselling?