I am an angry person. I was not always this way….maybe a small part but nothing like I am now. I was always told I was patient and easy going. Not mellow, there’s a little something too chaotic about me at any given time to be considered mellow, but not one prone to tantrums or outbursts.
Something changed. I could never quite put my finger on what happened, but I know it happened while I was pregnant. I know, hormones, but my even-tempered personality never really evened out. It became harder to control my anger, which I always have to do: at home and in the office. I could never figure out why I was so angry all the time. I do not believe it is just one thing, but many:
I’m angry that I got pregnant,
I’m angry about who got me pregnant.
I’m angry that I got pregnant so late in life.
I’m angry that I’m a single mother.
I’m angry that I can’t give my child everything she wants.
I’m angry that I don’t have a better paying job to give her a house and a dog.
I’m angry that I cannot give her a younger sister or brother, which she so wants.
I’m angry that I cannot give her a family that lives in one house together.
I’m angry that she’ll be too young to lose her mother when I go.
I’m angry that I wont be able to protect her when I’m gone.
I’m angry that I won’t be there when she needs me, after I’m gone.
I’m angry that I get migraines which means that on days we should be laughing and having fun I’m too sick from either the pain or the medicine to enjoy spending time with her.
I’m angry at everything that I cannot control.
No, I’m not dying, but I know it will happen before I’m ready to leave her.
No child is ever ready to lose a parent, I think. I know when my parents go, I won’t be ready. They have lived good lives and are in their 70’s, and they are healthy, but time will take them eventually and I can’t imagine the hole in my heart that will be there when they go.
I do what I can, and she has everything she needs: shelter, clothes, food. I spend as much time with her that I can. We color, play games, go out and do things when I have the money. She gets more kisses than she can bear, and on the weekends we snuggle on the couch, usually watching Scooby doo, until it’s time for breakfast.
It’s scary, having a child. I want to keep her safe and warm and watch her have a perfectly happy life. Even if she has a perfectly happy life I know I’ll ruin it by dying, and her heart will break.
Its funny how the one thing that has given me the most joy can at the same time instill such fear for the future.
My father always said to never own anything that you’re afraid of losing. While I don’t own her, I do fear losing her.
I never had anxiety before, but I’m pretty sure I have it now.