Day 14

I left the house angry yesterday evening. I was triggered over a rule that had been put in place that was making me feel like a child, or a caged rat. I walked up the road to be alone, my eyes turned to the ground avoiding anyone I passed. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be here. It’s too hard. Maybe if my heart was in one piece—but it’s not. My whole life I’ve always done the hard thing, and for once I’m tired of it. I want a reprieve.

I sat in a field and screamed. And that’s when, if I was honest, I knew my anger wasn’t so much about the rule as it was triggered by it. The anger was about my loss. Grief hit me like a tidal wave, harder than I’ve known yet. I cried and I screamed and I felt the anger rise up. The feeling is so raw I can’t even pinpoint yet where it’s directed—at myself? God? Aaron? I wondered if someone would come find me and force me to come back to the house, but no one did, and I curled up in the dirt and waited until the sun had completely set and the coyotes had begun to wail.

When the temperature had dropped and my muscles were tense from shaking, I stiffly made my way home where I slipped into bed with most of my clothes still on. This morning my heart still hurts. I’m torn between knowing I should be around people and not wanting anyone to be around me (which is hard in a house of eleven people). I have no words. I don’t want to talk about it. I’m tired of people asking me how I’m doing because there’s never an easy answer to that question and sometimes I have no clue. And there’s nothing anyone can do for me. Not really. I just have to succumb to this tidal wave and hope that one day I’ll ride it out.