Angry Chair

I like to revert back to the angry stage in grieving.  It is familiar to me, it is welcoming, I operate from there often.  I was blessed to be featured by Charlie Palumbo, and let me tell you ,if you have not read her book, please go out and get it, download it, or however you take your media these days.... I loved her book.

Here was my Angry Chair post:

http://www.veteranartist.com/Home/2011/12/28/featured-veteran-artist-kateri-peterson/

Its true. I’m angry. I am so completely pissed off at the world that I can
hardly contain it. My husband has to go to treatment for his ptsd and tbi.
Thats not the problem. The problem is, we are a month out from him going, and he
is in this self fulfilling prophecy mode where he has completely checked out.
And that pisses me off. Hes angry, I’m angry. I’ve gone from the supportive,
understanding wife, to the angry verbally assaultive bitch whom all men fear
(and divorce). I am completely incapable of holding it in…its coming, I can
feel it.

The sad thing is, he is leaving and dealing with his own
demons, and all I can think is, Who the FUCK is going to help me shovel all this
snow!? I have 3 kids, I have a full time job…a dog, cat etc….that was his
job. And I am getting angrier at myself because my husband came home from
Iraq. My husband is still alive. My husband doesn’t hit me, or my kids. My
husband really loves us….we could have it way worse, so why am I so goddamn
angry?!
I didn’t marry my husband until after he came home, I don’t know
how to handle deployments. I don’t know how to handle the children alone. But
then again, he’s been checked out for awhile, so I maybe I do know.
He
takes his pills to calm down and i resent him for it. I want a pill to fucking
calm down. He goes to the clinic and gets support from his care team, I want a
fucking care team. I hate this place, I hate this angry bitter place.
Today I looked at our sad sorry tree (fake) that only had the lights on
it (that are half burned out) and 2 candy canes and one bulb and I almost
freaked out. That is what ptsd has done to us. Look at that sad motherfucking
tree. Look at what ptsd has stolen from my family. I hate you I hate you
PTSD.
Had he lost a leg, an arm, been burned, it would be NOBLE for him to go to rehab. Had he lost something on
the outside, my family would be considered courageous. He would be a hero, even
here at home. But there is a pressure from society to shut up. We are hurt on
the inside where no one can see, therefore, it doesn’t exist. The stigma for
these wounds (which I will tell you hurt just as much) are hindering his
recovery. And I hate it. NO one wants to talk to me about it, except the
girls who are in this same fucking mess I”m in. They get it. My other friends
don’t want to upset me, or bring it up, so they tiptoe around me, like I might
break if they say the wrong thing. I don’t want to be tiptoed around, I don’t
want to be ignored.
Today is an exceptionally angry day, and I will not
apologize or censor myself, because I can’t. I am completely incapable of
censoring myself today. And it may get worse as the time to go draws near….it
may get better. The only way for you to see, is to keep reading.