A hidden fury

Sometimes I’m so angry with Barry I think I could actually rip his head off. I feel myself getting hotter as my blood begins to boil in response to the horrible truth. As I think about my situation my thoughts degrade as I imagine the most horrible and hurtful things I could put in a text to send him. I’m usually very tired when this happens and more often than not it’s a Tuesday. I hate Tuesdays. I’ve usually had the baby a few nights running and I can feel the pressure of work bearing down on me because I haven’t had enough time to mark.

Maybe it’s healthy to get a bit angry now and then. But I’ve also heard that bad feeling generates more bad feeling.

I want ant to tell Barry what an absolute low-life scumbag he is. After all the years of supporting him through thick and thin, helping him through depression and getting a new successful life together after the army: waiting for months on end for him to come home from some distant land. Then, when I need his support, he leaves. I want to scream my head off at the injustice of it all! I want to rant and rave, smash plates, tear my hair out, sob my heart out.

But I don’t. I refrain from sending the abusive text messages and finish my chores before I can go to bed. Unlike him, I can’t just do whatever I want, whenever I want. I have responsibilities. So I clean the kitchen and hang the washing with a calm exterior. The raging fire burning underneath: a hidden fury.

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