I’m tired of being angry.
For those just joining us: I lost my left leg below the knee to a massive bone infection in January. It was my “good leg,” after damage to the right last year. Over two months of hospital stays, some surprising love from people I’d thought lost (and betrayals from those deemed stalwart) and half a year of recovery, I have my prosthetic and am slowly learning to make this work.
I can’t believe how much anger I have in me about this. I keep trying to find meaning or to balance all of this out with some sense of gentility or purpose.
I’m not there yet. I need to find a purpose for this anger, first. It’s not going away on its own.
It’s really not cute, either. I used to be teased for my redheaded temper; now it’s more like a norse berserker. I’m channeling this energy into the gym and I’ve gotten strong, even as I’ve gotten less peaceful.
I worry every day about breaking something irrevocably. I worry everyday that that something will be me.