Tears ran down my face and I tried to choke them back. Unable to speak. Ashamed to be crying. The gentle words coming over the video, “allow yourself to sit with those emotions. Don’t stop them.”

 

Anger. So much anger. Envisioning myself breaking things, hammering out the anger until I shatter whatever is in front of me.

Not isolated emotions.

Simultaneous.

And in my world, often self-suffocated.

 

Even though I’ll let a tear drop here or there and have breakdowns where I tell my husband how much it hurts… Huntington’s Disease. But on a DAILY basis, if I allow myself to think about Dad or HD, I could start bawling. I just don’t allow it. It’s like a button, even a brush against it and I could be there in that breakdown of tears if I allowed it. But I shove it aside, brush it under, smother it. Suffocating it with thoughts of thousands of daily tasks or distractions.

And then I have these bursts of anger. This immense frustration at little things. Or telling myself my body or mind is defective. It gets even easier when I add my health issues to the mix. Me. It’s my fault. Something’s wrong with me.

I whirl as I realize this is underneath some of my short-tempered reactions. When I want to scream or punch a wall because I made a recipe wrong while doing food prep. I tell myself, “what is wrong with you? who reacts like that over food?”

And then therapy happened. I come face to face once again with the reality that I am angry ALL. THE. TIME. It’s underneath.

 

Mad because I miss my dad. In every way.

His approval.

His immensely cheesy jokes.

The way he lost his temper and said, “that’s the end of it, period!”

I’m mad my husband will never fully know him.

I’m mad HD feels like it dictates our family dynamic.

 

It’s the underneath. But just like roots, clay, earth. The underneath needs to be there. As I acknowledge this grief, my anger at so many things not even in that list. I also acknowledge it’s okay to feel that way. It’s okay to ask why. It’s the underneath. Because under that and over that will come understanding.

I don’t like to acknowledge it because my fear is those tears will never end. It feels like this grief will never stop. Even writing this, and every time in therapy, this visceral response rises.

 

Dizzy.

Spinning.

Out of control.

Sliding down the mountain.

 

I’m okay crying when I feel hope in church as we sing resurrection songs. Those give me hope. Those are my only comfort in HD. Death is defeated in heaven. Death has been suffocated by the blood of Jesus.

But sitting with that grief. Man, that is so much harder.

Without this darkness, without feeling buried by anger and grief… there is no rising.

And so, I will allow myself to grieve, to be angry. I will acknowledge the underneath. And I will let it out. Whether it’s a mental health day, a shooting range, or lifting weights and crying my eyes out. I will let it out. Because if it stays underneath… there will be no rising.