Last night, I lost it. Blew up. Exploded. Screamed.
It was a singular outburst of dramatic proportion, much more than the trivial event which triggered it, tripping on a misplaced shoe. One emphatic yell and it was over, but that was just the beginning.
My wife, who I know is emotionally fragile, takes any evidence that I’m displeased or simply not happy as an indication that I’m upset with her. My scream unleashed a storm of tears. Once started, there is no rational way to calm her down, it’s a matter of patiently waiting for her mind to reset. She’ll bounce angrily around our place, slamming doors, muttering to herself, and then, suddenly, she’ll come back, hug me, and ask me if I love her.
Of course I do, but I feel terrible that my outburst has so upset her.
I make every effort to avoid such venting, knowing the inevitable consequences. She is love on two feet, not capable of any thought but love for me, for anyone. It is impossible to be angry with her. But sometimes I get angry with being blind.
Then I’m angry with myself for causing her pain and vow to never do it again.
But sometimes I just loose it.