I am sitting in bed feeling simply bereft.

These past few nights, I’ve managed a few hours of sleep until 3 a.m., then been awake. Last night I slept until about 2 a.m. I tried to go back to sleep for a while, but now, at not even 4.30, I have given up on the hopes of sleep for another 24 hours. I know I cannot settle. I know I will not be able to, now that something is stirring.

Anger.

My anger is starting to surface for the first time since I heard the news of James’ death. It comes up from my belly, roiling like big waves do, far out at sea. Up the front of me, swirling around in my chest space. Spreading down through my weakened arms, down to my hands and fingers, typing these utterly useless words. Up into my neck and mouth, bringing with it the bitter taste of wretched waste. It extends into my jaw, which, if I were less exhausted, might jut out in haughty disdain. But I am too tired and collapse under my anger.

I crumple forward in disbelief, sadness, and fear. Head hanging, unable to bear its weight, or perhaps the weight of the thoughts within my brain. Pain shoots down the sides of my body, into my legs. My tummy now a tight, taut ball of anxiety. Rising waves of fear come up my front to my throat and into my jaw. Fingers now trembling. Shaking in fear. My body has gone cold.

It’s a circular swirl of discomfort, tension, sadness, anger, anxiety, and fear.

I am angry that I cannot even hold on to my anger. I want to just feel angry for a while. Not this powerlessness that comes with such pointless death. I wish I could feel properly angry and rant and rave and rage. There is so much to be angry about. But I cannot hold on to it. I am too tired. Too sad. Too bereft.

What a fucking waste.
What utter relational incompetence.
What senseless, heartless, unconscious, brutal, thoughtless behaviour.
What devastation.
Consequences and ramifications that will now ripple out in all ways and for always.

I am back to anger, and before I can even rise up in my indignation, I collapse under its weight.
I give up on anger.
Anger gives up on me.

I am just too tired of it all.
Tired of death and loss and grief and sadness.
Tired of seeing my parents so bereft, so worn out, so hollowed out by multiple losses.
Lost.
At a loss.

Tired of witnessing familiar patterns of family dynamics ripping violently along their deep faultlines.
Again.

So pointless.
How dare you!
How dare you cause, create such catastrophic chaos!

My anger is back.
Good.