When I finally got around to seeing a therapist (yes it did help) she encouraged me to let out my anger. Problem was I didn’t have any. It was no-one’s fault that my husband had died after all. Well yes the hospital wasn’t great, the doctors couldn’t save his life, God didn’t intervene……..bastards!!!!!! It took an hour of therapy to get from robotic acceptance to absolutely fuming; I was angry at pretty much everyone.
The therapist’s office was about 30 minutes from my house, it was dark and the road consisted mainly of bends (I lived in the middle of nowhere). As I said before, I had a 5.5 litre V8 sports car at the time and I was not in the mood for the guy in the BMW who cut me up just as I set off. All the rage that I had inside came out all in one go and he was the target so I began to chase him. It was dangerous, irrational and bloody irresponsible – I didn’t care if I lived or died in that car at that precise moment – I just wanted to run the BMW off the road.
And then a funny thing happened. I realised that I didn’t want to die. In that stupid crazy moment I made a choice – to live…..