Displaced.

Sometimes I really hate my degree. Six years of school left me with the natural tenancy to over analyze and think, think, think.

(Not that I was born with that tenancy at all....HA!)

With this education came all sorts of terms and definitions:

Repressed

De-escalation

Subconscious, Ego, Id, Superego (Thank you Freud)

...Displaced...

Specifically, displaced anger.

It has found a home in my body this week, and it is an ugly and messy house guest.

I am angry I have to make decisions NOW.

I am angry I will have to deal with giving myself and Deak a shot everyday.

I am angry those shots cost money.

I am angry that my right hand cannot tie the freaking ribbons around the buckets I am creating for all 49 of my classes.

I am angry that I cannot get my son out of the bathtub without the fear that I will drop and hurt him.

I am angry that my shoes don't always love my right foot anymore.

I am angry my right shoulder, neck and arm have been in pain for 24 hours.

I am angry that even if I sleep ten hours at night I still feel as if I am hungover in the morning.

I am angry I keep visualizing my MRI with the big lesion on my brain every.single.night.

I am angry.

But, I don't tell you that...

I tell you I'm fine, and managing, and things are coming together nicely.

Which is true when my mind is visiting better places.

But, for today and most of this past week...my mind has been visiting Iraq (which I am only assuming is not an ideal vacation spot).

The "displaced" part of this anger comes in several forms (sorry Blair), but is most noticeable when anyone (and I mean anyone) complains of any type of health issue.  The irrational thought process sounds a lot like this:

A random person is on the news complaining about the flu...suddenly I get a strong urge to stand up, punch them in face and say, "Really? So sorry you got the flu for 24 hours. How about you try to work full time, raise two kids - one who eight, darling and at times emotionally unstable...and another who is four, 35 lbs, happy and at times struggles with pretty major stuff.  Try to do all that AND the laundry, and pack lunches, and clean, and be a good friend/family member/parent, and shower.  AND...try to do all that with a dead right arm, numb right foot and the impending implication that this could possibly be the "easy" stages of the disease.  Get the f up and deal with it, you baby."

Sick right?

I know.

It's horrible and mean and I really hate the fact that I have these thoughts right now. This stupid degree reminds me every single time the thoughts appear: they are not healthy (you think?), they are irrational, they will bring absolutely no resolution to the issues I'm dealing with, and they will eventually cause feelings of guilt and remorse.

But, I kinda want to punch my degree (and my moral compass) in the face too.  I've been rational 95% of my life, and part of me thinks it is due time I let that 5% have some fun.

But, the rational (and hopefully kind) part of me will win.

I want to keep my friends and family members.

I like them a lot.

I hope they'll excuse my displaced anger filled rages and still want me around.

I promise, it will get better, and I will be nicer soon.