Destructive

I had an awful weekend. Visiting the bed-ridden grandmother started a chain of events that turned me into a monster. Grandma had an awful bedsore and I made the decision to get her into a hospital. That led to a whole night spent in the hospital A&E. All Saturday night. By the time I got home past midnight, I had snapped at my mom, SF and the little one at home, cleaned a sore bigger than my hand, helped a nurse insert a urine tube, listened to a lady wretch her guts out in the next bed, saw a man being prodded and smelled rotting flesh.
On Sunday morning, my one attempt at being civil got a rather unfriendly answer from SF, and there it went -- I flipped.
The quarrel lasted into the day and SF, the destructive one at home, got a taste of what it's like to see things destroyed. I broke his thermometer. The sad part is, I've been very destructive of late, breaking the little girl's pencil, throwing her books away and now, onto SF's possession.
This is quite scary. Frightening to me because I wanted to show my anger. I can't hold it in. Therapy must come from within me. Learning to tell myself what NOT to do before I do it isn't so easy. May be I should meditate.
I'm also a bossy person and many times, people don't want to be dictated to. SF included. If I learn to just do it on my own, perhaps I'll anger fewer people. I'll try to Nike more often then.