A release of energy, of toxins

A contortion of muscles, a downturn at the corners of the mouth

The tenderness of your body, inside and out–everything is sharp, everything hurts

The feeling that this feeling will never stop

Until it does.

The waterworks subside, muscles relax, a few final shuddering breaths to renew the system

Do you ever think about how much you cried as a child compared to now?  I can remember crying almost daily as a child, and at the smallest of things.  I dropped a plate.  A loved or worshiped one shooed me away.  Someone made fun of me.  I fell and scraped my knees.  I embarrassed myself one way or another.  I’m tired and frustrated and don’t know how to express it.  I remember hating the fact that I cried so often and wishing I were an adult so I wouldn’t have to. 

And then adolescence came and I cried less, maybe once a week.  Better, in my opinion, but still too much.

Puberty came along and it was much less regular, monthly, weekly, daily–nobody could predict that.

Then I began a regimen of birth control pills that made crying a faraway memory.  I remember attending my grandmother’s funeral and being completely unable to muster up a single tear.  Despite the seeming control I had, I felt disconnected, inhuman.  I even navigated relationships differently.  While I cared for my significant other at the time I was also apathetic to their actions and feelings–often feeling ‘too tired’ to emotionally deal with whatever matter was at hand.

That final phase lasted 10 years until my doctor advised me to stop that regimen as it was beginning to take a toll on my body.  I can’t at all say that my emotional road since that decision has been easy.  Four months out I fell into a deep depression, new but not completely unfamiliar.  Six months out I found myself considering ways I could just end it all for myself–New Year’s Eve, specifically, was difficult for me.  And then I cried.

There was light.  A pinhole at first.  A spot in the dark you’re not even sure is there because you can only see it when you don’t look at it directly.  And then it got larger, I could see it, focus on it.

It’s twilight now and I can see my surroundings and navigate through them.  I’m crying again.  Regularly.  And though sometimes I do feel ‘out of control’ and overly emotional I’m realizing that at least I am feeling what is happening inside.  At least all of that feeling has a way out.  Because as much as it sucks to cry, nobody can deny the relief that washes over you after a cry, especially a good hard scream-cry.

Plus, living things are messy.  We’re meant to excrete, expel, be messy.  Letting emotional scar tissue or laboratory-created corks stop us up isn’t doing anyone any good.  Perhaps if we all cried a little more this place would be a healthier, more pleasant and supportive one.  Also, there’d be more hugs–and nobody can deny the medicine of a good, firm hug.



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