Cry.February 27, 2013 at 3:11 pm | Posted in Crazy Talk (aka: Therapy), Cult of Personality | 6 Comments
I don’t cry very much.
I DEFINITELY don’t cry in front of people.
You see, that would mean I’m being vulnerable.
No, it’s far more easy to be angry, to develop a hard shell over the soft places, to never show anyone how bruised and battered those places get.
When Amy died, I couldn’t let myself cry in front of anyone. I told myself that I had no right to cry, because my aunt and uncle and cousins all lost far more than I had. So instead, I crept off into the funeral parlor bathroom to cry – I snuck off because I didn’t want anyone to know I was off crying. And I sobbed into my pillow at night, muffling my grief as best as I could until the burning of my eyes hurt too much to continue.
Eventually, I stopped crying over Amy. Because I was choking on my grief, and I didn’t know how to get through it without dying myself.
So I buried it. And over time, it got easier – the not crying. I turned them around – made tears into motivation. I was going to SHOW someone I wasn’t weak, I would prove to them that I was strong, and capable.
And, eventually, I went on the offensive, pre-emptively turning those tears into anger or criticism or annoyance before I could get hurt enough to cry.
And here I am. Nearly 20 years later. When I cry now, it’s mostly from anger – when I’m impotent with rage and my throat closes up and there’s nothing I can do but let it out.
It’s rare, though.
I can count one hand the times I’ve cried about losing my pregnancy last fall. Even when I felt completely shattered, even when I was being kind to myself, even when I told myself I NEEDED a cry – it was never for long, and never in front of anyone.
Never the release from the pain I hoped it would be.
I am now part of a family of criers – my sister in law, mother in law, and even my father in law will often cry when telling a story that moves them. Charlie’s cousin S, going through treatments, told me, tearfully, I cry all the time now.
I am so CURIOUS about it. I’m amazed by their ability to open up and allow themselves to be vulnerable in those moments when their eyes well up. I wonder if crying is a release for them, or if they’re embarrassed by it.
And I’m envious of the freedom in which they feel their emotions. I wish, sometimes, I was as free with my emotions as they are. I wish that when I cried, it wasn’t entwined with anger. I wish I wasn’t angry so much, come to think of it. I wish I hadn’t spent so many years building up this shell around my heart.
Dismantling it is such hard work.