I hear faint murmurs and laughter. I see open-mouthed joy and crow’s feet. I smell curry and garlic.
Sometimes it hurts so bad that there is an ache on the left side of my chest and all I can do is clutch onto whatever’s there, a blanket, my bolster, a warm hand, a book and curl up into a ball and wait for the tears to find its way out of my tear ducts and leave faint tracks on my cheeks an hour later.
Crying is an extremely strong means of catharsis for me. High-pitched gasping for air, body shaking, snot releasing crying leave a faint ache in my heart and although sometimes it leaves me more helpless than ever, I still feel like I have achieved something. I get so tired that I fall asleep faster. I wonder what it is with crying that makes it an embarrassing act and that we often feel the need to hide it because we want to appear to be strong or to not be that emotional person. Maybe it’s simply the inevitable swollen eyes and disheveled look. Maybe it’s simply not wanting to deal with the attempts to understand and care because it’s simply too tiring and sometimes all you need is a hug and to be left alone. Maybe’s it’s the secret pleasure we derive from inflicting self-pity.
Sometimes I wonder if I cry too much and if it is simply, in a warped sense, a guilty pleasure.
Sometimes I feel so alone in this blessed life of mine that all I can do is cry and pray that with each teardrop rolling down my cheek I am one step closer to making sense of life and my emotions.
Then I fall asleep. And sometimes, just sometimes, all seems well then.
How often do you cry? Do you wish it happened more or less?