One lady told me how her hysterectomy stole her tears. Where she once cried over the turmoils of toe-stubbing, her kids were now concerned she was a sociopath. After listening to her, I turned to my friend and said, “I’d pay for that surgery.” She responded with, “Ew.” My friend doesn’t know what it’s like to feel zero control over your emotions.
“Crying doesn’t indicate that you’re weak. Since birth, it has always been a sign that you’re alive.”
There’s a moment when I feel tears lining up like my face is their very own amusement park. That’s the moment I know it’s too late; I’m a gonner.
I’ve come to embrace myself as a Cryer. When it’s emotion sogging up my cheeks, there is no shame. I feel the world deeply, and that’s something I love about me. Tears are part of healing. It turns out, I am healing ALL THE TIME. Whaddya gonna do?
It’s when my nerves burst like a pipe that I become frustrated and embarrassed. In those moments my tears wash away my power and dignity. Like, for fuck’s sake WE WERE TALKING ABOUT REPORT CARD COMMENTS IN THE PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE; I DIDN’T NEED YOU GUYS, BUT THANKS FOR FURTHERING MY STATUS AS A BOOB.
Is there a class you can take on emotion control? I’d pay for that, too.
Maybe I’ll hold off on the hysterectomy.
Today’s NaBloPoMo prompt: Are you okay with letting people see you cry?