I’m jealous of your tears.

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cry

Crying is underrated.

In America (and probably most of the western world), shedding tears is seen as weak, even if you’re a woman. Example: if you’re female and you cry in the office, management will think you can’t handle more responsibility (or even the job you have). Things have improved a bit for men, but the reason for the tears and the way in which they’re shed matters. “Manly” crying means weeping silently, shedding just a few tears and wiping them away quickly–and it should be because (a) your team just won the Super Bowl; (b) your dog just died; or (c) you just won the lottery. It’s okay to sob openly if a close relative or friend dies, but only in with other close friends or relatives. Otherwise (if you’re a guy), you’re expected to keep a poker face even if everyone around you is falling to pieces.

So anyway. I used to be a huge cryer when I was a little kid, because I was “oversensitive.” Later on, I was bullied in school because as an Aspie and a highly sensitive person (and I think most Aspies are also HSP’s though not necessarily the other way around) it was hard for me to hide my emotions the way the other kids could. At home, my narcissistic mother shamed me for my tears, and my father pulled out the old yardstick.

Sometime during high school, I finally toughened up–but there was only one problem. The lacrymal faucet had been turned to “Off” so tightly it got stuck. From that time on, the most I could hope for was a leaky faucet. When I did cry, it was usually from anger or frustration–and didn’t feel that cleansing. When I was sad I just became stony faced and sulked.

jdeppquote

I didn’t mind seeing others cry, but I couldn’t do it myself anymore. I was too scared. Things haven’t changed much. The only time I feel like it’s “safe” to cry is vicariously, through other people’s tragedies or tender moments. I can go through an entire box of Kleenex at a sad or touching movie, and I tear up when I read a sad or tragic news story, especially if it involves an animal or a child. But if something happens to me? I get all depressed and quiet, and sometimes rage, but my eyes remain as dry as the Sahara.

Sometimes music can turn on the tears, but if I try to transfer the emotions stimulated by the music to my current situation, whatever it may be, I dry up and can’t do it.

Is it because I still fear ridicule or punishment, even though there’s no logical basis in reality to think that would happen anymore? Is it because I’m afraid if I start crying I might never stop? I really don’t know. Maybe it’s my PTSD. I’ve read people with PTSD become numb emotionally. And that’s where I’m at a lot of the time (though lately it’s getting better).

There’ve been a few isolated instances that always catch me by surprise where I went the whole nine yards–chest heaving with sobs, swollen eyes, snot running down my chin. But I could probably count those times on one hand, two at the most. Usually they happen in an inconvenient place, and by the time I get somewhere private the desire to bawl my eyes out is gone.

But I will tell you that when this has happened, I felt a lot better afterwards. Crying is Klonopin for the soul–it relaxes you and later it’s easier to think more clearly about the situation that brought on the tears.

I know a few people (mostly women) who say they cry every day–and I’m not talking about depressed people. These are people who laugh five times as much as they cry, and they’re usually a joy to be around. And their crying isn’t always brought on by sadness either. Sometimes they just cry because they’re so damned happy.

If you’re one of those people, you’re lucky. .
Me? I’ll probably get cancer and die prematurely from holding all that poison inside.

At least I know how to laugh–but I could use more of that in my life too.

5 thoughts on “I’m jealous of your tears.”

  1. Holding shit in can really mess you up. I know this. You probably know this, too. Unfortunately, knowing and doing are often two different things.
    I’ve developed my own little method of (light) crying. Only the particularly observant are able to notice it. It’s something I can accomplish in the company of my blissfully unaware roommate, even mid-conversation.
    Otherwise, for a real cry, I prefer the closet. Doors behind doors behind doors.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Crying. I think it’s worked out the opposite for me, and sometimes it’s embarrassing. When I was living in the pressure cooker with my ex, I was trained to suck all emotion (except fear, because he liked being able to invoke this kind of response from me) into a bottom pit and somehow will it away. There was no sadness after a while, not anger, not frustration, and definitely not happiness. When I had to fake being happy, I am sure I was largely unconvincing.

    In the weeks after I left, with the exception of blind, mortal, gut-wrenching, paralyzing fear, I felt nothing. I was numb. I don’t even remember what happened, but something triggered me. In a perfect world, emotions would come back little by little, but no. Every single switch flipped on full throttle at the same time, and my brain just went haywire. The worst thing about it was that I knew I was messed up, I knew something was agitating me…. but because it had been so long, I couldn’t identify when it was anger, sadness, frustration, shame, discomfort… only fear. I only recognized fear. When that emotion lessened, I thought something was wrong with me for sure, because the only familiar thing I had was being taken away for what? Chaos.

    Eventually I began being able to identify things that caused me to react and even re-learned how to identify what emotion to connect with it. But because I had been restrained for so long, when I felt things, they were so overwhelming, the only way I could express them was to cry. I went on a weekend trip with a few friends.. I cried. Someone did something that hurt me, I cried. If I couldn’t get something to work properly, and I got frustrated, I cried. If something happened that made me angry, I cried.

    Although I have learned less embarrassing ways of expressing myself, I still cry when I am happy. It’s gratitude. It’s hope. It’s freedom. It’s remembering how I was stuck forcibly in that apartment for days on end, not allowed to go outside or near a window, and now I do what I want. When I want. Whatever time of day I want, and I don’t have to ask anyone for permission. That said….. when it comes to emotional connections I had with others before the abuse, very few made it through unscathed. In fact, save one person, really hardly any made it through at all. Everyone I knew from before, due to the length of time I was isolated from them and how strongly this cut-off was enforced, I can look at them and logically know this person is family, I should feel something. And still, I don’t. I cannot. I have fought to repair the rifts, divides, and chasms, and they persist.

    Emotionally, we are all affected differently by the abuse we endured, but in no one should you feel like something is wrong with you because the way you are responding to what you endured. The damage runs deep, and the longer you had to endure it, the more deeply rooted it gets. I do not believe that we can ever totally heal from these experiences that we suffered through, although we can heal more than we are willing to credit ourselves. I do believe, though, that we can put the pieces back together and mend many of the cracks. We can never hide the effects the trauma has on us. Even if can be emotionally hysterical at times, I love myself, cracks and all. It shows we were not destroyed, that we survived, and even if it isn’t a perfect mend, we are beautiful the way we are.

    All I can suggest to you is that continue to work through the numbness as best you can. Don’t force it, don’t take on too much. Only what you feel comfortable with, and as long as you need to. Never be embarrassed about where you are now, because it’s a testament to how far you have come. Even if you feel like you haven’t done so well, I promise you, the rest of us will see it. And we love the courage you show each time you share a piece of you.

    With love and support,
    Amy

    Liked by 1 person

    • Aw, your post actually made me feel a little teary eyed! The numbness is a symptom of PTSD, it’s a form of dissociation–Stockholm Syndrome is the same thing, except in those cases we actually come to identify with the abuser. I never identified with the abuse, but just closed myself off emotionally, and yes, I agree with you the longer we have to put up with it, the longer it will probably take to heal. And like you said, some wounds won’t ever heal completely, but maybe they will stop bleeding.
      I started this blog as a form of journaling, to work through the numbness (even though he’s finally gone) and all the strange emotions that are coming up. It’s become my new passion — and I wasn’t passionate about ANYTHING for a loooooong time. So that’s a HUGE step.
      Thank you so much for your supportive comments and sharing so much of yourself as well. We’re all in this together, one step at a time.

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