A thought just occurred to me, that I don’t really cry anymore.
I cried lots, then and I had lots to cry about.
I remember not being able to cry for months, I remember desperately trying to cry, to feel anything at all.
I feel now, but I don’t cry. Somehow I’ve grown out of it, or thought that maybe I should have…. I throw tantrums and cry, but I don’t cry because I feel, only because I want….. is that the same thing?
I didn’t really cry when we ended, I sobbed for myself, maybe for us, momentarily but then, in realisation that I wasn’t feeling what I was crying for, I was crying quickly and hard, and then over. gone. next. move on. pick yourself up. I am still angry. I am still very angry at things that happen every single day. I laugh at myself. If I didn’t I’d probably break something……. ‘but then I’d only have to clear up the mess…. and there is so much mess and there’s only me who can clear it up’….. (a nice cup of tea, paraphrased, 2008)
On the away weekend, something meant so much to someone they couldn’t say the words, instead they cried at the table, I don’t know what that means.
Maybe that’s why I sobbed, touching a dry stone wall. Maybe that feeling of the world rushing into my soul, overwhelming me made me close my eyes, facing the sky, feeling the rain on my face and hearing the sound in me and the world around me beating whilst I sobbed for nothing at all.
Me then, me now. ‘I don’t do vulnerable’. Maybe I still need to cry.