So very many scars to exfoliate

I didn’t cry at my dad’s memorial. We didn’t see each other cry at any point when he was dying.

I didn’t cry when I said goodbye to my boyfriend, moving across the country permanently for work. He had the most heartwarming endearing tears.

I didn’t cry when all the kids were bawling farewells at summer camp, or when my friend came out as gay in a pile of tears and group hugs, or when there is serious tragedy for many as with the violence in Egypt.

I don’t even cry when I withdraw into depression, because I don’t really feel sad. The world is bland misery and I’m numb to annoying emotions, just passing the time with entertainment and minimal possible discomfort.

Except a few months ago I started crying all the time and it’s always when I’m watching something that my former self would never imagine inducing waterworks: Katy Perry’s divorce in her documentary; Glee songs about friendship; that idiot running to rescue that weirdo in Girls; a stoic father’s tears of pride for his grownup son.

Writing about it now, I’ve got a goddamn rock in my throat and the dampest cheeks I can remember, ever.

I quite honestly began feeling the full spectrum of feelings for the first time as an adult. Part of it may have been purely being worn down, raw and exposed, but I’ve been here before and I couldn’t force myself to release this pain – and I tried. Crying is one of the most intense forms of liberation I’ve had the pleasure to experience and I am soaking it up with deep thirst. I think it’s a good sign I may be finally getting my brain chemical concoction right.

I’m crying for the loss of my dad now,  a decade later: the absence of his love and pride and knowing me as I am today, being a part of my life, giving me advice, being there for my mom. He never met any of my boyfriends and he was gone before I chose my career.

I’m crying about distance from the people I love as well. If anything at the time, it was a relief for an excuse to relax more alone. With the ability to appreciate nature and people and all that good stuff again….I want that palpable camaraderie I had one year in high school and one year in elementary school. I want that soothing embrace and sweet kiss I let myself enjoy when I was finally my true self with my boyfriend.

In conclusion, I’m a happy lady to finally get my cry on. May I never forget the joy of opening up to both the good and bad; never succumb to that grey fog again.