Want of cry

A comedian once joked that crying is like diarrhoea for the heart. It is messy and bad, but you feel light afterwards. That not being able to cry is like constipation; you are continuously troubled, and until you are all cleared up, there is constant unease and you can't find resolve or peace with anything.

It is a crappy reference, but it's quite true.

The thing is, crying is so hard sometimes. What if you can't cry? What if you try and try and that outburst, that uncontrolled hiccup-y, simultaneous stream of tears through eyes and nose, never comes? What if those controlled, silent tears on your pillow night after night have made it extremely difficult for you to cry. What if you don't feel comfortable crying in front of anyone and you have to think about when and where to try and cry your heart out.

So you don't cry. You are a strong person after all, with a smile on your face and calm in your voice.

But you are changed too.

You make jokes like before, but with them you have to fake a smile because while humour still comes naturally, the smiles don't.

The foods that you like are still your favourite, and you get a little excited at the thought of them; but when they actually come in front of you, you can't eat like before.

You still talk to people the same way, show interest in them, ask them how they are, empathise with them if they have a problem; but secretly you also wait for someone to arrive who would be in more pain than you, so that you could feel a little good about yourself thinking how your pain isn't the worst.

You were always able to disconnect work with personal; indulging yourself in a busy work schedule made you forget about the rest. But that too has changed. You have to try a little extra every time. New learning curves seem steeper and steeper.

But what can you do except wait for that cry; for that cleansing to come and make you whole again.