Today I cried.
Do you believe in tears of joy? It sounds funny at first, crying when you are happy–practically one of those contradiction-Starburst commercials–But every once in a while, I find myself crying through a smile. As a person who cries at the movie Titanic, when I get hit in the eye with a play script, or when I’m on the brink of a mental breakdown, it’s sort of funny that I should be susceptible to happy-crying. However, I am not afraid to admit that I’m pretty sensitive in that listening-to-The-Smiths-and-writing-poetry way, so I guess it’s pretty natural that I should be unable to express my feelings in any simple way.
I was with my boyfriend. I just woke up this morning, lying in his arms, listening to him breathe and tried to not like my mind get its holy-shit-this-is-too-good-to-be-true point. (Once it gets there, it’s hard to make it shut back up and enjoy the quiet.) A bit later when he was awake and I was in his arms, I just… It was one giant moment of looking at another like people do, saying “I love you” over and over through our eyes…so definite about how each other felt…where life outside doesn’t exist. And I cried, so full of gratitude and the single fact that this person I held existed.
I think crying for happiness is a big part of finding out what you will live for in life.
There I was. Curled up in the driver’s seat of my car, in the driveway of the place that I have called home my entire life. But that house was empty, and it only reminded me of how empty I felt on the inside, how hollow a heartbeat can feel when the heart itself has given up, in the most spiritual aspect. So I began to cry.
It was just as any sad moment should be, the air was cold and my arms fought to keep me safe and warm, my tears came slowly down my cheeks, my nose. Outside the world was quiet, and yet I knew that if I was to stretch beyond my own barriers that I could find life in it. Just not my own life.
Just about every possible person I had ever spoken my feelings to was busy. In fact, all of them were. Everyone I had opened my heart to seemed to have closed their door without cracking a window. So where was I, but inside my own car, the only place I can feel alone and safe by myself. What was I going to do? It was a question I only murmured in my actions, and did not dare ask aloud. After all, I was sobbing into the dry air over my ruined image of myself, over the mistakes I seem to never escape, over fear of the future and myself, over lost love and lost expectations.
No one has it all, but I had managed to lose the few pieces I had picked up over the years. I felt scared and didn’t know where or who to turn to. So there I cried, wanting to punish myself needing anyone yet again.
My phone was beside me, mocking me with the magical numbers that led me to believe those people in there could help me. Yet, as only would, I decided to contact Landon, the guy who had seemed to lead my heart out to open sea. (Did I mention that I can’t swim?) Twenty minutes later, after informing him that he had the voice of a pedophile, I was pouring out my soul and my tears to someone I had never before opened up to, and telling them how guilty I felt for being unhappy with the blessed life God gave me.
“I wish I was there with you.” he said this, and I tried hard not to let it mean what I wished it would. He was so kind, listening, willing to hear everything, and promising to be there for me. Could people just do that? Have I been oblivious to the kindness people could perform, or just oblivious to the kindness Landon had in him?
I cried the entire phone call, and for about thirty minutes after, too. I don’t know what to think of Landon’s miracle-like support…I don’t know how not to wish for romantic possibilities after something such as that. I don’t know what I will do…if he feels perfectly platonic then if I keep running around with romantic nonsense in my head I will lose one of the few genuine people in my life.
I just want to feel like I deserve love again, as cheese-tastic as that sounds. Most of all, love from myself.
Landon is coming over soon to talk and check up on me. I don’t know what I will say. I’ve felt numb ever since the tears have dried, but I know there is impending sadness ahead. All I can hope for is some spark of salvation to help me out of this growing hole.
I hate that I am too weak not to save myself.
The thing about crying is that you either know for sure that it’s coming, or you are completely taken off guard. And so, I feel my eyes filling with tears.
The past week has been rough, for whatever reason. I say that vaguely because I cannot put on finger on the trigger that caused this feeling to rip a hole into me. I hate that about depression. You always want to know the fucking reasons and answers, but most of the time you wonder why you should bother wanting those anyway; over half of the time the reason never existed.
I’m listening to a song my ex-boyfriend introduced me to. I remember sitting on the couch with a pillow and his head on my lap, while this song was on repeat and he was on Facebook or something. I sat there, listening, looking, knowing I was in love with this person who seemed miles away.
“I…I just feel…alone.”
And why is that? Why can my demeanor pull a one-eighty within a mere hour? What is making me slip this time? I hate asking myself that over and over. What the hell is wrong with me, I keep asking. And you know what? Knowing that it’s all to blame on biology and this word “depression” doesn’t make dealing with this any easier. It still feels like all my fault.
I have a new boyfriend. He is sweet and oblivious. He tells himself he is in love with this version of me he has been given. The thing I miss about Charles, aka Mr. Wrong, is that he really knew me. He knew all my garbage and faults and stuck by me despite them. Even if he did sometimes take advantage of my weaknesses.
I hate that I don’t love him anymore. When I was in love I may have been blind, but I was happy…so insanely happy that he was in my life. That is, happy when I wasn’t incredibly stressed or sad.
I don’t know what I’m doing…I don’t know what exactly I’m missing and what I don’t miss at all. I don’t completely know what I want from my new boyfriend,or my life right now. I miss the direction love gave me, I guess. Maybe I’m finally realizing that for the first time in a year, there is nothing I’m going after.
And deep down while I say that, I feel like shit because I think, “Umm, and what about preparing for college? Your career?”
It all gives me a really sick feeling. I’m not ready to grow up and decide everything. I’m not ready to try to be perfect again. I like knowing that I’m just some shitty teenager, that I can screw up and put things off and just take care of what’s going on right now. I’m not ready…
Here the tears come. Only for the first time in about a month, they’re not from laughing. It’s funny, whenever you don’t expect tears, there’s usually a solid reason for why they are there anyway. When you do expect them, the environment you are in usually gives you reason to believe so.
Me, I have only reason to believe that nothing can stop my tears.