(no subject)
It's been a long time since I've cried.
Now normally I wouldn't even be thinking of such a subject. It's true that it's been a long time since I've cried--but it's not like I've had anything sob-worthy in my life lately. In fact, I don't remember the last time I cried. I somehow think that it must have been when I was really young, and really vulnerable. Possibly the last tears I shed were over something as simple as a scraped knee, or a bruised elbow. Maybe they were the tantrum tears of a little girl who didn't understand why she couldn't do everything she wanted to do whenever she wanted to do it.
All of those are valid reasons to cry. All of those reasons have been cried before, I'm sure, and will be cried again on into the endlessly frightening future.
I'm crying now as I write this, and I don't know why. Well, I know why, but it just doesn't make too much sense to me. It's like the tears aren't even real--like if I pretend not to feel them, they'll go away. I get the feeling that if I went and started my homework now and just tried to ignore the fact that I was just sobbing, then maybe I'd be able to forget.
But that doesn't mean that it didn't happen. Even if I was able to forget…it doesn't mean that I wasn't sitting here alone in my room, lying on my bed, and having a hard time writing because occasionally my whole body will shake with a dry sob, though it is quickly suppressed. I don't even have to think about it--by reflex I halt my tears before they have a chance to be shed. So all that's left is the shiver and the whimper of sound that says that I am totally and pathetically out of my depth in life, and that I really should have just stayed in the shallow end for a bit longer before venturing out to face the sharks.
It's not just one thing causing my almost-tears; it's everything. I'm crying for father, I'm crying because school is harder than it should be, I'm crying because I just can't cope with the disasters of this world around me, I'm crying because I'm afraid, I'm crying because I'm crying and because I just don't remember the last time there was something big and bad and mean enough out there in the world to make me really cry, unless you count the asphalt which scraped at my skin or the mean words that tore at a childish soul. But here I am breathing in and out with no regularity as my attempts to cry drown out more important functions such as respiration and it's like I'm drowning in this pit of nothing, where I can't accomplish anything except for sitting here and pitying myself and hating the world and feeling oh so sorry for the rest of the people who have had to cry tears like this, because life shouldn't be this hard, people honestly shouldn't have to cry these tears, I shouldn't have to cry these tears but even if I have to why should other people have to suffer this much I mean how many people can really function with all of this going on inside and I hate it and I just want to quit and it's just really not fair!
And as I sit here and breathe in and out, in and out with a rhythm that grows more constant as my tears subside, I realize that I really just needed to get all of that off of my chest… When I started writing this, I thought that it would turn out as a long and unsatisfying rant, which would ultimately do nothing except to remind me of my own inequities. I was worried that thinking about my problems would make them somehow more real. I've been spending so much time trying not to think about all of the things happening to me, as if by ignoring them I could forget them and they'd just go away. But now I am beginning to see that maybe this writing is good for me. It lets me get so many things out into the open, while at the same time not forcing me to share them with anyone who would possibly react in a negative way to some of the things I've said or done. I know my friends and family would maybe be scared by some of the things I've written in here, just because they probably don't sound too much like me. They sound like a completely different person; in fact, I doubt that my family would recognize the writing as mine if the obvious contextual clues were omitted. It would be all too easy for any of them to see this as someone else's story. It would be all too easy for any of them to make this something far from home, despite its closeness in reality. But maybe talking it out makes it easier to deal with, really, at least for me.
I don't think that school has been stressing me out more lately than it was a week or two ago; if anything, I'm starting to settle into a routine of work, work, and more work, punctuated by brief periods spent eating and sleeping. It doesn't feel too hard. But whether or not I realize it, it must be difficult to live under such constant pressure, from all sides and not just from academics. Home life is tense, too; I don't know what we as a family are going to do about father being laid off and now without a job. All of this, somehow, has been stewing inside of me, to the point where the lid just came off and…well, this happened. This emotional outburst, completely uncharacteristic, utterly despairing, hopeless.
The sobs are beginning to subside now--the occasional shudders of emotion are fewer and further between than they where when I began to write this. Now, I feel I have reached the state that is utterly beyond hysterical tears, for all of those which I had in reserve have been cried and there is nothing left for me but to take a deep breath, dry my eyes, and move on to wander out into the wide world of dreams with naught but exhaustion as my shield…
Now normally I wouldn't even be thinking of such a subject. It's true that it's been a long time since I've cried--but it's not like I've had anything sob-worthy in my life lately. In fact, I don't remember the last time I cried. I somehow think that it must have been when I was really young, and really vulnerable. Possibly the last tears I shed were over something as simple as a scraped knee, or a bruised elbow. Maybe they were the tantrum tears of a little girl who didn't understand why she couldn't do everything she wanted to do whenever she wanted to do it.
All of those are valid reasons to cry. All of those reasons have been cried before, I'm sure, and will be cried again on into the endlessly frightening future.
I'm crying now as I write this, and I don't know why. Well, I know why, but it just doesn't make too much sense to me. It's like the tears aren't even real--like if I pretend not to feel them, they'll go away. I get the feeling that if I went and started my homework now and just tried to ignore the fact that I was just sobbing, then maybe I'd be able to forget.
But that doesn't mean that it didn't happen. Even if I was able to forget…it doesn't mean that I wasn't sitting here alone in my room, lying on my bed, and having a hard time writing because occasionally my whole body will shake with a dry sob, though it is quickly suppressed. I don't even have to think about it--by reflex I halt my tears before they have a chance to be shed. So all that's left is the shiver and the whimper of sound that says that I am totally and pathetically out of my depth in life, and that I really should have just stayed in the shallow end for a bit longer before venturing out to face the sharks.
It's not just one thing causing my almost-tears; it's everything. I'm crying for father, I'm crying because school is harder than it should be, I'm crying because I just can't cope with the disasters of this world around me, I'm crying because I'm afraid, I'm crying because I'm crying and because I just don't remember the last time there was something big and bad and mean enough out there in the world to make me really cry, unless you count the asphalt which scraped at my skin or the mean words that tore at a childish soul. But here I am breathing in and out with no regularity as my attempts to cry drown out more important functions such as respiration and it's like I'm drowning in this pit of nothing, where I can't accomplish anything except for sitting here and pitying myself and hating the world and feeling oh so sorry for the rest of the people who have had to cry tears like this, because life shouldn't be this hard, people honestly shouldn't have to cry these tears, I shouldn't have to cry these tears but even if I have to why should other people have to suffer this much I mean how many people can really function with all of this going on inside and I hate it and I just want to quit and it's just really not fair!
And as I sit here and breathe in and out, in and out with a rhythm that grows more constant as my tears subside, I realize that I really just needed to get all of that off of my chest… When I started writing this, I thought that it would turn out as a long and unsatisfying rant, which would ultimately do nothing except to remind me of my own inequities. I was worried that thinking about my problems would make them somehow more real. I've been spending so much time trying not to think about all of the things happening to me, as if by ignoring them I could forget them and they'd just go away. But now I am beginning to see that maybe this writing is good for me. It lets me get so many things out into the open, while at the same time not forcing me to share them with anyone who would possibly react in a negative way to some of the things I've said or done. I know my friends and family would maybe be scared by some of the things I've written in here, just because they probably don't sound too much like me. They sound like a completely different person; in fact, I doubt that my family would recognize the writing as mine if the obvious contextual clues were omitted. It would be all too easy for any of them to see this as someone else's story. It would be all too easy for any of them to make this something far from home, despite its closeness in reality. But maybe talking it out makes it easier to deal with, really, at least for me.
I don't think that school has been stressing me out more lately than it was a week or two ago; if anything, I'm starting to settle into a routine of work, work, and more work, punctuated by brief periods spent eating and sleeping. It doesn't feel too hard. But whether or not I realize it, it must be difficult to live under such constant pressure, from all sides and not just from academics. Home life is tense, too; I don't know what we as a family are going to do about father being laid off and now without a job. All of this, somehow, has been stewing inside of me, to the point where the lid just came off and…well, this happened. This emotional outburst, completely uncharacteristic, utterly despairing, hopeless.
The sobs are beginning to subside now--the occasional shudders of emotion are fewer and further between than they where when I began to write this. Now, I feel I have reached the state that is utterly beyond hysterical tears, for all of those which I had in reserve have been cried and there is nothing left for me but to take a deep breath, dry my eyes, and move on to wander out into the wide world of dreams with naught but exhaustion as my shield…