Crying is a privilege

I’ve been on antidepressants for years. And when I wasn’t taking them, it was because I was having a soon to be regretted “I need nothing and no one” phase. The good news is that they keep me alive and well -well, kind of. Depending on how charitably you define “well” – The bad news is that I haven’t had a good cry for ages.

I do tear up, occasionaly. And over really mundane things (IM OUT OF HAIR CONDITIONER AGAIN) I might also have a mini panic attack here and there. But those cries where your whole body shakes and your eyes get all red and then you pour cold water into your teary heated face and it feels like you’ve been born again? Nah. And I miss them. And more than just missing, I need them. Sometimes I feel like my body aches from all the cries that my brain refuses to acknowledge. And where do they go, the lonely cries? Just circulating in my veins over and over, trying to find a way in, or out? Will they eventually decide to just conquer an organ all for themselves to settle down? Is it how sad kills people? Maybe it’s not the alcohol abuse, or smoking, or drugs – all the good stuff – that people die. Heart attacks, kidney failures, strokes. Maybe it’s just all the trapped cries going insane. “Enough of this”, they think. They’re being threated like ghosts. The brain ignores them, the heart pushes them away. And you walk around feeling like a time bomb. And you take your pills. And eat healthy food and do skin care and style your hair and read good books. You might even find yourself a few friends. And you’re alive and well. Just if you could figure out where the tick-tock sound comes from. That would be great.

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