So, I was doing some blog clean-up for the 20SB blog swap (silly things like an About page or the right look of the blog or having a page for links) and I made a page highlighting the blog series I’m doing for my family. And I referenced the fact that I cry at the drop of a hat.
And then I realized that I had never blogged about this frustrating curse/talent. A bonus post is born.
I hate crying (let’s start there). I am the puffy-eyed-burst-blood-vessels-supremely-runny-nose-without-a-tissue-in-sight crier. I am not one of those who has a tear or two trickle down their cheek and that’s that. I am a mess.
I am also a tomboy. So crying is unacceptable on many levels.
My tear ducts? ALL GIRL. All I have to do is feel an over-flow of emotion–ANY freaking emotion–and the tears start to fall. I cry in church. I cry at work. I cry when I’m happy. I cry when I’m angry (and if my crying is bad normally, you should see the angry cry . . . on second though, no, you shouldn’t). About the only time I don’t cry is when I’m immediately sad. When my friend from high school died: didn’t cry for a week. When my grammy died: despite having cried out of anger and fear and exhaustion nearly every day for a month before her death, didn’t cry for a month. When I’m sad, I go into this weird shock. Sometimes I come out of it in an hour, sometimes it takes days and weeks. I have no explanation for this except that, after spending years in the throes of depression, any type of sadness–even socially and personally acceptable sadness–throws my mind into a freeze. Oh, the complexes and sub-complexes of the Bi-Polar child. I LOVE them. But every time I think I might get these darn tear ducts removed, I think of the Swedish faerie tale of the girl who could only laugh because she gave up her tears. What originally seemed like a blessing very nearly got her killed.
Fine, fine. I get it. Be glad I can cry. Even if my body’s crying is ugly and stupid.
So yeah, I cry when I’m not sad. I don’t when I am. I want to give up my tears for a necklace of pearls (seriously, it was a kind of trippy faerie tale), but I won’t because I don’t want my future husband to kill me. I am a conundrum. And I haven’t had a good relationship with my tear ducts in YEARS. So don’t expect me to repair it now.
Tomorrow’s post (which was actually the last one I wrote for this week – Saturday and Sunday’s blogs have been done for days) is all scheduled. Go me!
P.S. Seriously, the new blog looks much better, if only because people don’t have to go back to my first post to get to know me. (PLEASE DO NOT GO BACK TO MY FIRST POST!!) The “About time it’s about me” and “You REALLY should read this first” pages will take care of you.
P.P.S. Been looking at some blogs of other people and finally tracked down an old, defunct blog that I remember really loving. So, here’s a link to one of my favorites of hers.