Remembering how to write and cry

Big sigh as I finally settle in to write. So much has happened, and I’ve said so little. For years now, I’ve barely written. It’s a huge part of how I think and process things, and yet I’ve abstained. Why?

Probably because it got so big, and part of me has been scared that once I start, I won’t be able to stop until I get it all out. And I don’t have the time for that, do I? To write forever and ever… That’s how I felt about crying, too. But I’ve cried a lot lately. And it doesn’t usually last that long. I cried on the drive to work this morning. I wailed and howled in my car with the windows cracked so it would have somewhere to go. I cried as I walked to the parking garage from the office. It was cloudy and cold with a brusque wind. I ran until I couldn’t. To keep warm and get there faster. While I cried. It was darkish and rush hour long over, so I only passed a couple people along the way. Only let my hair obscure my face for a few people and let the crying sounds go quieter as I passed them.

And as soon as I closed that car door with myself encased, I let it the fuck go. I wailed, then snub snub snubbed as I came close to the exit of the garage and noticed there was an attendant at the non-monthly spot one lane over. And then I was done with unintentional human interaction for the whole drive home. And I screamed my cry then. It was almost like I was singing high notes. I sustained some of them for quite a long time. And then I settled down a bit and called a friend. And I vented a bit to him until he had to go. Then I finished the drive home.

Shortly after arriving, I subjected my mom to a few solid hours of my unbridled frustrations. I had so many, and they just needed to be heard… to be out of me and into the world… I cried some more. She hugged me close and cried with me. Not fixing, not advising. Just listening and being present and loving. Such a nurturing soul, my mother. I am so grateful for that. I didn’t put on kid gloves. I didn’t curb my language. I just let it all the fuck go.

And I could stop right now, and part of me wants to, because I’m feeling so very tired, wrung out, raw and numb. My glasses are once again speckled with the remnants of so many tears. I keep falling asleep with my fingers on keys. It’s been tough for me on a lot of fronts. But I know I’m going to be OK. And I do have a lot of friends. So grateful for that.

So this is unfinished, but it’s writing. I wrote. And sometimes that’s just how life goes. Things can remain seemingly unfinished. They can drop off suddenly. They can build and crescendo only to evaporate… Life is full of mirages and oases. I’d like to say that I’m wise enough to know the difference most of the time, but I’m certainly not. I’m going through… I’m going THROUGH.

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