Tears

Crying is a very odd behavior.  Usually in response to emotion, moisture comes out of the eyes in a somewhat erratic manner.  It's often accompanied by sobbing, wailing, hiccups, and a runny nose.  But that's just how it manifests- it represents so much more.  Anything can trigger it- pain, sadness, anger, hurt, joy, sorrow, nostalgia.  It's actually quite liberating and comforting.  You often hear the phrase "a good cry," and I think there's something to it. 

I guess I think of myself as fairly sensitive (often to a fault) and emotional.  I get upset at other people's pain and things that don't directly affect me, like hearing about a suicide or horrible injustice.  When I was six, Dad was telling a story to a group of guests about a man who got locked out of his hotel room while trying to find a bathroom in the middle of the night- it was supposed to be amusing with all sorts of anecdotes and adventures and everybody at the dinner table was cracking up, but I was so distraught for the poor man.  When the laughter died down, I looked at Dad solemnly and asked, "But did he ever get to the bathroom?"  His discomfort haunted me all night.

These days, as the stress and depression build up, I find myself crying more often than ever before.  It usually happens at night or in the morning- for me, the times when things seem the most overwhelming.  I've cried over the phone with friends or Hospice, and am so appreciative of them just being there, listening, supporting.  It's a huge act of compassion. 

I was at an event with some friends the other night that should have been quite enjoyable, but I was having trouble getting caught up in it.  I was feeling incredibly despondent the whole evening and became more agitated and upset on the way home.  Suddenly the tears started welling up, and right after I pulled over I burst into violent, uncontrollable sobs.  I cried so hard I was sure I was going to hyperventilate or vomit.  I cried for the frustration, the sadness, the uncertainty.  I cried for Dad's condition and for the prospect of losing him.  For the headaches, the tummy aches, the fatigue.  For the friend who lost a brother, the neighbor who lost a cat, and the friend who lost her mother- all last week.  For the fear I am so wrapped up in my melancholy I'm not being a good friend to the people trying to offer support.  For the underlying worry that *things will never get better*.  And then I stopped, just as quickly as I started, exhausted and hoarse but ready to drive home.  

There is an old Yiddish proverb that says, "The eyes are the mirror to the soul."  They show what's really going on inside, as opposed to words and even behaviors that can serve as a mask.  I suppose it's fitting that they are the source of tears- one of the ultimate displays of emotion.  I've heard the stigma that crying is something to be ashamed of and means you're *weak*.  I actually thinks it's an indicator that there's too much bottled up inside that needs to come out, and allowing it to is sign of strength.  When it does, it's a huge relief and a chance to see things from another perspective.