Fragmented thoughts of a fragmented mind

01 Oct 2017

crying

Some time along the last few years I had lost my ability to cry. It was a strange phenomenon for me, since I have been a crybaby from my earliest memories. Slowly I did manage to squeeze out some tears during moments of sadness, but they felt more like water dripping out of a leaky pipe versus the torrential rain I was used to.

Last week was a bad week for me. I had recovered from a terrible migraine attack which I thought I had coped with pretty well. I get them now once a month during my menstrual cycle – the science says it is now a commonly known fact for hormones to cause migraines, but the science doesn’t really know why. I am learning to fit these attacks in my life by pre-marking them out in my calendar. At this point I have pretty much given hope on not having them recur again.

I have tried everything: going to TCM regularly, exercising regularly, quitting coffee, etc. Maybe a few months of care is not enough, maybe it will take years of me practicing the lifestyle of a nun. I don’t know how long it will take, or if the end is ever in sight.

My migraines are pretty debilitating, during an attack I cannot do much except lie in bed in pain. They last for 2-3 days, and post-attack I tend to suffer an indescribable exhaustion. They have found a correlation between depression and migraine sufferers, which is not surprising considering how much it impacts my life. These days I am not sure if I am depressed because of my migraines or vice versa.

So one moment last week I found tears rolling down my face after being triggered by an innocuous incident. Again I let my tears drop as though they were from a leaky pipe. Suddenly, I felt a switch flick somewhere, and I started sobbing like a broken child, letting my body feel the torrents of grief, fear, anger, disappointment and pain. I cried like there was no tomorrow. I cried over all the hopes I had, all the effort I had steadfastly put in but to no avail, all those times I tried to be “positive” in the face of despair, all the pretense I had to put up in front of people in order to not let them know how broken I truly am (and I don’t even know if I know how to be otherwise), all the fatigue I have accumulated trying to bear and endure it all, all the wounds I have been carrying.

It was an incredibly exhausting and breaking experience. I thought I would sink into an abyss after. There seemed like there was no way I was going to pick myself up after that. I truly felt like dying. I cried over how much I felt like dying but how much I know I can’t. I cried over how I can never ever explain why I feel like dying so much when outwardly my life seems to be everything I can ever ask for.

Yet. Hours later in the aftermath, I felt a tiny, little bit better. Maybe that is all that is needed. Just a tiny, little bit. Maybe it is because I have finally given myself some space to acknowledge the brunt of my emotions. That maybe sometimes, I can give up trying to be strong. Maybe there are times when I just don’t want to try anymore. I could let myself die a little, and that is okay. And even if nobody would ever understand why and how much I suffer to keep myself alive, at the very least I could try to acknowledge it myself. To tell that little child in me that it is okay to feel this pain, alone.

Subscribe to my tinyletter, or become my patreon.

comments powered by Disqus