It’s Okay to Cry
I see crying as an instinct that all humans possess like the need to feed, drink and (ahem) reproduce. We cry when we get hurt both physically and emotionally. I believe that it is okay to cry. I’ll gladly give any sobbing victim of the world’s torments a tissue, maybe two if the first one gets thoroughly soaked. I cry, but I don’t cry to the point of flooding the room I’m currently occupying like Alice in Alice in Wonderland. Sure, it’s funny to imagine and physically impossible, but I see the lesson in it. When I say it’s okay to cry, I don’t mean those crocodile tears that you have to squeeze out. Those tears are attempts to get my way, get what I want at the expense of a parent driven to the edge, the serenity of occupants of a nice restaurant, or childhood friends in their innocent greed. The crying that I’m okay with are those tears that flow from the mental fountain of realization. I cry scared tears because I realize that I could be lost in Foley’s forever, my car doesn’t like to stop immediately on ice and the dark is indeed a scary place. I cry angry tears because I realize that I waste my time on stupid people, I could get better grades if I didn’t slack off all the time, and I wish my parents didn’t get divorced. I cry frustrated tears because I can’t seem to find anything I lose, I know I’ll get better but I’m sick now, and I tried my best but it wasn’t the best. I cry anxious tears because I realize that I have no idea what I want to do with my life, a woman that I’m supposed to meet sounded really angry with me on the phone, and I have no idea how I’m going to finish all the school work I left myself an hour to do the day before it’s all due. I cry tears of pain with the realization that there wouldn’t be a push pin in my foot if I’d listened to my parents, 6th grade boys don’t care whether or not you’re a girl if you want to play with them, and showing off by doing a flip on the trampoline only got me a root canal. I cry sad tears because I realize that I don’t have any grandpas, my dog will some day die, and I’m not always happy dwelling in the skin I’m in. I strangely cry when I see and smell the outdoors on a peaceful day, when Gollum (LOTR: The Two Towers) cries out that he hates himself and when I hear a really passionate song like Beethoven’s “Moonlight” Sonata. However, when I cry, I have the comfort of knowing that I’m simply being human, and anyone who thinks otherwise is in denial. Tissue?
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