So I'm not really someone who generally shows a great deal of emotions. Some might say I'm "repressed," or "out of touch with my feelings," or that I "use humor as a defense mechanism" and "never relate to anyone on a personal level beyond small talk and sarcasm." Anyway, for whatever reason, for better or worse, for pete's sake, Im just not the most outward fellow.
Until last Friday, when I cried for no real reason, for the first time in months. It was a real decent cry at that, with red eyes and bawling and sniffles and pillow-clutching. The whole nine yards of wallow. And, frankly, the cathartic effect was pretty minimal. I don't feel any more emotionally healthy, or spiritually cleansed, or more able to sleep more than four concurrent hours. But it appears that the floodgates are now open.
Currently, I feel like I'm always the right fifteen seconds away from bursting into tears randomly. I don't feel generally sadder; it's just that the trigger has been closer to the surface. I cried while singing along to Michael Penn's "No Myth" on the radio in my car. I woke crying after a really vivid dream about my mom dying in surgery. I cried reading this. I almost started weeping while making falafel. I even found myself sniffling at the end of the third Harry Potter book, which disturbed my fellow AC Transit passengers. It was probably better that I didn't try to explain: "It's just that Harry (sniff) gets the dementors with the (sniff) patronus of a stag and he learns his dad could change into (nose blow) a stag and then Dumbledore tells him... (uncontrolled weeping) ."
I don't exactly know what's next. Perhaps it's SAD, and it will go away as it gets warmer and lighter. Perhaps it's due to the sub-arctic temperatures in our apartment that's weakened my body's natural defenses against bawling. The heater being repaired may be the only thing that will keep me from spending the next few evenings on the couch watching "Steel Magnolias," devouring chocolate ice cream, and sobbing.