I was sitting on my couch yesterday afternoon, friends on both sides of me, one with his hand on my knee, occasionally giving me the it's ok pat, an extremely nice gesture considering we had known eachother for less than 24 hours. We were reading one of the letters to my birthmom that I had online, but hadn't mailed.
Something struck me this time. For some reason, I couldn't read it aloud without my throat cracking, and tears welling in my eyes. I was overcome with emotion that I hadn't previously felt. It felt like something was crushing my heart capillary by capillary. It was somewhat reminiscent of what it feels like talking about my Dad now. He suddenly died two years ago of a heart attack while watching a movie with my Mom at home on the couch. It's hard for me to talk about without being flooded with emotion.
When Dad died initially I wasn't like what most people would imagine someone would be having lost a loving parent and at only 33 years young. I was not torn up and distraught, crying myself to sleep on my favorite childhood "lovie", nor withdrawn from society, and quietly drinking myself into oblivion. I have never been accused of being quiet in any way, shape or form.
I was somehow the strong one when Dad died.
I had to be. My mom, who is always the strong one had fallen short of her well-reknown motherly distinction. She is not a crier- never has been, never will be I suppose, at least not in front of me, nor anyone else for that matter. I may be able to count the number of times I've seen her cry on one hand. That's not to say that she doesn't cry. She just doesn't do it as often as most people who sit down to pee do.
And who knows how people handle pain without shedding tears? I can't understand it. Tears are a natural reaction to pain. Aren't they? Physically or emotionally, and they are in cahoots, it is evident one way or another that you experience pain. It is true that when you have deep emotional trauma, better known as depression, you feel physical pain.
Am I going through a stage? This might be something I could consult a phychiatrist on, or even better, WebMD- that would be the cheaper route. I'm not sure it would be better though.
Something struck me this time. For some reason, I couldn't read it aloud without my throat cracking, and tears welling in my eyes. I was overcome with emotion that I hadn't previously felt. It felt like something was crushing my heart capillary by capillary. It was somewhat reminiscent of what it feels like talking about my Dad now. He suddenly died two years ago of a heart attack while watching a movie with my Mom at home on the couch. It's hard for me to talk about without being flooded with emotion.
When Dad died initially I wasn't like what most people would imagine someone would be having lost a loving parent and at only 33 years young. I was not torn up and distraught, crying myself to sleep on my favorite childhood "lovie", nor withdrawn from society, and quietly drinking myself into oblivion. I have never been accused of being quiet in any way, shape or form.
I was somehow the strong one when Dad died.
I had to be. My mom, who is always the strong one had fallen short of her well-reknown motherly distinction. She is not a crier- never has been, never will be I suppose, at least not in front of me, nor anyone else for that matter. I may be able to count the number of times I've seen her cry on one hand. That's not to say that she doesn't cry. She just doesn't do it as often as most people who sit down to pee do.
And who knows how people handle pain without shedding tears? I can't understand it. Tears are a natural reaction to pain. Aren't they? Physically or emotionally, and they are in cahoots, it is evident one way or another that you experience pain. It is true that when you have deep emotional trauma, better known as depression, you feel physical pain.
Am I going through a stage? This might be something I could consult a phychiatrist on, or even better, WebMD- that would be the cheaper route. I'm not sure it would be better though.
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