Are we allowed, when things are sad or beautiful to express ourselves through tears? I wonder because I try so hard to swallow that feeling in most settings that when I arrive at those private moments when no audience is present it feels like a true release. It reminds me of children who act out and are told to use their words rather than being physical. Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes there is just a feeling and that feeling manifests itself as a well of emotion in one's throat, slowly radiating through the chest, sometimes to the stomach, swelling the heart and falling from one's eyes as a tear.
It was almost 4 months ago now. “The Breakup”. It felt life-shattering, irreversibly damaging, and as bad as any tragedy I had ever experienced. It was dramatic and traumatic. It was something out of a romance turned horror film. It started with a suspicion and ended on vacation. In a blur of nausea, starvation, and sobbing, I spent my last 48 hours in Puerto Vallarta in disbelief, thinking I might die of heartbreak. Four months later while I still feel a sense of loss (mainly of time) I also feel I have gained much more. Maybe it is what I re-gained. The opportunity to be me. The chance to smell roses and meander rather than constantly running. Regaining my self confidence, self control, self worth. Regaining my security. Rediscovering my love for the world and releasing my discontent. As a master of the “all or nothing” method of loving someone, I martyred myself for what I thought was the benefit of my relationship. I blinded myself from any possibility that it would not wor...