Crying

[SeaRain]

I'm not a crier. Don't know why, but I suspect it was frowned upon when I was a child. I do know I didn't have a lot of reasons to cry then.

As an adult - no tears. Not when my dad died, not when my sister died, not when my mom died.

BUT - and this is the real discussion - my exhusband was a crier, and my exboyfriend was a crier.

And I hated it Really hated it. Stop crying. Get a grip.

I mean, if there was a real reason to cry. And I know, they were crying for a reason that was real to them.

But I stil hate it. And still will. And will run the next time I come across a crier. Sorry. I'm outta here.

[Quilty]

I'm a crier. When my kids are in school plays, or say "I love you" or... you get the idea. More often than not, people around me are embarrassed when/that I cry. I feel sorry for those who can't feel that deeply.

I posted this on the original TBD, and I'd like to repost it, if that's ok... it was in response to man who asked what to do when his lover cried, especially when she cried in bed.


Posted: Apr 14, 09 8:06pm
"I was date-raped at 18, before there even was such a concept. Only my roommate knew, because my (blind) date was a friend of her boyfriend's. At the time, there was no question that it was "my fault." I brought him home, we were making out, I wanted to stop and he didn't. That was that.

I felt stupid and used until I saw the notice in the newspaper that he had taken out a marriage license. And the birth announcement three months later. That was proof that there was someone even stupider out there than I was (at least I had sense enough not to get pregnant!) and I felt a load lift off my shoulders.

My first husband was 20 years older than I, and passed me around to his friends. He hit me twice. I took an apology the first time. I took a hike the second time.

After 13 years together, another lover slapped my face for reasons I never DID understand, but I didn't give him a chance to do it again. (Two weeks later, Hurricane Katrina wiped away the hotel where we were staying. That seemed prophetic to me. And somehow completely appropriate.)

But what has left me most jaded, flippant and cynical is the man I am currently legally married to. For the entire 26 years of our marriage, he has lied to me. To everyone. He's a compulsive, pathological liar who would lie about the color of his socks just for the practice.

It's hardened my heart to the point of "I don't believe it till I see it." How do I deal with the hurt? I cry for all the "wrong" reasons. I can keep the pain at bay until the exquisite poignancy of that which is good opens its gate. The slightest beautiful thing makes me cry. I'm tough and strong and in control in crisis mode, but hand me a newborn, or play just the right song, and I dissolve in tears. It's my only outlet for the incredibly intense pain of lies, always lies, that I stuff waaaay down deep. There is such unequaled beauty in truth, in purity and innocence.

So instead of crying over the real pain, I cry over the rare beauty. Sometimes making love is the particular (and definitely rare!) beauty, and it often makes me cry. Someone very dear to me said once that he would say "I love you" more often, but he hated to see me cry.

If she cries in your arms, just hold her. Like you'll never let her down."

[Dazzling Zoomer Gal Diana]

Cyndromeda came over today for a chat, and as we discussed Ted Kennedy I yet again found my eyes welling up. Last night I actually had quite a good cry. Now, I do have a bit of an excuse, I've met and spoken with him twice, with the former being at his brother Robert's funeral, and with the latter encounter being one whereupon we spoke at considerable length, many years later, but still - weeping copiously? Seemed terribly odd to me and excessive, even for a hormonal roller coaster moment - of which I've had a few of late, being late to menopause as it were.

As I articulated my sadness over the senators death to my dear friend, I realized that I was weeping for a by gone time, for the end of a particular vision and view and era. I was weeping (yet again) over the loss of my parents, who were of like democratic turn of mind, and whose moral compass was strong and true. I was weeping as I did when I was ten years old, crossing the street in San Francisco, on my way home for lunch, when I learned that JFK had been shot.

The next day my mum and I were on the USNS Barrett. On our way to Japan. And the world had turned in on itself, and seemed never to be the same again.

So we weep to say goodbye, because yet again, the world is changing, and is starting to leave those of us in our fifties and up - inexorably behind. Travel well Senator Ted Kennedy, your yacht is now truly yours to command. May the universe receive you with open arms, and may those loved ones who have gone before you - greet you with boundless joy in the new dawn of endless time.

[Quilty]

A word to the wise:

"A good cry under a hot shower [or while swimming laps] does the least amount of damage to your face." (My work-in-progress book of quotations.)

[Dazzling Zoomer Gal Diana]

Hum. No wonder I look a wreck. I would have needed to stand under the shower for the past 24 hours! ;->
Love the quote Quilty.

[Dazzling Zoomer Gal Diana]

I can't stop weeping.
Last night our cat Frankie didn't come in at her usual time. Our cat was killed last night or early this morning when a car hit her. As her collar was lying next to her, it looked as though it was an hard and instant death blow to the head. Douglas is devastated. Thankfully he found her, and we buried her this morning. I covered her with all the flowers I could mange from my garden. She was with him for almost eight years. She graced my life for four of those years, in particular the past two years. Feisty and scrappy and insistent upon going out, she adopted me, and she and I had a special bond. He found her this morning at 6 AM, in the bike lane in front of my late father's house across the street. I told her not to cross the street, but would she listen? Of course not.

I'm sure my dad is looking after her, he loved animals, and had two cats in his remaining years. It's devastating to watch Douglas shake with grief, he loves animals with a special passion, and this was the last cat from his past, before me. He's off to work, and I am washing the cat blankets and packing away the dishes and brushes and food. And I can't stop weeping. Frankie was my 1st cat in more than 45 years (dogs - yes, cats - no). I explained to Frankie when we met that I didn't do very good cat. She explained to me that she was not all that impressed with me either. Hiss, scratch, growl. Slowly, very slowly she and I came to love one another. She never messed anything up, she slept curled up in Douglas's arms, she had the good taste to love sleeping on my Balinese Chaise on the Persian carpet, and she grew to adore my fur brushing business, and would become quite vocalized if it was not forthcoming at the usual time. She also - in the winter months, would sleep on my head. To watch Douglas hold her in his arms and coo over her was to watch the self same tenderness he exhibits with me.

I see her everywhere. And shall, for quite some time to come. She taught me how to do good cat. Someday, we will cherish another one. But for now, we mourn Frankie Fiasco, Frankie Pea, our little grey sweet pea.

[belle054]

I'm very sorry for your loss....losing a beloved pet is truly heartbreaking. xo

[Dazzling Zoomer Gal Diana]

Thank you both so much. Your understanding helps to legitimize the grief, which seems excessive at present, but we can't seem to help it. It is - what it is.

More crying. Sigh. I'm certain it''s exacerbated by the fact that I'm STILL going through menopause - which is to say it's really taking it's time and I never used to cry at a drop of a hat, never mind crying copiously for two days straight! So not stoic me. Oh well.

[Dazzling Zoomer Gal Diana]

Oh Soul2u - thank you. How very kind of you. We are managing. I'm sleepless because I can afford to be self indulgent, and Douglas - well it's my job # 1 to see to him. I am after all - the elder here, Frankie was his kitten, his cat. I bounce back a tad faster, I've spent months in Africa with my cousin who is a DWB . . . it's a story. I was (also) well trained from get go to deal with trauma and adversity. I'm a soldier's daughter (and his only child). There is much more but you get the drift.

The thing is - I broke apart because I had been holding too much past grief too hard against my chest, for too long.

Thank goodness a year or so ago I found TBD. And my long term cherished friends here. And new ones too. Thank you.

I'm a bit odd. I'm skeptical. I can be very difficult if I'm pissed off. But I'm also optimistic and fundamentally a happy soul.

Douglas is a man's man. His freedom (by his own choice) to grieve openly and so honestly is refreshing, and honest - and so amazing - it humbles me.

[Dazzling Zoomer Gal Diana]

"Oh, I am a hot mess!"
*Chuckle* Better than being a wet blanket Kati_did! /;-D