Crying
Do you ever just look out the window and wonder what you are doing with your life? I felt that. Multiple times over the past couple of months. And yet, I don't have an answer.
I don't know what I am doing with my life. And I wasn't allowing myself to not know.
I wanted to cry. But there was no tears. I was frowning upon myself. I felt really disappointed. Disappointed in a lot of the things I could have worked really hard on but didn't. Regret too. There was shame and guilt. Mixed feelings. Shame and guilt in even feeling these feelings. These emotions swam up from my chest till my throat. But never up to my eyeballs.
And then at one point, my nose twitched. I just started sobbing. It felt whole. Enough. Cathartic. I shower to purge my thoughts. As for feelings, I cry.
I don't cry enough. Sometimes I wish I cried more. Bawling my eyes out. Tears wash away more than just eyelashes. They take out the mental trash, the infested, that which upsets the soul.
Maybe I don't cry because there is barely anything to cry about. Or maybe I don't cry because I have been told "there is nothing to cry about" as a kid so many times. I have to learn how to cry again, to lean in to the sensitivity in me. It is really frustrating and bewildering to me how, for the longest period of time, I lost touch with my emotions. I am still trying to unlearn that.