Or how I really need to grow a pair
Not so long ago, I realised that I cry a lot less, of late. For someone that really didn’t need any reason to bring on the waterworks, I cry in economy these days. In the past I would cry when I was sad, homesick, miserable, sick, in pain, happy, overjoyed, loved, worried…pretty much anything. These days I find myself crying over stupid things like a great dish being plated up in record time on Masterchef Australia, for chrissakes. And the mess I am in seems to be doing the exact opposite. To the point of having no external emotional reaction like I have been known to have for pretty much all my life.
For example, my current situation would have had me shredded down to a blithering mess, a few years ago. The incessant clatter of falling rain hasn’t died down in over 48 hours now. I have a cold, a sore throat from hell, and you I’m burning up enough to keep a few cold people warm, if we all snuggled together. It doesn’t help that I’m stuck in a limbo between anti-histamine drowsiness, and the piles of stress from work that demand that I stay awake. As if this by itself isn’t bad enough, I have systematically, over the last 3 days pushed myself into a deep, dark corner of negativity and self-doubt. Which is to say that even when I’m indoors and safe from the rain, it feels like I’m in a pool of misery.
I’m in a sucky, sucky place, basically. And evidently I haven’t moped about it enough. I want so badly to just get it out of my system and move on, but the knowledge that this is stupid, futile and completely unnecessary isn’t helping. Had I been slightly stronger emotionally, perhaps I could have put a nice Zen spin on it, or accepted it as bad Karma coming back to haunt me, and pull through with a smile on my face.
A few years ago this was more than enough reason to lock myself up in a room and cry my heart out and believe that was the solution to things. Instead here I am, pretending like I am going about life normally, while all the shit festers beneath the surface. I believed this was a sign of growing up. Growing strong. Having my emotions in control Today, I know I couldn’t be more mistaken.
A few weeks ago, I had the epiphany I needed. It seems that epiphanies are never easy to digest. First the overwhelming weight of the truth I had suddenly seen made me numb and the excitement of what lay ahead made me weak in the knees. But I couldn’t just take my epiphany and sit with it, frozen to immobility. At first, I did, but not for long. Because that’s kind of the point of an epiphany. It pushes you into action, and once that act was done, I should have braced myself for everything that was to come.
I didn’t. I expected that the world would understand the gravity of my epiphany. Accept the sudden flip flop of heart, feel as happy for me as I am for myself and wish me luck. But the truth is, the world couldn’t be bothered. And no, this isn’t the self-pity talking. This is me being realistic and suddenly all wide-eyed at the truth.
Nobody. Cares. Not even the ones who tell you they do. It’s amazing how sometimes the best experiences in life can turn so horribly wrong. And if you’re like me, unable to look at things objectively, suck it up, and move on, events like this can leave such a bad taste. Which is when I realised that I’m not strong enough for what the world can throw at me. Just because I don’t cry so much anymore doesn’t mean I’m all grown up.
As long as I feel like when-it-rains-it-really-pours, I will have growing up to do. And when I am there, I will probably learn to look at the pouring rain and cry with it if I must. Because I would have hopefully grown a pair, sucked it up and understood that sometimes it rains, sometimes it pours. But life really should go on.