I gave it everything I had. My chest heaved and my body rocked. The tears flowed faster than I knew was possible. I threw everything I had into that cry. All the rage, all the frustration, all the pain. I threw the loneliness too. And the disappointment. I threw happiness in there as well, what little bit of it had managed to pierce the veil of my life these past few months. I put it in there because thinking of it, thinking of how foreign it seemed to me, threw everything else into sharper focus.
It was exhausting, crying like this, but I kept going. I needed this. I needed it out of me, because if I kept it inside of me any longer I was going to implode. The sadness was going to swallow me whole, and there would be nothing left. Nothing at all. This was me fighting against that nothing. I had been starting to go numb inside, and that’s not what I wanted. No matter what happened, I didn’t want to disappear from the world. There was always collateral damage when someone did that. I knew from experience, and I refused to do that to anyone. Ever.
So I cried. It was harder than I thought. I felt every moment of sadness from the past few months as it came back up. I felt as though I was living it all again, in sharp succession. But it was okay. I had survived it all the first time, so I knew I could make it through again. There had to be something else on the other side of this cry. So I kept going. I cried past the point of tears. I cried past the violent, heaving sobs into a softer, murmured cry. Then, eventually, it stopped.
I was proud of myself for making it through. I felt empty now. Not numb, but empty. Empty was good. I could fill the emptiness with something. This time, I'll try to fill it with better things.