a rant about crying
I love to cry whether I get my way or not. I love how the glisten makes me feel like I just swiped Glossier highlighter across my cheekbones. How the dark brown centers of my eyes take over to touch the edge of my lashes. My belly and throat clear out to make me feel hollow enough once more- making room for new feelings to populate between my bones.
For the past few months, I have been crying a lot. I have been let down and disappointed by myself and the world I created around me. I have felt my ears grow warmer and warmer as I begin to recall a moment where I slipped up despite my best intentions and instead of flinging my body off the empire state building, I cried. I have cried on the A train, on the B52, in the work bathroom, in line at the bodega, at poetry readings and comedy shows, to friends, to family, to ex's friends, to bartenders, to strangers, to coworkers, to no one, to myself. I have cried in rehearsal rooms and in green rooms, at Veselka, at Dynaco, at Joe's Pub, at Union Hall, and in my parent's basement in the middle of New Jersey. I have lost any ounce of shame when it comes to sobbing in public and private spaces across the ti-state area.
There are moments at 4 pm when the last hour of my work shift enters when I feel overwhelmed by the emptiness. It has consumed me recently. I feel worried I may never be the same as I was again. I worry I may not have the capacity to love the more I lose. But to fear loss is a losing game.
Loss happens all around us. Loss pummels me into facing my shapeshifting body in real time to ask myself "what is so bad about being alone and what happens when I confront the reality that I am not alone"
My shame has been anchoring me in tears these past few months. Time does not seem to be on my side- I am quickly unraveling trying to over-explain myself and my feelings in all corners of my life and as I fumble around trying to glue together shattered glass, I feel myself constantly on a ledge in the solitude of misunderstandings and mess. But as I scramble and fail, I have folks who have bared witness to my tears. Folks who agree to meet me at a bar or take me to a show or feed me food as I drink a bottle of $10 wine where the label reads JOSH in cursive.
We can do the best we can to clean the mess but in the end, there are always things left unsaid, I suppose. Things unexpectedly happen and it is that loss of control that pushes out my tears at any given moment. My pockets are stuffed with tissues and pain pills, my purse is filled with edibles and backup eye makeup, and my phone is filled with people to oscillate between texting memes and emotions too. It feels erratic but it also feels cleansing. Today, for me, particularly feels like a watershed moment- a refusal to let endings be an invitation to fear.
To know, to have hope, to have an inkling, to close my eyes and know that my recent emotional exodus won't close doors but rather, radically open up a space to feel unafraid to feel and flail.