I cry a lot. If I add up the time I have used for crying it might be half of the time I have lived. I used to cry when I felt expendable. Sometimes I dreamt about this feeling and I cried in my dreams. I cry when I read something sad. These days almost every night when I do my bedtime reading I cry. I cry when I watch sad movies. I cry even when I am happy. I also cry when others praise me. When I had the last breakdown it seemed that there had not been a single day I did not cry. But I seldom cry when I feel pain though.
When my father died I cried a lot. And even though it has been years since he died I still cry sometimes when I think about how he suffered in his hospital bed. I cry at friends’ funerals even when the deceased are not so close friends. I remember in my high school days our English Literature teacher mentioned that crying can be catching and I understand now that it is so true. There are times when I shouldn’t be crying and yet my eyes turn wet just because I saw someone crying.
When I read about a book written by a Taiwanese surgeon, Dr Raymond, who worked for the Medecins Sans Frontieres, I cry each time he described the terrible sufferings of those he tried hard to cure. There was this part when he could not save a child and he hid himself sobbing without tears and I guess it must be worse than if one cries aloud and tears streaming out. I feel lucky as I never have that experience, or have I?
I ran away to Wellington once, trying to escape from my husband because I was nuts. I was extremely unhappy then. But I did not survive more than three days and I had to go home because I knew that there I would be looked after even though I dread going back. I took a taxi to the train station. I kind of talked to myself and kind of talked to the taxi driver saying that sometimes I went to see sad movies just to enjoy the crying because I need cleansing within me.
I don’t see it as weak to cry. Most men hold back from crying because they believe that crying is a sign of weakness, this way they suffer stress more than women who find their release of pressure through crying. During my return journey to Auckland from Wellington I was so distressed that I felt numb; then suddenly I started crying. This pouring out of tears was a release and coincidently I saw some fireworks outside the train window, I took it as a celebration of my being able to open up the bottleneck.