I hadn’t cried in 7 years and decided to do some emotional exercises to make myself cry. So I managed to cry about 4 months ago, haven’t been able to since even with my grandmothers death. Might start trying again.
3 months ago when I miscarried our sweet baby… It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through
I’m so sorry, hope you’re healthy and holding up okay ❤️.
I’m so sorry for what you are going through. I hope you have supportive people around you. I am familiar with this pain.
So sorry to hear that, sending best vibes.
My wife had covid, and was sick enough we worried about her surviving. Maybe too dramatic, but she was very sick and it scared us both.
After she recovered there was a morning I opened the fridge and she had made me a sandwich to take to work. And it just came rising in to me that we were okay now, she was back.
I cried hard.
Damm, if your wife saw you cry she would thought you didn’t like it XD
10 minutes ago. I cry a lot there days. I used to never cry though.
I don’t think crying is a bad thing, I cry if I’m watching a sad scene in a show or reading a sad book or something. I may not be full on sobbing (unless it’s a really heavy one) but just the tears to me feels like a kind of free emotional release. I’m a hairy man with a full beard as well, so I’m fully aware of the stigma against crying.
I am also a hairy bearded man and I love crying. I’ll cry at sad and heartwarming scenes in shows and movies. Pretty much equally split between tears of sadness and tears of joy. Full on sobbing less frequently, but often enough.
The physical release of tears can be incredibly emotionally cathartic (I imagine that’s the idea?). I usually find myself calm and collected by the time the tears dry.
Stigmas are stupid.
We cry together, brother
I cried just the other day. I get stressed out easily and was crying over interpersonal relationship issues with my coworkers lmao.
My girlfriend is the same! Jealous of that ability
Friday night. My kids made me watch Up.
Up gets me every time.
Today! I’m in hospital having received surgery on both of my legs to try and restore some mobility, I’m not able to walk unaided right now, but I’m improving every day!
That’s unrelated to why I cried, though, I just wanted to defy expectations a little! I cried because I read something that always makes me cry - Valerie’s letter from V for Vendetta - I’ve included the movie version below, but it’s pretty faithful to the original:
I know there’s no way I can convince you this is not one of their tricks. But I don’t care. I am me.
My name is Valerie. I don’t think i’ll live much longer, and I wanted to tell someone about my life. This is the only autobiography that i’ll ever write, and – God – i’m writing it on toilet paper.
I was born in Nottingham in 1985. I don’t remember much of those early years. But I do remember the rain. My grandmother owned a farm in Tottlebrook, and she used to tell me that God was in the rain.
I passed my eleven plus, and went to a girl’s grammar. It was at school that I met my first girlfriend. Her name was Sarah. It was her wrists – they were beautiful. I thought we would love each other forever. I remember our teacher telling us that it was an adolescent phase that people outgrew.
Sarah did.
I didn’t.
In 2002 I fell in love with a girl named Christina. That year I came out to my parents. I couldn’t have done it without Chris holding my hand.
My father wouldn’t look at me. He told me to go and never come back. My mother said nothing.
I’d only told them the truth. Was that so selfish? Our integrity sells for so little, but it is all we really have.
It is the very last inch of us.
And within that inch, we are free.
I’d always known what i’d wanted to do with my life, and in 2015 I started my first film: The Salt Flats.
It was the most important role of my life. Not because of my career, but because that was how I met Ruth. The first time we kissed, I knew I never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again.
We moved to a small flat in London together. She grew scarlet carsons for me in our window box. And our place always smelt of roses.
Those were the best years of my life.
But America’s war grew worse and worse, and eventually came to London.
After that there were no roses anymore. Not for anyone.
I remember how the meaning of words began to change. How unfamiliar words like “collateral” and “rendition” became frightening. When things like norsefire and the articles of allegiance became powerful. I remember how different became dangerous.
I still don’t understand it: why they hate us so much.
They took Ruth while she was out buying food. I’ve never cried so hard in my life. It wasn’t long until they came for me.
It seems strange that my life should end in such a terrible place.
But for three years I had roses – and apologised to no-one.
I shall die here. Every inch of me shall perish. Every inch.
But one.
An inch.
It is small and it is fragile, and it is the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.
I hope that - whoever you are - you escape this place. I hope that the world turns, and that things get better.
But what I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that even though I do not know you, and even though I may not meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you: I love you.
With all my heart.
I love you.
-Valerie.
Book version:
I don’t know who you are. Please believe. There is no way I can convince you that this is not one of their tricks. But I don’t care. I am me, and I don’t know who you are, but I love you. I have a pencil. A little one they did not find. I am a women. I hid it inside me. Perhaps I won’t be able to write again, so this is a long letter about my life. It is the only autobiography I have ever written and oh God I’m writing it on toilet paper.
I was born in Nottingham in 1957, and it rained a lot. I passed my eleven plus and went to girl’s Grammar. I wanted to be an actress.
I met my first girlfriend at school. Her name was Sara. She was fourteen and I was fifteen but we were both in Miss. Watson’s class. Her wrists. Her wrists were beautiful. I sat in biology class, staring at the picket rabbit foetus in its jar, listening while Mr. Hird said it was an adolescent phase that people outgrew. Sara did. I didn’t.
In 1976 I stopped pretending and took a girl called Christine home to meet my parents. A week later I enrolled at drama college. My mother said I broke her heart.
But it was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it’s all we have left in this place. It is the very last inch of us. But within that inch we are free.
London. I was happy in London. In 1981 I played Dandini in Cinderella. My first rep work. The world was strange and rustling and busy, with invisible crowds behind the hot lights and all that breathless glamour. It was exciting and it was lonely. At nights I’d go to the Crew-Ins or one of the other clubs. But I was stand-offish and didn’t mix easily. I saw a lot of the scene, but I never felt comfortable there. So many of them just wanted to be gay. It was their life, their ambition. And I wanted more than that.
Work improved. I got small film roles, then bigger ones. In 1986 I starred in “The Salt Flats.” It pulled in the awards but not the crowds. I met Ruth while working on that. We loved each other. We lived together and on Valentine’s Day she sent me roses and oh God, we had so much. Those were the best three years of my life.
In 1988 there was the war, and after that there were no more roses. Not for anybody.
In 1992 they started rounding up the gays. They took Ruth while she was out looking for food. Why are they so frightened of us? They burned her with cigarette ends and made her give them my name. She signed a statement saying I’d seduced her. I didn’t blame her. God, I loved her. I didn’t blame her.
But she did. She killed herself in her cell. She couldn’t live with betraying me, with giving up that last inch. Oh Ruth. . . .
They came for me. They told me that all of my films would be burned. They shaved off my hair and held my head down a toilet bowl and told jokes about lesbians. They brought me here and gave me drugs. I can’t feel my tongue anymore. I can’t speak.
The other gay women here, Rita, died two weeks ago. I imagine I’ll die quite soon. It’s strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years I had roses and I apologized to nobody.
I shall die here. Every last inch of me shall perish. Except one.
An inch. It’s small and it’s fragile and it’s the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.
I don’t know who you are. Or whether you’re a man or a woman. I may never see you or cry with you or get drunk with you. But I love you. I hope that you escape this place. I hope that the world turns and that things get better, and that one day people have roses again. I wish I could kiss you.
Valerie
X
Much more coherent version, thank you for sharing.
Good luck with your recovery!
V for Vendetta was ny favorite movie during the most dramatic part of my life and I love it to this day.
One of my birds died a few months back and I cried in terror for the other one (who is still sick on and off). Up until then I thought all my tears had been burned out by a 15 year family court struggle with my abusive ex.
Oh I’m so sorry for your loss.
Thank you. The other one had an emergency vet visit yesterday and I’m waiting nervously for her usual wake up time to see if she’s still alive.
About an hour ago. I have been suffering from severe depression and just need an outlet. It made me feel a bit better though.
Hope you’re okay bud. If you ever need an outlet treat my inbox like a punching bag. Someone out here cares about you, even when you feel like nobody does (been there) 💙
Keep your head up, do what you can, and focus on one thing at a time
This morning actually. I ran the sound system for a memorial service today. Young man lost to gun violence, not even 25 yet.
Felt weird for getting choked up, because I didn’t actually know him personally. Just hard to see all those people hurting because of a senseless and violent tragedy. And rough to know that his life ended so early and all that potential was just gone in a moment.
It’s perfectly natural to cry over the loss of a life, even if you didn’t know them personally. I think the man’s family would be comforted that even a complete stranger was moved by their passing, I know I would.
A few weeks ago
My son (4 months old) refused to sleep and was crying/screaming for like an hour
Very frustrating, and I cried a mixture of sympathy tears and frustration tears
The last time I cried not from my son was like 15 years ago
I don’t know how yall have kids. Good luck parenting!
It’s tough but rewarding. I know it’s cliche, but I really wouldn’t trade being a dad for anything
3 to 6 months if such a bitter sweet age. On the one hand, it’s when they start turning in to little people and their personality starts emerging. But it’s also where it starts to get really hard. I’m not sure if it gets easier or you get better at dealing with it, but it gets better.
We’re at 18 months and it’s a really fun and exciting age but I miss the little goofy baby. The last few months before they become mobile and tear your house to shreds are precious.
I’m currently battling a burnout. Well, I was at the step just before the burnout. I lost my best friend who died in March, and it really made me fall down the downward spiral.
After that, I used to cry randomly, without reason, or for the most ridiculous reason.
Like, sitting in my 4 years old son’s bedroom and tidying his books, and I’d start bawling, wondering how the hell did I end up having this little guy in my life, and what did I do to deserve it.
That was one of the… Normal days.
Fortunately, I asked for help before it was to late. I’m on medication, and things are much, much better now.
I’m quite the sensitive guy and I cry easily, but this was way, way worse that what I’m used to.
That’s an extremely difficult situation to deal with. I’m glad you were able to get some help. It’s very easy to spiral down and sometimes you might feel like you deserve that spiral, getting out can be a real climb.
Getting help was the easy part, fortunately. Long live antidepressants. The chemical in my brain were highly unbalanced. I can’t imagine what would have happened had I waited a few more weeks.
This morning. I’ve probably cried at least once or twice a day for the past two years.
Oh no, hope things get better or are better.
What seems to be common thoughts during these times?
Lots of stuff. I’ve had a lot of people disappear from my life unexpectedly in the few years, for a lot of different reasons. I have a lot of people to miss. It’s hard not to be overwhelmed by the possibility of losing my current loved ones too.
I had some potent mustard at Oktoberfest today.
Well thats one way to get there!
Just when I have to put an animal down. Even then, very little and only in private. I just don’t understand how people can feel so comfortable losing control. I’m aware my option on this is no longer the popular one. Just being honest.
I just don’t understand how people can feel so comfortable losing control.
It’s part of what makes me… me. The people around me know me as a competent person who’s always got a plan and will always fight through emergency situations with a cool head. They also know I’m not dealing with the loss of a family member well. What would I gain by forcing myself to hide that fucking, goddamn pain that comes like a crushing wave sneaking up on me all the time? I’ll sit there with red eyes riding that out for a little, you guys deal with the world until I’m back.
I like that exercise actors do where they watch a clip that made them cry in the past. That scene whwre Dr. Gregory House indirectly saves the quadraplegic with single shot of cortisol gets me every time. Such a soft spot for those who heal and are healed.
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