Keep your eyes on the president-elect, because he is absolutely trying to pull a fast one on you.
I am a crier. That is, when I’m not on antidepressants. Medicated, it takes a lot to make me cry, as we have established.
These days I wind up spending most of my time feeling like a character James Spader would have played in the late ‘80s and/or early ‘90s. I am mainly thinking about Sex, Lies, and Videotape, I’ll be honest. I feel sad and look at myself in the mirror and go “Man, I feel sad.” But no teardrops fall. It’s nice to be able to sit with my feelings without falling to pieces, though I do have nostalgia for the time I’ve spent considering my own snotty, tear-streaked visage.
Side note: I refuse to accept that I am the only person who has stared at themselves in a mirror while crying to see what I looked like. Refuse.
I sometimes wonder if I’d been this way (composed, thoughtful, careful) when dating my ex would we still be together.That dude was not about stuff like visible displays of emotions which, of course, made visibly showing emotions almost impossible not to do. What if I’d been cool, composed, distant, and shut off? He would have followed me around forever. I shudder to think. If we were still together that would mean I was cool with a guy who made me sleep on a loveseat because he “couldn’t share a bed” with someone and whose idea of foreplay was asking me to watch as he played video games in his dirty basketball shorts and gave me notes on how to make my tweets funnier. To paraphrase the immortal words of the brilliant advertising minds behind the Virginia Slims campaign: I’ve come a long way, baby!
Crying is the greatest. It’s got all the restorative and purgative powers of throwing up without any of the actual terribleness of losing your lunch. Plus, even if you are an ugly crier (raises hand) it makes your lips puffy in a deeply compelling way! If you’re sad, or happy, or frustrated, or angry -- cry. It won’t fix things necessarily but my god will it make you feel better. As a seasoned crier, I have explored many locations to engage in this, my favorite activity. I come to you know with a well-thought out list of 5 great places to cry. Now go: Get your weep on!
I have been an ardent shower-crier since the first time I saw Glenn Close rock it in The Big Chill. Close opted for seated shower-weeping, but I’m going to go ahead and say maybe don’t sit down unless you are very, very proactive about keeping your shower clean. I am not, and I’ve got enough to weep about without adding contracting some sort of nasty ass-specific fungus to the mix.
If you must, briefly lean your forehead against the tiles for the sake of drama. For bonus points, masturbate in the shower while weeping. That’s some Lars von Trier level shit right there.
This one is great because you feel like Batman, but a version of Batman where he owned his shit, processed his damage and let himself feel things. This should be a thing. It wouldn’t undercut his reputation as a crime-stopper either. Imagine looking up at a tall building and seeing a grown man dressed as a bat just sobbing. That would stay with you, and say, potentially prevent you from committing any crimes you had planned that evening, right?
The last time I cried on my roof I punctuated it with primal screams of “FUUUUUUUCK!” I only stopped when I regain the objectivity to see how truly unhinged I appeared. Then I had dinner. It should be noted that I was NOT dressed as Batman when any of this occurred. And more’s the pity.
No matter how well we think we’re holding our shit together, we get to the subway and boom, waterworks. Maybe it’s because we’re on the subway and it is the worst. Maybe someone’s backpack is gouging us, maybe the couple making out across the way has filled you with emptiness, maybe the inescapable gaze of humanity pressing in on you is more than you can handle.
If you sob on the subway, no one will bother you about it. If you throw up into your purse, they might move (I speak from experience), but for the most part, if you keep your fluids and your insanity to yourself, the denizens of the subway system are all about letting you experience true catharsis.
Ice Cream Parlors
Sure, you could cry in a regular type of restaurant or a bar, but doesn’t that feel a little tired? A little public-display-of-emotion-by-numbers? I advocate ice cream parlors. I’m lucky because there is one two blocks from my door. If you sit in an ice cream parlor and quietly cry while eating a cookie monster sundae, everything is immediately improved and you’ll feel better... because you are eating a cookie monster sundae. That is the transitive property. Math.
And if at any point the sorrow overwhelms you and you find yourself thinking, “Oh my god this is the most pathetic thing I have ever done in my entire life, I am sobbing over a boy and eating a sundae alone,” console yourself with the knowledge that you are eating a sundae and there is nothing pathetic or sad about that. Because sundaes are awesome.
In Front Of Teenagers
No matter how awesome your friends and family are, you reach a point (or at least I do) when you understand that it’s “a bit much” to wander around crying all the time and rehashing points that have been hashed so many times before that they would probably have a very special name at your local Waffle House. You know who loves crying all the time and rehashing stuff into a fine paste? TEENAGERS.
Find some teenagers -- maybe you are related to them, maybe you see a posse of approachable youths at Starbucks. Greet them. Make some sort of opening conversational gambit, perhaps the recently announced hiatus of One Direction is a good starting place. Conversely, if they seem cool, DO NOT MENTION ONE DIRECTION. Instead, be self-deprecating and complimentary.
Once they seem comfortable and you are sure that you are not going to be arrested for weirdness, let the waterworks run. A word of warning: Do not let them set you up with anyone unless it is their dad or their dad’s hot friend. Get specifics. You are too old for prom and too cute for jail.
Image: Flickr / CC