I’m addicted to tears
When I travel and I’m away from home and responsibility, I like to drink and cry.
There is a release in the emotion of crying.
I surf the tv for a sad or inspirational movie. Pour myself a drink or four and wait.
Some recent tear jerkers have been…”we were solders” a Vietnam war epic and “the help”. Both brought tears to my eyes.
A welcome release. Having lost my middle son to a car crash, I lived intense grief for years, when the grief subsides there is still the hole left by the loss of your body and soul embodied in flesh, a child. That hole needs filling.
I have filled that hole with a familiar sadness. I can’t indulge myself in that sadness every waking hour, I have people and family that depend on me.
So I save it up and spend my grief in short bursts.
I have found that solitary alone times are best to indulge my need for release, to bleed my soul, a spiritual phlebotomist, pouring out the pressure built within.
A good sad movie, a hotel room and a fifth of vodka.
Release in tears, the movie is just the catalyst, the body wracking sobs the cure. Tomorrow is a new day. Day one.
©The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2013, written entirely on my iPhone.