No More Tears

An acquaintance on Facebook writes:

I'm thankful for tears that come—sometimes quite unexpectedly and sometimes in moments when I know they will happen. I often blame it on menopause, with all of the raging hormones that brings.

At the ‘GBH site, there’s a great (short) post by Therese J. Borchard entitled 7 Good Reasons to Cry Your Eyes Out.

The first reason she notes is that tears help us see. Yes indeedy.

They keep my cornea (yours too but with your own damn tears) all slippery smooth which is how they’re supposed to be. Not enough tears and the old cornea gets pitted, sad and stops working. Yeah, blindness. Ever since that big op, ten years ago, where the big bad acoustic neuroma (two actually and they were mother fuckers—Great White Whale sized) were yanked and I became officially deaf, I’ve had Dry Eye.  That is, there's been little to no tear action to lubricate, nourish the peeper on my left side. Warum? Eh, the good cutter had his hands full of nerve bundles, brains and tumors. Shit happens and this, this was a very small side effect.

To stave off blindness, I use eye drops during the day and some extra special goop at night and sometimes I wear a pirate patch too. Hey, it looks cool, it’s fun AND it protects my eye on windy days.

Other reasons Borchard notes are that tears kill bacteria and remove toxins. You can find out more about this at the link.

Tears also emancipate pent up emotions which, in turn, lowers stress levels. Good shit, n'est-ce pas?

I used to cry, seemingly, at the drop of a hat. Elementary school tormentors  called me a cry baby. I was ashamed of the ease with which I fell into Sobsville. This didn’t stop when I entered adulthood. Nope. I’d cry when I got really angry. Waterworks, though slight, would begin  while watching inspirational feats. Yes, I’d get choked up while watching the Boston Marathon, peace rallies and other protests for social justice. I’d weep in movies. Hell’s, sometimes I was a flood zone from start to finish. The flick Truly Madly, Deeply came out shortly after my BFF, Kevin, croaked. I’m glad I saw that sucker by myself—I could’ve easily drowned anyone sitting within three seats of me.

Why can’t I cry anymore? Is it because of that surgery? I don’t think so. The tear ducts of my right eye are still operational. I’m not trying to be the tough guy stoic either. Honest.

As Jen put it, it feels like there’s a giant weight, all balled up, but you can't release it. Yup.

A good cry would be healthy.

Back, in college, when I was at my parent's place, I came downstairs to see my folks at the dining room table looking mega serious. They stopped me on my way to the rain room and said they had bad news. A family friend’s son, who was near my age, had committed suicide. I was stunned and made to dash out of the room. Daddy said “Go, have a good cry.” As I exited, I heard my mother chastise Pop, thinking he was being callous. No, Daddy was telling me he understood and it was OK to do what I needed to do. Break free the horror, pain, shock and mega sad that was was trying to get outta my chest like some emotional Alien.

Jen again:
Heavy shit, hard to imagine it will ever feel better...

I'm envious of my Facebook bud.