Unshed Tears
For all the sadness I feel but can’t express.
I cry a lot. Mostly during church services, in deep conversation about my childhood or when watching or recounting a heartfelt story. Also, when sad, hurt or angry. Just like everyonelse. However, I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself cry long. I mean, for longer than the first few droplets. I can’t remember the last time I cried uncontrollably, okay maybe except recently while praying, or allow myself let it all out. Those many tears were beneath me. Those many a tears woulda made a weak, powerless woman out of me. But every now and then, I find myself wanting to pull teeth, cut hair or smash glass. And for this reason, I hold a lot of unshed tears. Unshed tears for untold stories and purposely forgotten memories. For stolen happiness and inherited anger. For wrongful doings and unjust circumstances. For uninterpretable feelings and caged birds that no longer know how to sing.
I have enough unshed, yet-to-be shed and will never be shed tears to keep me crying (or not crying) for years.
If I told you about my experience of unrequited love, about my fear-filled childhood, memories of being thrown across the room by a raised and heavy-handed slap, about a 9-year breakup that could have been avoided and temporary moments of madness, would you believe me? Would you shed tears for me or live in perpetual denial like I find is best for my existence?
If I told you about being able to relate to the innate feelings of a septic tank, or described the taste of callous words smothered in a gravy of belt strokes or heavy-handed slap sauce mixed in bowls of knocks to the head…would you believe me? Would you shed for tears or live in perpetual denial like I find is best for my health?
If I told you about how I had to fight for my life — my mind, my heart, my spirit, my faith, my salvation my sanity in a boxing ring versus this vile inebriated monster, would you believe me? Would you shed tears for me or choose to deny it because it’s best for everyone?
If I told you I was confused, lost, angry, bitter, stressed, tired, bothered by my past and worried for my future and in compete turmoil about the present, all at the same time, would you believe me? Would you pray for me? Would you buy me ice-cream, alcohol or weed? Would you sit with me, and hold me? Would you shed tears for me or live in perpetual denial like I find is best for my soul?
If I told you I could hold much hate and love in the same space for an oppressor…that I cried almost every night before I went to sleep. Muffled tears only. Nothing loud, long or uncontrollable. Would you believe me or would you also shed tears for that almost defeated woman?
Do not shed tears for her. Do not shed tears for me. Do not shed tears I don’t even know how to shed for myself. Believe me, sit with me, hold me, pray for me but do not shed any tears. It is beneath you. It is weak, it is powerless and it is unhelpful. How do you gain back what was lost? How do you buy back the past? Definitely not with tears.
Iwish I could take a cry day. When next you hear me speak though, these memories might trigger some unshed tears. A few droplets, nothing long, nothing uncontrollable…because I’d be in deep conversation about my childhood. And these unshed tears might just be proof of buried feelings, proof that there was some trip to the past. Proof of bearing untold (and almost forgotten) stories within.
The End.
Author’s note: Dedicated to the little girl in her cute lil’ blue dress. She hated her Sunday hats, and hated being told what to do without an explanation. She hated bullies, and so stood up for those around her even at her own detriment. She observed quietly, and questioned every thought and opinion. She eventually became the curiosity that killed the cat.
