Day 102: Self Hatred and Inability to Cry
I find myself revisiting in my mind the subject of crying. I want to be able to cry. I sense I could release a well of painful emotions and memories if I could cry. But, I have so much doubt. I think the doubt comes from self hatred. Ironically, I hate to admit that.
I am beginning to think that self hatred is the primary culprit behind the pain . . . that is, if the pain is real. My broken memory, my propensity for happiness, my outward signs of success and my inability to cry cause me to have such incredible doubt about the genuineness of my pain. Is it imagined? Am I simply holding onto the idea out of familiarity?
Am I unable to cry because of numbness; or am I unable to cry because I have processed everything successfully? Are the emotions stuck; or are they simply not there?
"When they become adults, men cry 7 times a year on average, while women cry 47 times a year" (http://www.wikihow.c...-Let-It-All-Out).
Really?? That seems unbelievable to me. I haven't cried seven times in 30 years and I'm female.
Well . . . whether it's legitimate or not, I feel the need to cry. I can't help it.
I remember crying once as a kid. I was about 12 years old. My parents laugh at me about it to this day. The thing that brought me to tears was pretty nonsensical. I was hurt that my siblings took candy from me when I asked them not to. I had dropped it and the pieces were spread out all over the floor. It was a small betrayal, utterly unworthy of tears.
Up to that point when I was crying over the taken candy, the last time I had cried was when I was eight or nine years old when my dad and two older brothers drove away after my parents' divorce.
I didn't cry about other things, things that probably would bring many people to tears. I didn't cry when:
- we moved from one city to another.
- they left our dogs behind.
- I got bullied at school.
- when my grandmother died, or when my great aunt died.
- I was raped . . . neither time.
- I fought my step-father off.
And, then afterward they didn't cry.
I also realize part of why I accepted his sexual abuse was because it was less painful than the physical abuse. During the times when he was touching me or taking pictures of me he didn't fly into one of his rages at anyone.
Furthermore, I learned from my childhood that my pain is not worthy of mention. "That's not worth crying about. You just need to let it go. Don't dwell on it. You're making a big deal out of nothing. You're being childish."
However, in spite of the terrifying barriers, I have had a few brief bouts of tears recently. Sometimes a scene in a movie or a certain song will bring a tear to my eyes. Sometimes tears well up when I read here in Pandy's what others are going through or what happened to them. I cried for a minute or so when I was at the gynecologic appointment. I was so frightened that my emotions were freed to surface. It helped that I was alone. No one else was in the room. I am sure it wouldn't have happened otherwise.
I need to get past the programming, the fear, the self hatred. Also, I need to accept this is a slow process. Just as it took years to reach this state of numbness, the way through it is not speedy. I need to accept that what I am experiencing is depression. I haven't been able to accept that.