Tears and progress, part 2

The more I write, the more I cry.

"You want some form of bonding"

I cried to sleep at 3am. Wanting to shout for someone to just hug me to sleep. But I didn't, I withhold my screams but my tears kept flowing. I just grabbed my pillow and squeeze it very hard as I fell into an uneasy deep sleep.

All it took was an imagination gone wild. Of a scene in a hospital whereby what happens if I do let my screams run wild, echoing the whole house, unstoppable, uncontrollable, like a mad person, and no one could do anything but drive me to the hospital, and there, I refused to get treatment, lest it incurs more into my expenses because I was so convinced, so convinced that my family will make me pay for it instead of taking the expenses on.

All that took was a sense of helplessness and loneliness for me to think of how impossible it is for me to live freely, that I bawled. I'm convinced that I am that crazy.

I couldn't cry and ask for a living person to come to my side, so I cried for my grandmother. I miss her badly, I miss having a companion whose love always looks tough but she also craves attention. I miss my grandmother because only she feels happy if we say nice things about how we will take care of her, of the way she has in very subtle ways, influenced how we wake up and sleep, and eat.

I wake up crying more and more. Trying to find the words to describe my feelings, feelings I have buried deep inside but just keep bubbling up to the surface, while still trying to find words to face the world later on.

I realised now that a lot of people babble because they need to let go. Babbling isn't some form of character trait, but something they needed to throw it out there to prevent them from absorbing the negativity later on, so that they can move on with life, so that after the release, they can keep going on and on.

I look at the world in silence but all I feel is suffocation. So my release are all coming out, in tears, in withheld screams, which resulted in more tears. I try to breathe better after every cry and it is a relief.

I have not felt this sensitive and this emotional for a long while. Rebalancing this will take awhile.

But, I supposed, it has to happen. Either I continue to feel suffocated for the rest of my life while resenting the world, or make changes to ensure I continue to live in a way that I'm happy.

The more I write, the more I will cry. It can't be helped, but it will lead to something better.