crying, i changed.

I woke after few hours of sleep, checked my phone, saw I had mail and began reading what would make it impossible to fall back to sleep. The message went on and on easily, but each word was difficult to digest. I read the words aloud—through and through—and then paragraphs in, I couldn’t hold on anymore, and cried. Cried through the remaindered of the letter. Cried through the disclosure of another individual’s story. This morning I cried, no more than two minutes after I woke. This afternoon I cried at the kitchen counter over lunch. Today I cried because of the honesty of a single secret. I cried because I was the chosen ears and eyes to have it shared with. I cried because I am practically a stranger, existing in appearance through photographs and words on Facebook, and yet I woke and was given the intimacy of someone else’s words to me, but so desperately for themselves. I cried because no one has it easy but everyone believes it can be—and that is where the complication lies. I cried because when we are in trouble—when our interior takes on a new mood—we have ourselves convinced that the moment won’t change, that the mood wouldn’t take on a new shade soon enough, that the feeling of those times will define us forever and that we won’t last much longer within this new state of being we occupy. I cried because if only we could know—then—that we will change, that feelings will fall from us, that life will assume a different story, that in retrospect we will remember and we will see more of the good than the bad of the times. I cried because during my vacation in Miami I found more photographs of my past and not only did I see my selves but I saw the apparent happiness in each documented happening—and yet, I had been convinced that I had been otherwise and consumed with wanting to be pained and wounded—just so I would drive myself further, to discover more, experience more, understand more, acknowledge more, feel more and ultimately be more. I cried because I can talk to, am interested in talking to and am talked to deeply and enjoyably by almost anyone, and yet someone who I have shared multiple nights with and woken to in the mornings has an inability to speak—yes, the mouth moves, words are made but nothing really comes out. I can’t think back on the last time this has happened to me—that connection has not been made through communication. I cried because I can get labeled for over thinking but on the flipside those that don’t think seem the most complicated and not understandable. I cried because communication is all we have, and yet something some people know so little of. I cried because people reach out to others—wanting them to provide a validating answer that they can hold on to—but there is no answer, only truths they can uncover within themselves and perhaps this is less of what they want, but more of what they need. I cried because we write from addictions—our minds speak from a place of urgency. I cried because ironically I had called attention to pictures of this person one day before and my concerns were only assumptions and now, twenty four hours later, I know and am no longer someone who can only assume a personal scenario. I cried because I was scared of the story. I cried because I read myself in the letter. I cried because sometimes regardless of the stupidity of the mistakes one makes, one is not stupid but actually smarter for seeing what has been done. I cried because this letter was sent and intended for me not because we know each other, but because the individual feels like he can—because the assumption was made that I would not judge, that I could and would help, that I would keep the letter within me, that I would never fault the imperfections that we try so tediously to mask. I cried because I woke up, read a letter and am now changed because of it. I cried because I knew I did not cry when my grandmother died but am crying for someone I do not know. I cried because I am glad someone recognized why I am here—candid on the Internet and sincere in person—revealing what can so easily be held beneath my tongue and guarded for effectuating mysteriousness—I am glad when someone takes advantage of it. I cried this morning because in less than five minutes I knew a new world and feel the desire to help shift the scene and reposition the perspective. I cried because I feel the pressure to be strong everyday—to learn everyday—for myself and for others.