Short Stories to Captivate

Crying

Sometimes I just lay in bed at night and cry. Sometimes I sob, and bury my face into the pillows and clamp my eyes shut tight; other times I just lay there quietly while tears roll down my cheeks and into my hair. Sometimes I wipe the tears away before they fall from my eyes and sometimes I catch them on my lips. My tongue becomes salty and my eyes sting, my head sometimes feels light, but it sometimes feels heavy.

Sometimes I cry about sad things, about people that I miss or opportunities I failed to take advantage of. Sometimes I cry thinking about the future. I get scared thinking about future responsibilities, but more often I cry thinking about the love I will hopefully have, and the goals I will have hopefully accomplished.

Sometimes I lay in my bed in the dark and I imagine resting my head on my husband's chest. I imagine that he worries that something is wrong, when really I just love him so much I might die. I imagine that I will travel, and do all of the things I ever said I would do, even the things I only said in spite and anger. I imagine living on my own, fending for myself, my dad calling to check up. I imagine rushing to the hospital because my little sister has gone into labor. I picture leaning over her hospital bed, leaning next to her husband and gazing down at my new niece or nephew.

Sometime I think that maybe she never got married. Maybe she became an alcoholic or fell into depression after a nasty divorce. I cry when I think that she might push me away when she hurts, even when we are much older. I wonder if maybe I'll never find love, if maybe I'll die alone. I wonder if I'll one day wish to have kids, only to find that it can never happen. Sometime I think that one of my best friends could be diagnosed with a disease, or worse die having never been aware of their ailments. One day getting a phone call that they are dead.

I sometimes imagine my parents growing old, having to mend fences and old wounds between my mother and I. I know that my dad will fade away more likely than be killed, and I sob when I picture him wasting away piece by piece in a hospital bed or a nursing home. I know I should visit more often, but I'm so busy, an adult without time to spare for her parents. My heart breaks a little when I imagine that I might not always have my dad.

Sometimes I remember childhood pets; sometimes I even relive my favorite animals' deaths, or disappearances. I weep when I remember my favorite pets, and I cry when I remember my failure in taking care of them. Sometime I imagine as if they had never died, but I cry when I remember that I would inevitably see their demises anyway, because they could never naturally outlive me.

Sometimes I lay there and my chest gets tight, and my eyes grow hot for no reason at all. Sometimes I sob for long stretches of time, just to lessen the pressure in my head. I think about why I cry, why I cry so much and so easily. I think back to when I used to never cry at all, but that makes me cry too.

I remember when I was bullied in middle school, but thought it weak of myself to cry. I became a bully then, and hid my tears away. I refused to cry when I watched sad movies, and I'd bite my cheeks and pinch my legs to avoid it at all costs. When my parents divorced I would lay in my bathtub and sob into blankets to muffle my voice. I would never let anyone see me cry, especially not my parents or sister. I had to look strong and tough, and solemn. Sometimes I wouldn't even let myself cry in private, because it was weak.

I remember my grandfather's funeral, I remember holding in all of the pain I felt. My mom screamed at our neighbor when he came to the door, and I remember chasing him out to the driveway to apologize. I sob when I remember him turning to me, crying, telling me that there wasn't any reason to say sorry. I remember the first time I cried after his death was when my dad cried. I thought to myself, why would such a strong man cry? When I asked he said that he was sorry for my sister and I. To think that he would cry for me, rather than for himself, broke my solemn demeanor, and I cry end with him. The only other time I cried was when my pastor stopped by the house. I walked him to his car where he embraced me, and I felt my heart break. I crying on his shirt and he held me for no longer than half a minute, but it felt like an eternity. I remember all of this late and night and cry again.

One night I was in my room, upset with my whole life. I was feeling so angry, and yet so sad at the same time. I wanted to pretend that I was furious, enough to kill, but I knew in my heart that I was angry because of how horribly sad I was. I was holding it in to the point of my chest cramping when it occurred to me, that's it's not my job. It's not my job to be strong and solid for my family, it's not my job to hold it all in. It's my job to grow up and become the person I'm meant to be, to grow. What is the point of looking so strong when I'm really not? Why lead others to believe me tough, when I'm so fragile inside? Now I cry all the time, about little things sometimes. I cry during movies and stories, but most especially I cry at night when I'm laying in my bed.

I lay in my sheets and I stare up at the ceiling. I let all of my emotions come to the surface and I don't hold anything back. Sometimes I think of sad things on purpose, just to clear my head. And when I'm done I lay there, wiping my eyes and sniffling. I feel as if all of the weight I've ever felt has been lifted off of my shoulders, if just for this night. I don't believe that there is any shame in crying, I don't believe that there is anything wrong with feeling sad. Crying is important to my development, and my character. Maybe one day I will again have to choke back tears for my friends or family. Maybe I'll have to be cold and solemn for my kids one day, but for now I'm still just a child myself. Crying is not something to be ashamed of, because sometimes it's all we have.