I hadn't cried in 7 years and decided to do some emotional exercises to make myself cry. So I managed to cry about 4 months ago, haven't been able to since even with my grandmothers death. Might start trying again.
My wife had covid, and was sick enough we worried about her surviving. Maybe too dramatic, but she was very sick and it scared us both.
After she recovered there was a morning I opened the fridge and she had made me a sandwich to take to work. And it just came rising in to me that we were okay now, she was back.
I don't think crying is a bad thing, I cry if I'm watching a sad scene in a show or reading a sad book or something. I may not be full on sobbing (unless it's a really heavy one) but just the tears to me feels like a kind of free emotional release. I'm a hairy man with a full beard as well, so I'm fully aware of the stigma against crying.
I am also a hairy bearded man and I love crying. I’ll cry at sad and heartwarming scenes in shows and movies. Pretty much equally split between tears of sadness and tears of joy. Full on sobbing less frequently, but often enough.
The physical release of tears can be incredibly emotionally cathartic (I imagine that’s the idea?). I usually find myself calm and collected by the time the tears dry.
Today! I’m in hospital having received surgery on both of my legs to try and restore some mobility, I’m not able to walk unaided right now, but I’m improving every day!
That’s unrelated to why I cried, though, I just wanted to defy expectations a little! I cried because I read something that always makes me cry - Valerie’s letter from V for Vendetta - I’ve included the movie version below, but it’s pretty faithful to the original:
I know there’s no way I can convince you this is not one of their tricks. But I don’t care. I am me.
My name is Valerie. I don’t think i’ll live much longer, and I wanted to tell someone about my life. This is the only autobiography that i’ll ever write, and – God – i’m writing it on toilet paper.
I was born in Nottingham in 1985. I don’t remember much of those early years. But I do remember the rain. My grandmother owned a farm in Tottlebrook, and she used to tell me that God was in the rain.
I passed my eleven plus, and went to a girl’s grammar. It was at school that I met my first girlfriend. Her name was Sarah. It was her wrists – they were beautiful. I thought we would love each other forever. I remember our teacher telling us that it was an adolescent phase that people outgrew.
Sarah did.
I didn’t.
In 2002 I fell in love with a girl named Christina. That year I came out to my parents. I couldn’t have done it without Chris holding my hand.
My father wouldn’t look at me. He told me to go and never come back. My mother said nothing.
I’d only told them the truth. Was that so selfish? Our integrity sells for so little, but it is all we really have.
It is the very last inch of us.
And within that inch, we are free.
I’d always known what i’d wanted to do with my life, and in 2015 I started my first film: The Salt Flats.
It was the most important role of my life. Not because of my career, but because that was how I met Ruth. The first time we kissed, I knew I never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again.
We moved to a small flat in London together. She grew scarlet carsons for me in our window box. And our place always smelt of roses.
Those were the best years of my life.
But America’s war grew worse and worse, and eventually came to London.
After that there were no roses anymore. Not for anyone.
I remember how the meaning of words began to change. How unfamiliar words like “collateral” and “rendition” became frightening. When things like norsefire and the articles of allegiance became powerful. I remember how different became dangerous.
I still don’t understand it: why they hate us so much.
They took Ruth while she was out buying food. I’ve never cried so hard in my life. It wasn’t long until they came for me.
It seems strange that my life should end in such a terrible place.
But for three years I had roses – and apologised to no-one.
I shall die here. Every inch of me shall perish. Every inch.
But one.
An inch.
It is small and it is fragile, and it is the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.
I hope that - whoever you are - you escape this place. I hope that the world turns, and that things get better.
But what I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that even though I do not know you, and even though I may not meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you: I love you.
I don't know who you are. Please believe. There is no way I can convince you that this is not one of their tricks. But I don't care. I am me, and I don't know who you are, but I love you.
I have a pencil. A little one they did not find. I am a women. I hid it inside me. Perhaps I won't be able to write again, so this is a long letter about my life. It is the only autobiography I have ever written and oh God I'm writing it on toilet paper.
I was born in Nottingham in 1957, and it rained a lot. I passed my eleven plus and went to girl's Grammar. I wanted to be an actress.
I met my first girlfriend at school. Her name was Sara. She was fourteen and I was fifteen but we were both in Miss. Watson's class. Her wrists. Her wrists were beautiful. I sat in biology class, staring at the picket rabbit foetus in its jar, listening while Mr. Hird said it was an adolescent phase that people outgrew. Sara did. I didn't.
In 1976 I stopped pretending and took a girl called Christine home to meet my parents. A week later I enrolled at drama college. My mother said I broke her heart.
But it was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it's all we have left in this place. It is the very last inch of us. But within that inch we are free.
London. I was happy in London. In 1981 I played Dandini in Cinderella. My first rep work. The world was strange and rustling and busy, with invisible crowds behind the hot lights and all that breathless glamour. It was exciting and it was lonely. At nights I'd go to the Crew-Ins or one of the other clubs. But I was stand-offish and didn't mix easily. I saw a lot of the scene, but I never felt comfortable there. So many of them just wanted to be gay. It was their life, their ambition. And I wanted more than that.
Work improved. I got small film roles, then bigger ones. In 1986 I starred in "The Salt Flats." It pulled in the awards but not the crowds. I met Ruth while working on that. We loved each other. We lived together and on Valentine's Day she sent me roses and oh God, we had so much. Those were the best three years of my life.
In 1988 there was the war, and after that there were no more roses. Not for anybody.
In 1992 they started rounding up the gays. They took Ruth while she was out looking for food. Why are they so frightened of us? They burned her with cigarette ends and made her give them my name. She signed a statement saying I'd seduced her. I didn't blame her. God, I loved her. I didn't blame her.
But she did. She killed herself in her cell. She couldn't live with betraying me, with giving up that last inch. Oh Ruth. . . .
They came for me. They told me that all of my films would be burned. They shaved off my hair and held my head down a toilet bowl and told jokes about lesbians. They brought me here and gave me drugs. I can't feel my tongue anymore. I can't speak.
The other gay women here, Rita, died two weeks ago. I imagine I'll die quite soon. It's strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years I had roses and I apologized to nobody.
I shall die here. Every last inch of me shall perish. Except one.
An inch. It's small and it's fragile and it's the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.
I don't know who you are. Or whether you're a man or a woman. I may never see you or cry with you or get drunk with you. But I love you. I hope that you escape this place. I hope that the world turns and that things get better, and that one day people have roses again. I wish I could kiss you.
One of my birds died a few months back and I cried in terror for the other one (who is still sick on and off). Up until then I thought all my tears had been burned out by a 15 year family court struggle with my abusive ex.
3 to 6 months if such a bitter sweet age. On the one hand, it’s when they start turning in to little people and their personality starts emerging. But it’s also where it starts to get really hard. I’m not sure if it gets easier or you get better at dealing with it, but it gets better.
We’re at 18 months and it’s a really fun and exciting age but I miss the little goofy baby. The last few months before they become mobile and tear your house to shreds are precious.
This morning actually. I ran the sound system for a memorial service today. Young man lost to gun violence, not even 25 yet.
Felt weird for getting choked up, because I didn’t actually know him personally. Just hard to see all those people hurting because of a senseless and violent tragedy. And rough to know that his life ended so early and all that potential was just gone in a moment.
It's perfectly natural to cry over the loss of a life, even if you didn't know them personally. I think the man's family would be comforted that even a complete stranger was moved by their passing, I know I would.
Hope you're okay bud. If you ever need an outlet treat my inbox like a punching bag. Someone out here cares about you, even when you feel like nobody does (been there) 💙
I'm currently battling a burnout. Well, I was at the step just before the burnout. I lost my best friend who died in March, and it really made me fall down the downward spiral.
After that, I used to cry randomly, without reason, or for the most ridiculous reason.
Like, sitting in my 4 years old son's bedroom and tidying his books, and I'd start bawling, wondering how the hell did I end up having this little guy in my life, and what did I do to deserve it.
That was one of the... Normal days.
Fortunately, I asked for help before it was to late. I'm on medication, and things are much, much better now.
I'm quite the sensitive guy and I cry easily, but this was way, way worse that what I'm used to.
That's an extremely difficult situation to deal with. I'm glad you were able to get some help. It's very easy to spiral down and sometimes you might feel like you deserve that spiral, getting out can be a real climb.
Getting help was the easy part, fortunately. Long live antidepressants. The chemical in my brain were highly unbalanced. I can't imagine what would have happened had I waited a few more weeks.
I like that exercise actors do where they watch a clip that made them cry in the past. That scene whwre Dr. Gregory House indirectly saves the quadraplegic with single shot of cortisol gets me every time. Such a soft spot for those who heal and are healed.
Just when I have to put an animal down. Even then, very little and only in private. I just don’t understand how people can feel so comfortable losing control. I’m aware my option on this is no longer the popular one. Just being honest.
I lost my cat recently, the first one that was truly mine. he was only about 2.5 years old, but when me and my partner moved into the city together, he went missing shortly after we started allowing him outside access (he was born feral and always loved the outdoors).
a few weeks later he was hit by a car some kilometres from our house, and a couple of weeks after that, his microchip was scanned and tracked back to us.
I sobbed for about half an hour when I first got some time alone after finding out. I still tear up thinking about him at odd times. I've never loved any animal quite as much, and I wonder if I ever will again. thinking about coming home to him was all that got me through many days of work. sometimes thinking about him just makes me feel like I don't want to be alive anymore, despite my partner and the two lovely kittens we still have.
I'm one of these strange people who don't cry even when feeling very upset, sad, or grieving... but at the same time, I sometimes cry when reading/watching a heartbreaking scene.
I like that exercise actors do where they watch a clip that made them cry in the past. That scene whwre Dr. Gregory House indirectly saves the quadraplegic with single shot of cortisol gets me every time. Such a soft spot for those who heal and are healed.
I like that exercise actors do where they watch a clip that made them cry in the past. That scene whwre Dr. Gregory House indirectly saves the quadraplegic with single shot of cortisol gets me every time. Such a soft spot for those who heal and are healed.
During the period of writing my master's thesis, about three years ago. I felt like a lazy piece of shit one morning because I wasn't far enough along and had procrastinated too much. So I ended up crying in the shower.
Currently procrastinating on my bachelors thesis and panicking every night, I'm 45 days behind schedule and 3 days past the deadline already. I know what thats like
I genuinely don't remember the last time I cried. I'm a very stoic person. Stuff that makes people cry barely touches me, and that sucks sometimes. It doesn't feel good, knowing that that source of stress relief is just blocked for me.
I’m not sure how to write this in the sensitive way that it should be delivered, so I’m really sorry about that, but have you ever thought about going to therapy?
The reason I bring it up is because I used to be like that too, and it was absolutely fine with me until some shit happened in my life that my usual coping mechanisms couldn’t deal with and I went to therapy for help.
Entirely coincidentally, (or not?) we got onto the topic of emotional awareness and expression and eventually we worked out that I had trouble understanding my emotions due to a neurological disorder, but also, that I had been suppressing my emotions because as a kid I’d basically been taught that people react negatively towards my displays of emotion.
Just a thought that maybe it could help you if you were interested.
I don't think I have trouble understanding my emotions, but I probably really do suppress them. As of now, my normal coping mechanisms work fine, and I don't see the need to fix this specific one. Maybe one day I too will have the urge, and then I'll see what I can do.
If I may ask, has therapy helped you? Did you manage to cry?
3 days ago. It was the last day with my girlfriend until the Christmas period. I saw in my watch there was only 15 minutes before she needed to go. Something happened in my brain
Just a couple days ago, thinking about my cat that I had to put down ~6 months ago. He was sick and in pain but I'm still sad about it.
I don't think you need to push yourself to cry. Everyone processes their emotions differently. For a long time I also didn't cry much/at all. I was very guarded about my emotions. Between getting older and my wife, whom I can be completely open with, I have gotten more emotional as I have gotten older.
Anxiety and depression. I've gone from Lexapro to Venlafaxine to Prozac. Hard to tell if I should switch again or if I just have to feel this way until I'm employed.
I cry almost every day. Two kids under two can be exhausting sometimes, and I have a lot of stress and anxiety. They are awesome, I just can't handle it all the time. I'm lucky enough to have an awesome wife who's very supportive, so we'll get through it!
Father's Day a couple weeks ago (in Australia). Something my 8yo daughter wrote in my card, reminded me of how my own dad isn't with me any more, and wasn't around to see me become a dad. Happens most Father's Days, to be honest.
God, yes, they did such a good job on the show. MASSIVE SPOILERS, but I loved how they handled the scene with Joel and the doctors. They cut it off, leaving it ambiguous whether he kills them or not, meanwhile in the game the player is given the ability to kill them, but is not forced to. It translates that perfectly.
Two nights ago at the end of Man on the Moon. Andy Kaufman was such a treasure and Jim Carey really worked hard to pay tribute to him. It’s tragic that Andy’s life ended so young. He was really special.
About a year ago. One of my best and closest friends died. It didn't hit me right away. Took almost two months. Hadn't cried for maybe 4 years before that?
No tears for a long ass time but I basically had a no-tear cry when I realized I was struggling so hard to keep up with cleaning, cooking and excercise mentally which is literally what nearly all adults do and many do it on autopilot. Made me feel like such a child.
I was smart enough to recognize that was just imposter syndrome by the next day but it hit hard at the time
The last time I cried out of emotions was when watching a game that you play by blinking. I don't remember the name, but it was emotional, and I couldn't help crying. Yeah, lame, I know.
I used to cry a lot and wish I cried more now. Last time I cried, and it was multiple times, was while listening to the narrated visual novel South Scrimshaw. If Pixar movies make you cry then I guarantee you this will. It excels in the same areas combining great world building, fantastical visuals, and a personal connection. However it does so with a completely different art style and completely different vibes, it's essentially an observational nature documentary.
I’m at a wedding - I’ve been happy crying throughout the night. But I’m an emotional guy - I can cry to xfactor videos or those homecoming compilations. I’m an easy target, but I love to cry. It clears out the system.
I like that exercise actors do where they watch a clip that made them cry in the past. That scene whwre Dr. Gregory House indirectly saves the quadraplegic with single shot of cortisol gets me every time. Such a soft spot for those who heal and are healed.
I like that exercise actors do where they watch a clip that made them cry in the past. That scene whwre Dr. Gregory House indirectly saves the quadraplegic with single shot of cortisol gets me every time. Such a soft spot for those who heal and are healed.
I like that exercise actors do where they watch a clip that made them cry in the past. That scene whwre Dr. Gregory House indirectly saves the quadraplegic with single shot of cortisol gets me every time. Such a soft spot for those who heal and are healed.
I like that exercise actors do where they watch a clip that made them cry in the past. That scene whwre Dr. Gregory House indirectly saves the quadraplegic with single shot of cortisol gets me every time. Such a soft spot for those who heal and are healed.
I like that exercise actors do where they watch a clip that made them cry in the past. That scene whwre Dr. Gregory House indirectly saves the quadraplegic with single shot of cortisol gets me every time. Such a soft spot for those who heal and are healed.
I like that exercise actors do where they watch a clip that made them cry in the past. That scene whwre Dr. Gregory House indirectly saves the quadraplegic with single shot of cortisol gets me every time. Such a soft spot for those who heal and are healed.
I like that exercise actors do where they watch a clip that made them cry in the past. That scene whwre Dr. Gregory House indirectly saves the quadraplegic with single shot of cortisol gets me every time. Such a soft spot for those who heal and are healed.
I like that exercise actors do where they watch a clip that made them cry in the past. That scene whwre Dr. Gregory House indirectly saves the quadraplegic with single shot of cortisol gets me every time. Such a soft spot for those who heal and are healed, particularly so when both can transcend their own pain in the process.