I am not - or I should say I *was *not - a crier. Ever. My belief was should be a response to extreme emotional distress, and so I had a lot of attitude about people crying short of their dog dying for two reasons: a) you’re not in distress, so stop crying, and b) why would you feel distress about that?
I am now convinced that your 30s is Puberty, Part II: The Electric Boogaloo - Now with 30% More Tears. I cry about everything now. Like, every goddamn thing. Strangely, not if anything happens to me, but if anything happens to someone else it is waterworks city. Something incredibly sweet happens? Cry! Something horrible happens? Cry! Something vaguely nice I guess that isn’t worth remarking upon happens? Cry! It is completely out of control, and I do not mean “out of control” as an expression. I am not capable of controlling the tear flow. It is stupid and I barely even recognize myself in the mirror anymore.
I watched that episode of The Simpsons where Bart sells his soul to Milhouse and Lisa buys his soul back for him at the end, and I bawled uncontrollably. Are you kidding? This episode is 20 fucking years old and I’ve seen it precisely one godzillion times. WHY, for the love of Buffalo Trace, am I crying now? It just happens, and *please *believe me when I say I go to great lengths to avoid crying, but I at times powerless to control it.
I spent a lot of time judging people negatively for crying, and now I feel like a total asshole. So to the world who I sneered at when I was 19, I am sorry.
My wife went the opposite route. As a kid (anyone under 30) she would cry at the drop of a hat. Since about 35 its a lot less and more predictable to extreme situations. Personally I don’t think either crying or not crying is bad so its one of those things I call no harm no foul.
Dear Old Broad, Dear Old Broad
You have no complaint.
You are what you are and you ain’t what you ain’t.
So listen up Buster, and listen up good:
Stop wishing for bad luck and knocking on wood!
My crying came with my 40’s and going off the Pill. Now when I find myself crying at a stupid commercial, I know I will bleed in two days. I also drink a lot more bourbon.
Sometimes you just don’t know what will bring it on. Was watching Episode 9 or 10 of Netflix’s Daredevil with the wife tonight. Stopped it to tell her about a story of Ben Urich in the Daredevil comic book, #192 specifically (some time in the '80s, so not bothering with spoiler tags). In it, Ben’s wife falls in love with a house after living for decades in a city apartment. Ben can’t afford it, realtor says he needs to make the sale and offers Ben a deal he can accept. Turns out this is a ploy by Wilson Fisk (Kingpin) to get crusading reporter Ben in his pocket and off of Fisk’s back. Matt tries to talk him out of it, but Ben says he can’t let his wife down (again) and is going to take the deal and be at Fisk’s mercy down the line (spike a story, slant news a certain way as ordered, etc.). In the end, his wife finds him brooding at the place they first met, and argues him out of it (Daredevil told her what was going on). Says if Ben sells out like this, he won’t be the man she fell in love with. Tearful hug. They’ll find another place, somehow.
Sounds kinda pedestrian, when I sum it up like that. But it really hit me in the feels back then, and apparently it still does, because the more I tried to describe the story to my wife, the tearier I got, until I was barely able to choke out the end. Just short of outright sobbing. Over a story in a comic book.
Maybe this doesn’t seem to have any bearing on your situation. Others have stated it could be a hormone thing, a phase-of-life thing. All this stuff seems trivial to you even as you’re upset and dismayed at how you’re reacting. I hope you get yourself under control as you need it, but don’t feel you’re less of a person for it. I’d rather know just one person like you than a thousand cold and unfeeling soulless robotic excuses for people.
