I blame my parents. They’re emotional wrecks. My mother has no “average” setting. She’s always manically happy, severely depressed or feverishly angry. My father has to make an ordeal out of every small thing. He breaks down every time he opens a Christmas present from me. He makes superfluously long speeches about meatloaf. It’s incredible. So it’s no surprise that I turned out that way. I’m a crier.
According to Parks and Recreation’s Ron Swanson, crying is only acceptable at “funerals and the Grand Canyon.” This is the one and only place where Ron Swanson and I disagree. Crying is almost always acceptable, at least for me. We live in a pressure cooker of exams, papers, and impossibly long walks to DRL. It’s healthy to let out some of that frustration once in a while or, in my case, more than once in a while. How many times have I cried today alone? Two: once while thinking about my perfectly healthy grandmother and once while watching some cat videos on YouTube. I cried yesterday while watching the most recent episode of Bones. But that’s not surprising, I cry during every episode of Bones without fail.
I never really realized I cried more than other people until pretty late in my teens, probably because most of my crying isn’t done in public. I don’t have breakdowns in Van Pelt or in class. I’m a stable human, I promise. I don’t go for the all out sob–till–you–can’t–breathe crying. It’s more of the solitary–tear–running–down–your–cheek crying because Fievel finally found his family in America. In any case, I probably cry more than you. And I’m not ashamed to admit it.
Some people think of crying as a sign of weakness. And I began to wonder why this was the case. Was it about showing emotion? Emotional people can never be strong, that would be too outrageous. Granted, my crying while watching The Lion King for the 30th time isn’t exactly equivalent to an Ultimate Fighting cage match, but that doesn’t mean emotional people are weak. We just enjoy venting about our feelings. Sure, I might tear up while listening to Alanis Morissette (she just gets me) but I can still wait outside for Tiesto tickets listening to couples make out all around me (and if that’s not strength, I don’t know what is).
This is the story of a boy, who cried a river and drowned the whole world. And I want to make you all criers like me. If you don’t do it that often, you should just make yourself cry. You’ll feel better. Trust me; it’s cathartic. No matter what’s bothering you, some Tears of a Clown will help you through it.