I’m not much of a crier.
I’ve written about the difficulty I find with showing my emotions before.
It’s strange as it’s not always been like this.
I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s a coping mechanism, perhaps even a defence mechanism. I try to be pragmatic with my emotions, especially the negative ones. I’m an excitable person and I don’t want that to change, however, when it comes to sadness, it’s almost like I can’t allow myself to be sad.
I spent a great deal of 2014 feeling sad. When I recovered from my depression I vowed to myself that I’d never ‘go back to that place’. Of course, it’s not as simple as that. Depression is an illness, it’s not something you can control, you can’t turn it on and off like you can a light switch. If only it were that simple.
However, when it comes to my emotions I am a bit of a control freak. Detachment is key for me. It’s not because I see crying or sadness as a weakness, it’s purely because I think I live in fear of ‘going back to that place’.
You can barely turn on the news these days or open a paper without being confronted by something tragic that has happened somewhere in the world.
Sometimes these tragic events take place far away from where you live; in the comfort of your home. Then other times they will be closer to home; in the same country you reside.
You’ll feel a raft of emotions. Sadness, anger, frustration, confusion. Confused that your fellow man can orchestrate something so hideous it causes innocent people to lose their lives. Anger at the injustice of it all. Sadness for the person(s) who lost their life at the hands of a depraved individual or terrorist group. Frustration that this seems to be happening time and time again.
Nothing seems to shock me when it comes to the news these days. We live in an era where death and destruction are commonplace. It’s almost like I feel conditioned to the appalling acts of violence that take place the world over.
And that’s sad in itself isn’t it? It’s sad that nothing shocks me anymore.
Just yesterday I watched as breaking news rolled in regarding a suspected terrorist attack in Sweden. We seem to be entering a new realm of terror, where despicable fellow humans use a car as means to kill and maim. I saw the news, told my Mum and said something along the lines of “this is it now isn’t it, this is how it’s going to be” almost like I’d accepted it.
There was, however, something this week that I couldn’t keep control of my emotions over.
It was my journey into work on Thursday morning. I was sat on the bus scrolling through Facebook like I usually do. When I stopped in my tracks. A Facebook friend had shared a post that featured a little boy. I opened the post so I could view it in its entirety and before I knew it I was crying.
An overwhelming feeling of sadness, tinged with anxiety fell over me.
The post told the story of a Mother who had recently lost her young son to cancer. There was a photo, the photo was of her son lying on the bathroom floor waiting for her to finish her shower. Alongside this photo was another photo of an empty bathroom floor.
Even now as I write this blog I can feel my eyes start to burn.
I couldn’t stop the tears from falling down my face as I read this Facebook post. I felt hot and anxious. I felt like I wanted to stop the bus, go home and hold my son so tightly I’d never let him go.
I felt these same emotions when I logged on to Twitter and saw a photo of a Father holding his baby twins who had lost their lives in the horrific chemical attack in Syria earlier this week.
How can life be so fucking cruel?
The man looked broken. He was broken. His whole life had been obliterated by evil.
Anger rises up inside of me. I feel helpless. I don’t want to be conditioned to the acts of depravity that take place on our planet. I don’t want to be in a place where we come to expect these events to take place.