Image is a woman holding a box of popcorn, watching a movie, and wiping tears from her eyes.

Image is a woman holding a box of popcorn, watching a movie, and wiping tears from her eyes.

Went to see the sensory friendly showing of Inside Out on Saturday. One minute I was laughing hysterically at this clown bit and the next I was crying uncontrollably. Over nothing in particular. Ever since then, I’ve been choked up. All. The. Time. Seriously, every single minute.

I’m a walking exposed nerve.

Every time I speak, there’s a good chance I will burst into tears. I can feel them in my throat. I don’t even have to actually speak out loud – sometimes I just thinking and BOOM!

Some of it is about Book Club Maven, or some altercation between Annie and the boys, but a significant amount is over nothing.

Well, not nothing*, but anything that’s remotely touching. Or righteous, especially if it’s overdue. Not a good weekend to learn about federal gay marriage. I cried three times just writing that sentence.

" up: Walking on Sunshine." Image is a crying woman in car with her hands over her face.

“…next up: Walking on Sunshine.”
Image is a crying woman in car with her hands over her face.

*Not long after I wrote this, I was driving the boys somewhere and started crying at the song on the radio. It was Twist and Shout. I’m officially crying over nothing.

I hate this. Not the crying itself, but not being able to control it.

Last night, Sparky and I watched the episode of The West Wing where they nominate Mendoza for the Supreme Court. We were half-way through when I realized the foolishness of watching anything Sorkin in my emotional state. Particularly Sorkin where Rob Lowe pontificates about the right to privacy. Two words: Water. Works.

I paused the television and remarked to Sparky on my ill-fated show choice. He offered to stop and watch something else, but it wouldn’t have made a difference at that point. The idea of what was coming had left the station and there was no way to stop that train. It was going to happen either way, so I might as well enjoy the beautifully crafted speeches, right?

Sparky also told me it was okay to cry – especially at home with just my hubby and dog to notice. That’s when it occurred to me that I’m not embarrassed. I mean, I was pretty embarrassed at the movies on Saturday, but embarrassment is not why I hate feeling this way. Has nothing to do with it, really.

After all, I throw my uncensored thought up here all the time for anyone to read. Embarrassment is essentially a speck in my rear view mirror.

I hate the feeling of being defenseless against my own emotions.

I have defense mechanisms, humor first and foremost, that work exceptionally well for me. I’m like Wonder Woman and humor is my golden bracelet. I’m really more a Marvel girl, but WW seems like the best analogy here. Anyway, I was okay with taking the bracelet off to cry for BCM last week, but now it’s like I can’t find it, no matter how hard I look, and I’m under constant attack.

I’m used to being strong and in control, but now it’s like all of my defenses have shorted out and I don’t know when, or if, they are coming back online.

I need to pull myself together, but I don’t have a clue where to start. I’m venting, not asking for help. But, because I love the irony, I’d like to recognize that BCM would be the first person to read this post and tell me exactly where to look for that damn bracelet.