When emotions come calling

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks, two days, eleven hours and about 43 minutes since the world I knew as “safe” became invaded. That’s all well and good; I’ll heal, my emotions will heal… that is if I give them the space they need.

Hard to believe, but in all that time, I have cried once. Yes, once. There were many moments where I “almost cried”, where I felt my emotional world about to cave, but I held back, held it together and held it in. Not surprising; this is me after all…

The first cry was nothing special, a movie that always seems to hit me right in the emotional gut, “It’s my Party”. Those tears flow every time I watch; cathartic – yes, therapeutic – maybe, the cry I needed – no.

So, when does it come? Why does it come? Where am I when it comes? Answer – in my office, in the middle of the day on Thursday, because of a blog. An entry into another man’s mind, an entry all about “walls” and how they prevent us from giving people a chance to get to know us and my “walls” crack… no, they tumble…

The tears start to flow and they don’t stop… one after another line up on my lower eye-lids and they leak out of my eye. At first they are alone, just bits of salt water racing down my cheek, then that emotional volcano that has been stored up in my chest and gut starts to rumble… But, wait, I can’t, I’m in my office – too late.

The strength I’ve held onto as one bit of bad news after another gets thrown at me begins to fall out from under me; all because three muggers randomly chose me as their victim. You never know when it’s going to hit, but when it does you can’t always control it. Images of the incident, the support I’ve had since, the encouraging cards and calls, the care, the concern, the violation, the fear and finally the resignation – it wasn’t my fault, it will all be alright, but I need to give my emotional wounds the same consideration as I’ve given the physical ones.

Easier said than done, three minutes later and it’s over. The tears are dry, the volcano is temporarily subdued; not gone just dormant. It’d be nice if it were over, but I know this won’t be the last emotional surprise. Temporarily the walls have been replaced containing my wounds for another time…

All this because of a blog, a man in NY that I’ll probably never meet, but one who understands the human condition in a way most people don’t. We all have walls, won’t it be nice when I find someone who can help me break-down mine and pacify the volcano once and for all….