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The Mass Media

The Mass Media

The Mass Media

I Know Crying Isn’t a Weakness

But that doesn’t stop me from feeling the shame that accompanies the liquid streaks running down. That doesn’t stop me from brushing off people who I know only want to help. That doesn’t stop me from being angry with myself for losing control of the liquid salt. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling the all-encompassing, overwhelming and sudden emotion of weakness.
My tears and my mind live in a duality; I know there is nothing shameful in crying, but then I’ll suffer through the intense headache at my temples in an effort to withhold the streaks that I would hate to reveal. And that just translates to my entire personality—and I think many people can relate to this; I hate revealing emotions, I push them off to deal with for another day, and I brush off people who notice the wrongness surrounding my air and attempt to help. *”I don’t need your help,”* my mind screams. *”Mind your own business,”* my conscience grumbles.
But at the breaking point of all these bottled-up emotions comes a tsunami that drowns me with its intensity. And water isn’t just pouring out of my eyes—it’s suffocating me, too. And from this tsunami emerge the fists clenched at offers of help, the headaches that persisted because of a refusal to release a river, and all I am left with is this flood that has no sign of ever abating. It burns my eyes, strangles my voice, and breaks the carefully constructed walls in my head. “You lose,” the water screams. “You couldn’t hold it back this time,” the floods laugh.
I drowned in a tsunami not two hours ago, and every insecurity, every doubt, every fear that I’ve ever had came pouring out along with my tears. Every time I attempt to prove to myself that this time I won’t break down, every time I attempt to say *“keep it together,”* there seems to be an uncontrollable and deep-seated tally that adds up all the times I’ve refused to let my emotions release. And all these tallies are like skeletons collected in a closet; they never disappear, and they only seem to multiply. But once the closet is full, all the skeletons tumble out, yearning to be free. And once the emotions are bottled up too tightly, they break free from their captivity. They drown me in their tsunami and then leave me aching, exhausted, and soaked in shame.
I know crying isn’t a weakness, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling like it is.