It scares me, when I cry. The most natural process- people are born doing it, for goodness sake- and yet, for me, it's terrifying. I can never tell whether that's going to be it, whether I'll cry and feel better, or whether it'll begin the descent into darkness. I'm too used to that place to even think of going back- I can't comprehend those days, the ones I hope are long gone. They've already taken too much of me. I can't go back there.
But not crying is scary, because then it means I'm not recognising my emotions, I'm bottling up. They told me, time and time again, that bottling up my emotions is bad, bad, bad. They never said what to do when I cannot cry because I will never stop, or what to do when there are no words, so there is no stopper either. Instead I must forget that tears exist, push them back to my mind until they are no longer there. I must focus on being happy.
And being happy? That's terrifying. For all I know this is just an interlude. It can't be permanent, after all. I don't deserve that. I've not done anything to get here: I just woke up one day, and the world was better than it was the day before. If it happened that easily, then tomorrow the world could flip again. Before I know it, everything could disintegrate, this peace I am enjoying so much.
Don't let this pass.