Wow, it helps to read the many and varied experiences that others have with this most fascinating phenomenon.
I went through the firss 28 years of my life without crying. I mean that almost literally. I *never*, *ever*, cried. It was a crime, a failure, a horrific act of unspeakable failure and weakness that was viciously punished as a child by those around me, and then continued to be viciously punished, perhaps even more unforgivingly, by myself as I grew up and internalised those beliefs. Nothing ever broke me and my adolescent motto was "I can eat glass." I remember defiantly saying this to my psych in the early days and feeling this almost confrontational defiance towards him, as though daring him to break me...
And ah, he did. Funny that, isn't it.
Oneday, and I even remember exactly which day it was, I just started to cry in a session one day, and not even about something particularly significant or traumatic. Again, I remember the exact conversation vividly. I just started... and haven't stopped yet.
I have honestly bawled my way through almost the entirety of every session for about 6 months now. Sometimes it's painful, hopeless misery. Sometimes it's blinding shattering grief. Sometimes it's broken, frantic anger. Sometimes it's just overwhelming hopeless sadness. Sometimes it's for the past and the experiences I can't live with, and sometimes it's for the present and the life that the past has given to me.
At first it terrified me beyond belief and half of the crying was for the fear of the weakness that had led to it and of the rejection and condemnation of my psych that I assumed would logically follow. We've come a long way in that respect - his validation and ongoing work on those issues have helped me to experience much less of that fear and humiliation, though it still rears its ugly head from time to time and requires us to speak about it again. We rarely acknowledge it openly thesedays, unless I find I need to, and the fact that he has never judged me for it is something I find it hard to believe even now. Sometimes, just as he says it should, it even feels good to cry, as though toxins are being flushed out of me.
The problem is that whatever the situation is in therapy, it hasn't generalised outside of that room. In the other 99% of my life, I feel as eratic and disconnected from emotion as ever. Mostly I can't cry, or feel or experience the real emotion that would lead to it. Sometimes I cry spontaneously and violently and feel sick and terrified and humiliated by the experience. Sometimes I can only cry alone and with an intensity that can leave me suicidal in a matter of moments. Sometimes I feel as though I have no tears left. Mostly, the way I feel has no connection to the way I act and appear.
Seems to be a very common theme for me - the process I make in therapy doesn't generalise to the real world, and the reactions and thought processes and ability to rationalise and cope with things that I demonstrate in that sheltered setting stay behind when I leave. Wish I knew what that was all about...
Maddog
