Sometimes, I just don’t know

I don’t know why, but tonight I want to scream.  I want to run and scream and get a lot of the yuckness of the world out.  I don’t know how to explain it, but sometimes I feel like I absorb emotions from around me.  I’m not talking about some wishy-washy hocus-pocus thing.

It’s that I care.  I care and so I listen to people and I hurt with them and I listen and I hear about the unrest and hurt and injustice in the world and somehow, it seeps into my soul.  Into the fiber of my being and tonight, I want to scream and yell and run and get so worn out that all of that yuckness is gone.

But I can’t even tell you where this yuckness came from.  It’s just there.  I was home from work this afternoon and I realized how very heavy and burdened I felt. Like I had absorbed a lot of that unrest and hurt and wasn’t even sure where it came from.

Part of me wanted a time like this:

Yesterday, I cried.
I came home, went straight to my room,
sat on the edge of my bed,
kicked off my shoes, unhooked my bra,
and I had myself a good cry.
I cried until my nose was running all over the silk blouse I got on sale.
I cried until my ears were hot.
I cried until my head was hurting so bad
that I could hardly see the pile of soiled tissues lying on the floor at my feet.
I want you to understand,
I had myself a really good cry yesterday.

Yesterday, I cried,
for all the days that I was too busy,
or too tired, or too mad to cry.
I cried for all the days, and all the ways,
and all the times I had dishonored, disrespected,
and disconnected my Self from myself,
only to have it reflected back to me in the ways others
did to me the same things I had already done to myself.
I cried for all the things I had given, only to have them stolen;
for all the things I had asked for that had yet to show up;
for all the things I had accomplished, only to give them away,
to people in circumstances, which left me feeling empty,
and battered and plain old used.
I cried because there really does come a time when
the only thing left for you to do is cry.

Yesterday, I cried.
I cried because little boys get left by their daddies;
and little girls get forgotten by their mommies;
and daddies don’t know what to do, so they leave;
and mommies get left, so they get mad.
I cried because I had a little boy,
and because I was a little girl,
and because I was a mommy who didn’t know what to do,
and because I wanted my daddy to be there so badly until I ached.

Yesterday, I cried.
I cried because I hurt. I cried because I was hurt.
I cried because hurt has no place to go
except deeper into the pain that caused it in the first place,
and when it gets there, the hurt wakes you up.
I cried because it was too late.
I cried because it was time.
I cried because my soul knew that I didn’t know
that my soul knew everything that I needed to know.
I cried a soulful cry yesterday, and it felt so good.
It felt so very, very bad.
In the midst of my crying,
I felt my freedom coming,

Yesterday, I cried
with an agenda.

…Iyanla Vanzant

But I’m not really a cry-er so I don’t have times like that. I hear people talking about having a good cry and I don’ t know what that is.  So, instead, today I wanted to scream and yell and run and get rid of the yuck. I drew some, tried to sleep some, watched Criminal Minds some, cleaned some, cooked some, and thought some, but no screaming, no yelling, and no running.  Truth be told, I’m not even sure I can run right now.

So I’m writing in the hopes that writing will take care of the yuck.  Tomorrow morning, I’m going for a walk and maybe test the waters to see if that running thing is even an option because it’s good to be able to run when you feel like running the yuck out.


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