Last night I had a major meltdown. Major. Meltdown. I bawled my eyes out for an eternity. I still have some wicked puff surrounding my eyes, and that’s not pleasant for anyone. Let’s hope some coffee and eyeliner will do the trick. (Disclaimer: Brian did NOT make me cry. He was actually very good about the whole thing…even though he keeps telling me that it was some serious crying and that normal people only cry that much when someone dies.)

Of course, I started thinking about myself and crying. It’s been a long road of emotional skydiving in my young life…for mostly stupid stuff. But not all. When I was really young, I cried a whole lot. I remember hyperventilating more times than I can possibly recount. My mom would have to stop yelling at me and try to calm me down so that I didn’t die. As you may have guessed, I was a pretty dramatic child.

Then I got a little older (grade school) and nothing in the world could make me cry. My favorite movie was Steel Magnolias, and I had a girl crush on Julia Roberts (in all her Shelby-pink glory). I may have only been 6 or 7, but I loved that movie…and couldn’t understand why it made Mama cry so darn much. My grandpa passing away didn’t even trigger a tear.

I used to tease my little brother ruthlessly for his tears. He and Mom would watch movies and cry together…and I would just look at them like they were crazy. I was hardened. At 7, I was ready to take down the world. I had been teased for not being as cool as some of the other kids. I was a little chubbier than them, and everyone loves to tease the chubby kid. So I didn’t cry…I’ll show them. Someday.

I remember the first movie that made me cry. It was a movie called Fluke about a man who dies and is reincarnated as a dog. He goes back to find his family and heartache ensues. I was 13. And it was about the saddest thing I had ever seen. I bawled like a baby. I bawled like I hadn’t cried in years. I was a hot mess.

Then, throughout high school, I would get stressed, but I didn’t cry much. Except when Leonard DiCaprio died — both times. (Total aside: I have to say, that I can’t stand Claire Danes’ crying. It’s ridiculous. Even now, fifteen years later, she still has the most ridiculous fake cry. It makes me so frustrated. Because I love her in every other aspect of her acting career. Just not the crying.)

When my first boyfriend came around my junior year of high school, that was when the crying really started. Apparently, I had been right to stave off the swarm of suitors (LIE) and stay without a boyfriend — even though my mother was convinced I was a lesbian at 13 (Just because I do not want to talk about boys with my mom, does not a lesbian make. I still love you, Mom!) I saw all of my girlfriends crying and whining about dudes, and I wasn’t down with that. I was a busy girl.

Why I Cry

So boys made me cry. A lot. The Goat. Rockabilly (AKA Tex AKA Johnny Cash). 6’6. The Chiropractor. The Scorpion. The Old Guy. Tiny. The Pike. The Bartender. The Drug Addict.  The list goes on and on.

And movies make me cry.

And sad songs make me cry. (And happy songs, too-depending on the memory they invoke.)

And Disney makes me cry. Not all my tears are sad.

And death and illness make me cry.

And I’ve just become this wave of emotion that cries a lot. Happy or sad. Tears.

What makes you cry? Let me know in the comments below.

Note: I later discovered the reason I was crying big, fat, irrational tears was because of the job I was currently working at. I was let go from said job a week later, and it was the best thing that could have happened to me.