I cried last Thursday. I couldn’t hold back the tears. I tried to fight it, but the tears won. Damn tears. It was just one of those weeks. The one where nothing seems to go right. The one where you do everything necessary and still come up short.
I’ll spare you the details because I was emotionally drained just trying to type it out and having to re-live it. The jist is that I have a difficult client at work. Someone who gets panicked and stressed easily, and takes a lot of calming down to stop running around like a headless chook. Someone who speaks the same language as me so the team relies on me a lot for duties outside of my role, and they don’t even acknowledge it. Someone who, no matter how much I give, just keeps wanting to take more.
On top of that, the same client has scabies, so I needed to be treated as a precaution. Doing loads of laundry after a long and tiring day at work is frustrating at best. And because one challenging client who speaks my language isn’t enough, I just got allocated another client who is just as exhausting.
Also, early in the week I found out that my Dad had a heart attack. “Not a minor heart attack, a heart attack,” said the Heart Specialist correcting me. Lots of new medications prescribed that I needed to understand so I could explain to my family, and an upcoming angiogram that I’ll be accompanying my Dad to. My Sister flipped out when I told her, but later calmed down and commented that she was thankful I’ve got things under control.
That’s a place I’d like to be. Honestly, I felt I had no one to turn to this week. My Bestie had their own issues with their love life that I’m listening to. And Super Boy was nowhere to be found after work. I couldn’t talk to family because I’m the one who supposedly has her shit together. And I couldn’t even talk to my beloved teddy bear because he could have been infected with scabies and needed a wash and I couldn’t trust him in a laundromat.
So I finally reached breaking point after work on Thursday. I was exhausted. I was physically and emotionally drained. I had nothing left in the tank. All I could do was cry. I just sat in my car and cried.
I cried in front of Super Boy. I tried to hide it, but I’m sure he knew. I can’t remember the last time I cried, let alone cried in front of someone. I normally do it in private, behind closed doors. That way, people don’t freak out about what they should do. And afterwards I can get on with life as if it didn’t happen.
There’s always something shameful about crying. You can’t cry because you’re a strong, independent woman. But crying is such a release. I know it. My body knows it. And I felt better after all those tears streaming down my face and the snot dripping out of my nose (that’s something they don’t show you in movies).
I’m better today. But I’m still not 100%. I can tell I’m fed up with lots of things, lots of people. I can still feel the burden of everything weighing down on my shoulders. I wake up and think about all the things I still need to do. Where do people go to offload it? How do you turn your brain off? Who does the listener turn to when there’s no one around to listen? How many more times will I need to cry before I stop feeling this shitty?