One tear silently rolls down my still dry cheek. It is almost a thing of beauty - that single tear. My face is a blank slate, devoid of any emotion. The tear is more like a leak in the waterworks than an expression of emotion.
But the sobbing has not begun yet. The tear is just the beginning.
Quietly, others follow the first, establishing a course down the no longer dry cheek; the no longer emotionless face. The leak can’t be contained. The sobbing begins.
It’s only then that the thoughts start to swirl and muddle together; some rational, but mostly irrational and absurd. One small part of me demands that this stop - that there is no reason for the meltdown. But the storm of emotion thunders throughout and that small part is swallowed up and drowned out by the noise. I cannot hear what it says to the contrary.
It will carry on like this for a few hours - until the tears run out and dry up or I fall into a fitful sleep. Sometimes the next day is better and I am granted a reprieve. Other days that first tear is still there, waiting to make its appearance.
Most people don’t grieve like this. The thoughts, the sorrow, should precipitate the crying. It should explain the crying. For me, it’s the opposite. My eyes leak, my addled brain responds, and gives into the sorrow. It’s like getting caught up in a current I can’t see, can’t anticipate, and can’t control.
I fucking hate it.