I hadn’t cried in 7 years and decided to do some emotional exercises to make myself cry. So I managed to cry about 4 months ago, haven’t been able to since even with my grandmothers death. Might start trying again.

  • My wife had covid, and was sick enough we worried about her surviving. Maybe too dramatic, but she was very sick and it scared us both.

    After she recovered there was a morning I opened the fridge and she had made me a sandwich to take to work. And it just came rising in to me that we were okay now, she was back.

    I cried hard.

  • One of my birds died a few months back and I cried in terror for the other one (who is still sick on and off). Up until then I thought all my tears had been burned out by a 15 year family court struggle with my abusive ex.

  • Today! I’m in hospital having received surgery on both of my legs to try and restore some mobility, I’m not able to walk unaided right now, but I’m improving every day!

    That’s unrelated to why I cried, though, I just wanted to defy expectations a little! I cried because I read something that always makes me cry - Valerie’s letter from V for Vendetta - I’ve included the movie version below, but it’s pretty faithful to the original:

    I know there’s no way I can convince you this is not one of their tricks. But I don’t care. I am me.

    My name is Valerie. I don’t think i’ll live much longer, and I wanted to tell someone about my life. This is the only autobiography that i’ll ever write, and – God – i’m writing it on toilet paper.

    I was born in Nottingham in 1985. I don’t remember much of those early years. But I do remember the rain. My grandmother owned a farm in Tottlebrook, and she used to tell me that God was in the rain.

    I passed my eleven plus, and went to a girl’s grammar. It was at school that I met my first girlfriend. Her name was Sarah. It was her wrists – they were beautiful. I thought we would love each other forever. I remember our teacher telling us that it was an adolescent phase that people outgrew.

    Sarah did.

    I didn’t.

    In 2002 I fell in love with a girl named Christina. That year I came out to my parents. I couldn’t have done it without Chris holding my hand.

    My father wouldn’t look at me. He told me to go and never come back. My mother said nothing.

    I’d only told them the truth. Was that so selfish? Our integrity sells for so little, but it is all we really have.

    It is the very last inch of us.

    And within that inch, we are free.

    I’d always known what i’d wanted to do with my life, and in 2015 I started my first film: The Salt Flats.

    It was the most important role of my life. Not because of my career, but because that was how I met Ruth. The first time we kissed, I knew I never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again.

    We moved to a small flat in London together. She grew scarlet carsons for me in our window box. And our place always smelt of roses.

    Those were the best years of my life.

    But America’s war grew worse and worse, and eventually came to London.

    After that there were no roses anymore. Not for anyone.

    I remember how the meaning of words began to change. How unfamiliar words like “collateral” and “rendition” became frightening. When things like norsefire and the articles of allegiance became powerful. I remember how different became dangerous.

    I still don’t understand it: why they hate us so much.

    They took Ruth while she was out buying food. I’ve never cried so hard in my life. It wasn’t long until they came for me.

    It seems strange that my life should end in such a terrible place.

    But for three years I had roses – and apologised to no-one.

    I shall die here. Every inch of me shall perish. Every inch.

    But one.

    An inch.

    It is small and it is fragile, and it is the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.

    I hope that - whoever you are - you escape this place. I hope that the world turns, and that things get better.

    But what I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that even though I do not know you, and even though I may not meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you: I love you.

    With all my heart.

    I love you.

    -Valerie.

  • This morning actually. I ran the sound system for a memorial service today. Young man lost to gun violence, not even 25 yet.

    Felt weird for getting choked up, because I didn’t actually know him personally. Just hard to see all those people hurting because of a senseless and violent tragedy. And rough to know that his life ended so early and all that potential was just gone in a moment.

  • I lost my cat recently, the first one that was truly mine. he was only about 2.5 years old, but when me and my partner moved into the city together, he went missing shortly after we started allowing him outside access (he was born feral and always loved the outdoors).

    a few weeks later he was hit by a car some kilometres from our house, and a couple of weeks after that, his microchip was scanned and tracked back to us.

    I sobbed for about half an hour when I first got some time alone after finding out. I still tear up thinking about him at odd times. I’ve never loved any animal quite as much, and I wonder if I ever will again. thinking about coming home to him was all that got me through many days of work. sometimes thinking about him just makes me feel like I don’t want to be alive anymore, despite my partner and the two lovely kittens we still have.

  • Just when I have to put an animal down. Even then, very little and only in private. I just don’t understand how people can feel so comfortable losing control. I’m aware my option on this is no longer the popular one. Just being honest.

  • During the period of writing my master’s thesis, about three years ago. I felt like a lazy piece of shit one morning because I wasn’t far enough along and had procrastinated too much. So I ended up crying in the shower.

  • A few weeks ago

    My son (4 months old) refused to sleep and was crying/screaming for like an hour

    Very frustrating, and I cried a mixture of sympathy tears and frustration tears

    The last time I cried not from my son was like 15 years ago

  • I get teary almost every day - not from sadness, but from watching my kids have a positive experience or trying my best to tell them I love them.

    But sort of real, proper crying was at my mom’s funeral, before, during and after. That was three years ago.