I hadn’t cried for months, and overwhelm and grief was building up within me. And then one evening, and the following morning I got really, really angry, so angry that I was wanting to smash the cup in my hand. That was a first for me (that I wanted to smash something out of anger). I didn’t actually smash it, instead I started crying.
I then started drawing again, the men from the past and cried with them. Realizing, again, that I don’t have the container I need to cry my pain regularly — and not just wait until I can’t hold it anymore.
