Of Sad Stories II

So I have been reading. In the post about book tags, one question asked which of the two kinds I preferred; sad books or happy books (I forget how exactly the question was phrased, but y’all get the idea). Of course I said I love reading books that make me cry. Books that could even make me cry so hard even if that was what I was doing all day… crying so hard, in this case, just means when tears roll down my face with not so much of an effort to  stop or hide them. My point here is I am not wailing, weeping, or even sobbing…my face is just leaking.

Mable of the sweet growing pains heard my plea and emailed different collections of over 30 books, it was extreme excitement, thanks Mable.

Growing up, I was, and still is, a happy person. In some conversations (normally with new people) I’d be smiling all through uncontrollably. To laugh is not a hard job for me; just throw in the slightest joke and I’d be laughing so hard. Real life jokes…not comedy shows or TV whatever(s). They’re funny, but it’s not too real except for the few times when I can’t really help it, hehe… I have a big laugh, and it can be really loud sometimes; I basically laugh with everything I’ve got, it’s infectious.

The only people I ever hang around, are happy people and it’s not that they don’t have problems… they do, a closet full. But it seems to me that they like to each deal with them in their own way inspite of your probing. So I thought I would go on a quest, to find out how other people dealt with sadness because the truth of the matter is that I didn’t know how, given that I had a baggage of damage on my shoulders. It was instead translating into anger over a period of time. I feel like I am telling you too much of myself already.

Anyway since I loved to read, I soon realised that between the funny and sad books, the latter seemed to dig into me more. I need you to remember they’re not entirely sad, some of them have endings that are too good to be true, and you only realise what’s going on after you discover your wet face. I find out that crying was to me some kind of anti-depressant, a stress reliever.  I often felt a lot better after I let a few tears roll out between deep breaths; although I am aware that this can be very much the opposite for a lot of other people.

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I found the realness of life, in the sense that I no longer had to brush things off because I wanted to stay cheered up. I could actually give myself a minute to tear up and acknowledge my thorns. So I fell in love with sad stories, movies too sometimes because they taught me how to cry. And when someone has pissed me the heck off, the anger seeps out all my energy I can hardly speak; at that point, I learnt that all I have to do is let some tears fall while the anger rafts along them.

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