“I be crazy too, little buddy, but at least when I be craziest, I be floating all alone in space and the crazy, she float out of me, she soak into the walls, and she don’t come out till there be battles and little boys bump into the walls and squish out de crazy.”*

Thank you.  Thank you for stopping by, for commenting, for offering me shoulders and hugs and alcohol and sympathy.  This is going to sound incredibly cheesy, but when I think of our little community, I visualize hundreds of little candles, individual flames joined together to push back the darkness.  And when you stop by here and offer your support, I can feel the warmth of your love and concern help pull me back from edge.

I am a victim of my own Southern upbringing.  Good girls, you see, never show any kind of emotion that would make someone else uncomfortable.  We are here to smile, and dance, and sing, and never show any kind of weakness.  Polite society, your public facade, these things dictate that tears and pain are hidden away under the curtain of privacy, something to be loosed only in the silence of your own home.  Even the people in my off-line life who know about our struggle really are not privy to the pain it brings with it.  They get downcast eyes and changes of subject; avoidance of the subject signals that it is not to be talked about, not to be mentioned.  My upbringing makes me feel like I should apologize to you now, but I know that with you I don’t have to do that. 

So y’all, fortunately or otherwise, get to bear the brunt of my emotions.  And last night, I couldn’t hold it together any more.  I heard that song at lunch and managed to get through the rest of the workday, but I couldn’t keep it up once I left the office.  When I got home, I had to get the crazy out of me, to leave it here — words floating in space.  Words purging the ache inside of me, letting the light in to the dark corners of my soul, giving me a moment to breathe.  I feel a little wrung-out today, used-up and tired, but better for getting all that out in the open.

Thank you.

*Game Day (again) — 15 points for identifying the title and author of the book.

7 thoughts on “Soaking

  1. Oh, I so relate to that mindset. I was brought up to never show emotion in public. (Luckily, the training didn’t exactly take completely.) But, there is always this shame associated with public displays of emotion that are not sanctioned.

    There is no wailing or gnashing of teeth, just the quiet, silent sobs at funerals.

    Newlyweds can kiss and hold on to eachother – but not too tightly.

    And, never, ever, raise your voice.

    Of course, I complicated things by marrying an Italian man with a very Italian mother… They couldn’t be more different from my family (Southern) when it comes to how to handle emotions.

    I’m not really sure which is healthy. A friend of mine claims the best thing that came from “Italian hysterics” was Opera. (I believe she is exaggerating.)

    Somehow, some way, we will get through this.



  2. beautiful post.
    I can also relate to having a southern upbringing squelching my natural need to vent and rage. I hate being a good girl. I love being able to blog about it.

  3. My husband and friends probably wish I was more like you. I’m sorry you can’t express yourself IRL the way you would like, but I feel privileged to hear your thoughts.

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