Pool of Tears

As anyone who has been reading my work for a while has no doubt recognized, my life has not been an easy one.  From the time I was a young child I have struggled with anxiety, depression, and a host of personal demons I’ve never been able to exorcise on anything resembling a permanent basis.  And while, out of necessity, I eventually learned to confine this menagerie of horrors to a set of crates in my mental basement so I could function in the world, the struggle has produced a pool of tears far deeper and darker than Alice’s, filled by the bitter tears of almost six decades.  In my day-to-day life I can generally pretend it isn’t there, but since it is already full to the brim it never takes much to overflow it, and people are sometimes shocked by the intensity of the result.

In May of 2016, while I was going through one of the rougher patches of my life, I visited my friend Rick Horowitz to do a photo shoot.  He wanted to do a series showing strong emotions and so asked if I could look sad; I told him I could cry if he wanted, but I don’t think he expected the intense weeping and sobbing I quickly fell into.  As I told him later, it required constant effort not to cry; all I had to do to produce the result you see here was to let go.  For me, no sorrow is ever experienced in isolation; new tears falling into the pool immediately cause it to overflow, and then it’s impossible to tell how much of my anguish is due to the proximate source of the grief, and how much is old pain which has never been fully resolved.  Grace died two months ago today, but the sense of loss is still keen and the pool is still overflowing.  As time goes by, I will cry less and less, but that doesn’t really mean the sorrow is gone; it just means my brain has successfully developed a workaround so I can function in the outside world.  And the pool will still be there, ready to overflow again the next time anything brings me to tears.