My Favourite Porn

We all spend our lives trying to feel out the limits of “normal” and then do our best to live within those limits. But there are times when we realise that what we thought was normal, is in fact, really fucking weird. For example, when I was a kid every day without fail my dad would wake me up and tell me that while I was asleep he put me on the road and put yoghurt on my face and a truck ran over me. And every morning I would get upset at my nocturnal misadventure while my dad would chuckle to himself like the evil genius he is. Years later, of course, I realised that this is not only weird, but kind of fucked up. And since the moment I realised that not everyone’s dad woke them up with strange psychotic lies, I’m always trying to check myself before I wreck myself, my internal monologue constantly tapping me on the internal shoulder and whispering fretfully, “is this normal?!” And here is something that my internal voice has been flagging as “potentially odd” lately. Crying porn. So, there’s normal porn that gives you a sexy release and then I have laughing porn which is that thing where my friends fall over and I file it away in my non-sexual spank bank for later when I need a laugh, and then there’s crying porn. Crying porn is all the things I read, watch or file away for when I need the sweet release of a good cry. Don’t get weird about this though, it’s not crying in a sad way; just in a cathartic, in-touch-with-my-emotions, recreational sort of way. I know you came here to read something smutty, but SUCKED IN, this is a blog about tears and snot, suckerrrrrr. Anyway, please don’t leave.

Things I Watch

My favourite episodes of anything are the episodes where people die. I never watched Grey’s Anatomy but you better believe I watched that episode where that lady with the weird teeth stopped her boyfriend’s heart so he’d win a free heart and he accidentally died and they carry her in a ball gown through the hospital (that’s a weird show btw). I didn’t know who patrick was or what Offspring was but you’d also better believe I watched the episode where he died. And let’s not get started on The Walking Dead etc etc death episodes into eternity. Unfortunately, I’m not able to stop there at the faux death, and now this is going to get real dark, real fast and I’m sorry for it, but not sorry enough to stop writing. My first pregnancy ended in miscarriage which meant that my subsequent pregnancies were riddled with the fear of pregnancy loss. So after I had both my respective kids safe in my arms, I sat down and YouTubed lots of videos of stillbirths. There was one particular vlogger who had been documenting her pregnancy from conception onwards and late in her pregnancy began documenting a trip to the hospital to check on diminished movements in utero. Devastatingly, her baby had passed away and she and her husband filmed his birth and their time with him before they laid him to rest. Why in the holy hell I’d want to watch this, I have no idea, but it made me feel safe and I cried a lot and so there’s one of my weird deep, dark secrets. Judge me if you must. 

Things I’ve Done

Have you ever cried so hard that you can’t breathe, you have incurable hiccups and long strings of snot course out of your nose and onto your shirt? I have. And strangely enough, when I hark back to any memory of doing this, it brings me to tears again, I have so much empathy for my past self. Think of this as me ruminating on an intimate memory and getting a crying boner about it. I had a bad day at work once. Like, a really bad day, which ended in me sitting alone in the car park with my forehead on the steering wheel, racked with sobs. Luckily, one of my friends appeared, concerned. Everyone else had gone home and I was just alone, bawling my eyes out in my car, a little bit pregnant and a lot devastated. While our friendship had always been one of those friendships where you’re more inclined to shake hands than hug or cheek-kiss as a greeting, I was so relieved to see him I managed to hiccup between wails “HOLD. ME.” He nodded bemused consent and I half fell out of the car to enter an awkward embrace. I sobbed snot all over him with reckless abandon, he just stood there and maybe he patted my head, I’m really not sure, such was my mental state. Eventually I released him from my vice-like Maz hysteria grip and went home, but every time I think of clinging to him in that moment of pure sorrow, I cry again. 

Things I’ve Read

I know that it is incredibly trite for a thirty-something year old mum with post natal depression to quote Sylvia Plath, but I’m going to do it anyway. In the Bell Jar, Plath talks about the notion of the fig tree, with a juicy fig on each branch, each fig representing an alternate life, all equally as appetising. From being a famous poet, to having a beautiful family, to travelling the world, “but choosing one meant losing all the rest”.  And this is the crux of my heartbreak. I love everything I have, but I will always wonder if there was something else in store for me which I would have loved more? Perhaps a little girl who looked just like me, who would love me as much as I love my mum. Or a solitary life living somewhere entirely different like rural Portugal, never tethered to anyone or anything. Maybe a partner who I could have loved above and beyond anyone I’ve ever met or dated before, that fairytale notion of a soulmate, with whom domesticity and petty arguments never crept into the relationship. This gets me every time, because this sort of impasse is at the core of who I am, always wanting something different, something better, even if I have the very best of everything. If I need to cry, this thought is like crying crack because I start crying at the people and things I’ll never experience and then continue the cry for being such a fucking asshole that I’m unhappy with my lot in life. 

So that’s my big bag of boohoos, friends. And if you have tried all these tricks and still can’t inspire yourself into floods of tears so you can admire how beautiful you are when you’re melancholy in the mirror (wait, what?! I don’t do that…) then try pulling a hair out of the inside of your nose. That works every time.