Despite what some of you may think, just based off physical appearance or how I write, I’m an extremely sensitive person. Correction — I can be an extremely sensitive person. It all depends on who I’m interacting with. The opinions and words spout from a stranger’s mouth mean nothing to me. Instead of listening, I’m screaming and cussing internally until they leave me alone. But around a select few, and I mean just about five people, I’m the complete opposite.
Every word ricochets off my heart and bounces around in my brain. I have the words “Cry Baby” tattooed of my left arm because that’s exactly what I am. I cried tears of joy when David found my iPhone (on silent) in his back pocket after I endlessly searched the bar for it and deemed it lost forever. In college I cried tears of utter heartbreak in the McDonald’s drive-through because they ran out of the McFlurry Oreo topping at 1am.
Bottom line, if you’re someone I can’t imagine my life without, you will see me cry — and it’s usually an overreaction. In some cases it’s not, like when my dad passed away or when I was diagnosed with fucking scabies on the morning of my 25th birthday. And no, it’s not just a skin rash, OK? It’s a fucking contagious mite laying eggs and reproducing underneath your skin, and you lay awake at night scratching until you bleed. That was not an overreaction. But in many, many cases, tears are completely unnecessary.
I cry when I’m tired, stressed, lonely, angry, disappointed, surprised, overjoyed, relieved, etc. All the feels all the time. Hello, I’m a Cancer. Most of the time, these mini breakdowns surface out of nowhere. No warning signs. Even I’m surprised by them. Take yesterday for example. It was the most typical, average day but it ended with me sobbing on the couch in my yoga pants. As soon as I got home from work, I was in the shittiest mood and could not explain why. To lift my spirits, David turned on the Lady Gaga: Five Foot Two documentary I was eager to finish.
It wasn’t until I watched this one scene in particular that I was finally able to articulate why I was feeling so shitty. Let me explain. Gaga is working at some crazy hour on her album Joanne, and even though the whole thing is coming together, she breaks down in tears as soon as her manager leaves and she’s left alone with her own thoughts. Look, I’m not claiming to know any of the details in Gaga’s life, but the way she described her overworked state couldn’t have been more fitting.
I was overworked. And I didn’t realize it until I was all dressed and ready for yoga — but it was the last thing I wanted to do. On top of working two jobs, I was forcing myself to stick to a strict workout schedule. My marketing job takes up 45 hours of the week, my HollywoodLife.com freelance job takes up about 12, and yoga classes take up about 3. That’s 60 hours of activity. Every single week. It was simply too much for me to handle in that moment.
My mind and body needed a few extra hours of rest. No typing, no working, no downward facing dog, no sweating, no MOVING. Complete stillness. My mind and body were begging for it, and I was actively trying to deny them. Why?! David finally had to smack some sense into me (not literally) and suggested I chill the fuck out in a bath. I take my bath game very seriously, by the way. I got ALL OUT with epsom salt, bath bombs, bath melts, bubble bars, and essential oils (all from my favorite beauty store Lush).
Surprise, surprise — it was the perfect remedy. As soon as I laid my naked ass in the hot, lavender-infused water I felt so much better. I could physically feel stressed out the wrinkles in my forehead dissolve. An hour into reading Josh Malerman’s Bird Box, which is the scariest book I’ve read in awhile, I knew I wanted this experience to be my next post. I can’t even count how many people I know who’ve made themselves sick or weak from working too much. STOP IT.
Things I Do To Rexlax
- Look for new bands on iTunes
- Drink a glass (or ten) of red wine
- Smoke a bowl (or ten) of weed
- Re-watch my favorite TV show (Friends)
- Shop online for home decor
- Get comfy (take off that fucking bra immediately)