When I was in my early 20's I use to cry when things were too intense.

Sometimes, it was disappointment and frustration, but it could be simply just very good sex. And it kept me out of trouble. It was a release that afterward, I felt better. Not that anything had really changed other than I was no longer overwhelmed by my emotions.

It actually took me several years to get to the point where I could cry. It was not exactly forbidden by my parents, but more so it was too dangerous. To allow that kind of vulnerability while my mother was abusing me would have allowed her to hurt me even more. I could not risk that. The only strength I knew was to stand alone. Because I really was alone when I was at home. I use to dream of being able to die. I even came up with a form of meditation based upon dying. I would slowly lower my breath rate until I passed out or fell asleep. I told myself that I was practicing dying. And maybe, if I was very lucky I would not wake up.

But once I was away from home, I had the freedom to let go. So many nights I would spend in the bath tub. The warm water like a soft caress and the soft flicker of candles instead of the harsh reality of incandescent bulb would sooth me to being able to find release in crying. And that provided a way out from the intensity of the trapped emotions. There was some way to let them go and I could cope for a while longer.

After I was married, I stopped crying. My wife did not respect me being so emotional. So I went back to my old way of coping. Just be alone and never really trust anyone inside. And after a point, I completely lost the ability to cry.

I believe the SSRI's had some role in it as well. I was prescribed them because I was too emotional at work. It is kind of sad, now, I know it was just the girl showing through and there was another way to deal with the problem. But then, the idea was to stabilize my emotions and that meant medication. And they did stabilize me to some degree, but it was more as a band-pass filter. They kept me from experiencing the highs that made life worthwhile, or the lows that let me get to a point of crying and release.

So when enough emotions had built up, again, it seemed the only way to release it all was a suicide attempt. And I have had my share of them in the past 15 years. It got to the point to where the only safe place I felt I had was a mental hospital. But even there, I was so medicated that I could not cry and really release.

Sometimes, when I was very sad, I would sit in the shower, water barely going, and let the droplets run down my face in psuedo-tears. They were not my own, but at least there was some comfort in just the physical feeling of tears on my cheeks.

One of the blessings of HRT has been being able to cry again. I do that a lot now. And many times, I just let the tears remain. Each one, still so very valuable to me. And I am very proud of those tears. I have had to come so far to get them. And though so much sadness to appreciate them. I know that someday, that will wear off, but for now, I am celebrating the answer to my prayers.