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I don't cry. That's just who I am. Ask anyone who knows me. I'm the one who held it together at my father's funeral. The one who went straight back to work after things fell apart in ways I'm not going to get into here. Crying is not my thing and it never has been and I've always quietly prided myself on that in the way you pride yourself on things you don't fully examine. I stood in the shower this morning and sobbed for about four minutes. I woke up and the room was light and I had slept, actually slept, the whole way through, and something about realizing that hit me somewhere I wasn't expecting and the water was running and nobody could hear me and three years of quietly carrying something I'd told myself wasn't that bad just came out of me all at once. Three years of waking up in the middle of the night and lying there recalculating the day ahead. Three years of getting through things instead of being in them. Three years of looking at my own face in this mirror every morning and seeing someone who was just about managing and telling her she was fine. A friend had been going on about something she'd been putting in her morning tea for months. I half-listened every time she brought it up but she was adamant that it works. Then one night I was lying awake at 3am, staring at nothing, and I thought fine, what do I actually have to lose, and I ordered it from my phone in the dark. This morning two weeks later, I woke up at 7, lay there for a minute, and realized I hadn't woken up once during the night. That hasn't happened in three years. If this is where you are right now, this is what she kept telling me about. The link is below.