By Alex Guillen
I cry a lot. I cried when I watched The Notebook for the first time, mostly because I don’t have my own Ryan Gosling to write me 365 letters and recite the story of our love every day in an attempt to jog my memory, despite my Alzheimer’s. I cried at a family dinner at Dave & Buster’s because I felt guilty for hurting my brother’s feelings. “I Took A Pill in Ibiza” by Mike Posner was playing. I was eating Bang Bang Chicken and I’ve been craving it ever since. I cried at Click – to be fair, everyone cries at Click, and then they think about the fact that they’re crying at an Adam Sandler movie and they hate themselves. I cried when the boy I liked didn’t like me back. And then I cried again when another boy didn’t like me either. And again. Boys kind of suck. And I realized that I’m worth so much more. I mean, I still cried, but it was a step. I cried a lot when a guy drunkenly yelled something at me from his car. He was in the Whataburger drive-thru. His friends apologized on his behalf but it didn’t mean much. I cry whenever I listen to Enchanted by Taylor Swift. I cry almost every time I laugh because I laugh at everything until my stomach hurts. I cry when I feel lost, when I feel like my life has plateaued and nothing good ever happens to me while everyone around me is experiencing and learning and growing. I cry when I feel unloved and unappreciated and alone. The hardest I’ve ever cried was the same night I fell asleep on the floor of my closet. I laid there in the dark and I cried and cried and cried. And I let myself, because crying is good for you. It’s cathartic and it’s human. It reminds me that I am here and I will be here for a long time and during that time I will cry more and more – happy tears, sad tears, and everything in between.