making it public

Today I cried in the middle of Panera Bread.
I was feeling such loss and loneliness that my head started to reel. I sat in the corner and put my head in my hands, trying to pull myself together until my buzzing led-lit pager went off. I took my salad outside, where my sunglasses could hide my tears, and poked at it. And old man covered in liver-spots and plaid looked at me through the window.
I haven't been able to cry the way I need to. Tears here and there, often, daily... but not the all-out hysterical, sobbing, can't-breathe snot bubble sort of crying. I need that kind of crying. It's stuck. It's won't come out. Something is stopping it. (Me)
I wrote by the lake for a while, with my wet, dirty Newfoundland laying behind me after her dip. She periodically approached behind me and sat as close as possible, nosing my face or laying her head on my shoulder. I wrote about how I know all the things I need to do. I know the concepts, the cure. I am having a very difficult time doing them. The earth feels a bit like quicksand, grasping at my legs, cementing me, rooting me in place.
Instead I have panic attacks all day and a drunken bender that ends in me saying things I shouldn't say out loud. I give up and go to bed in the middle of the day. In the "productive moments" I draw phenomenally sad pictures on a large scale. Sometimes I write in a blog that no one reads.
I am having quite a bit of difficulty with my brain.

I will meditate on this pain... see if I can coax the real tears to come...