Am I Still Strong if I Cry?

My identity is more than a collection of sad events. Someone, I forget who said that I lived “a series of unfortunate events”.

I do my best to step aside from identifying myself with such things. I do not want sympathy, pity, or even words really. I want genuine understanding that I have experienced some shit. Shit that would bring a big boy to his knees. Shit that would make you pray if you did not previously do so.

I have and always will (politely) spit in the face of evil. I will never fold. I will never quit. I stand up for myself and my loved ones.

Everything is up in the air, I am holding steady and ready to be ready.

I do not really cry anymore—the medication and treatment have me pretty even keel.

I opened my laptop to maybe write a note to myself. I even had a pretty nice day considering circumstances. I joined a gym, made a friend, even cleaned up a little.

I opened my laptop to check in with the chaotic status of…things. I did not even actually do anything other than open my laptop. One, big, fat, hot tear went down my face.

I would not even consider it active crying. Just one tear. And then it was done.

Everything is different than I ever imagined.

I will be strong. I do not cry much despite my skeletons. I do not know the answer, as I am still processing the surprise degradation of my everything—but am I still strong?