One word. Bullshit.
In my life, there has been too much buried in the quicksand of emotion. So much compartmentalized too, in the house of doom.
Where is it written that boys, who become men, are not supposed to cry? Not supposed to show emotion, at the risk of being termed “weak”. I now know where mine came from. As a child I stopped crying, because it was my only way of fighting back. I made a choice then, even though I didn’t know it, to never give those that abused me the satisfaction of seeing my tears. That word NEVER, stuck. I didn’t know it then, but it grew to include any future mention of the trauma. Somehow, I should have been able to stop it from happening.
The fact that I couldn’t, must have meant that I was weak. It was deeply ingrained in me, and became one of the compartments, with a door that was to remain locked.
How does one face, as an adult, a decision based on the raw emotions of childhood? Decisions which just do not fit into this lifetime? Tears, which if could be allowed to flow, might tear apart the fabric of time. Just might, heal.
The problem remains, I cannot cry.
It still “feels” like weakness, and instead of great strength, may be looked upon by those near me, as a break from reality. Nothing good to come from them.
Confusion, is the operative word of the day, with fear running a close second. Yes, I am afraid to appear weak. To open up a side of me that is as raw as it was as a child, only to have it stepped on, again. To have it reacted to with anger, non-acceptance, and ridicule.
Men, are not supposed to cry…..