I’m sensitive yet stoic. I do not shed tears lightly. I won’t cry you a river or leave salty droplets on my pillow. As an adult, I can count the number of times I have truly cried on one hand. As a child, I only remember two occurrences (though I’m sure there were a few more). My strength is my greatest asset. In my mind, tears signify weakness and I decided long ago never to let my weakness show. I’ve surpassed many physical and emotional struggles by exuding strength over weakness.
Tears won’t fall at funerals even though the loss deeply saddens me. I blink back my grief until it dries.
Tears never shed for pain. I mentally defeat the agony.
My eyes remain dry when I’m overjoyed. I inwardly express happiness. In triumph, I smile.
Movies may depict real life scenarios, but I keep calm and stone faced. If a scene causes my emotions to swell to the surface, I quickly direct my focus elsewhere.
I admit there are a few things that caused my eyes to moisten (and perhaps shed a tear or two):
1. The ending of the movie “The Sandlot”- It reminds me that few friendships last the test of time. It’s representative of all the friends I have had to let go of over the years. Whether it be the gymnasts from my youth or the work friends who left the state, only certain people stay in your life forever. Life changes. You change with it.
2. The song “Beat This Summer” by Brad Paisley- This is a new addition to the list. The intention of the song, not the specific words, made the waterworks rise as I drove to work during my last week. (As long I live/ whatever I do/ As great as it is, you know what’s a bummer/ I ain’t ever gonna beat this summer with you). I recently received this song on a mix CD from someone who has made the last 4.5 years in Orlando worthwhile. This will be one of the hardest goodbyes I’ll ever have to say. This friendship, though, I know will defeat time.
Yes, there is an connection between one and two. I’m a sucker for my friends.
3. The passing of my dog. I cried because he was alone in the room as the Vet put him to sleep. No one familiar held him in comfort. He may not have known what was happening, but I wouldn’t have wanted to be alone if I was the one being placed into a forever slumber.
Given the minimal tears I shed, only a few people have ever seen me cry and it will most likely never happen again. I’ve come to hate crying- truly hate the act of it whether in private or public. I conceal my feelings. I don’t let them show. I’m not ashamed to say that either. I can think of better, more productive ways for me to show my emotions like through writing or painting. I’d rather express myself creatively than cry. Tears produce nothing. Creativity breathes life into my sadness.