In a comment on my last entry, Naturgesetz pondered the idea of a deeply set internal idea that 'Big boys don't cry'.
In a way, he's right... but it runs a little deeper than just that.
In one of my many attempts to find just the right words to explain why I can't cry around others, I explored the idea of my High School days and the actions and attitudes of my Father as a possible cause.
I was bullied rather badly throughout high school from both my fellow students and at times even the teachers themselves.
I've already written about Dad's impact on me, so I won't bore you with those details again.
In short, I refused to give the arseholes the satisfaction of seeing my tears.
I would turn the other cheek instead, laugh it off and pretend like I was invincible. That nothing they could do would ever break me.
I guess this just became something of a reflex reaction over time, whenever I felt like crying I would force it back down and let a smile surface instead.
But I digress... this was supposed to be about why the 'gift of tears' was an interesting notion...
I couldn't sleep last night, so I decided to watch some snippets of Bare: A pop opera.
A certain person told me that it was guaranteed to bring me to tears. To which I laughed and said I'd prove him wrong just to be difficult.
Turns out he was right, it did bring me to tears. But only after I pictured him in the role he wants to play.
I couldn't bear to watch the rest of it, so I turned it off and laid back down to sleep again.
Shortly after I felt the most beautiful sensation as a single tear ran down my face.
All I wanted then was for a certain someone to be there.
Tears for me symbolise my vulnerability, a baring of my soul. It's why only a select few have ever seen me cry...
So maybe I'm not broken after all... I'm just saving my tears as the ultimate expression of my friendship. A gift of tears even...
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