You've always been a sensitive person. Your family would call you dramatic and even though you knew that they weren't entirely serious, you still felt weird about it. As you grew through your teens, it only got worse. Being emotional and sensitive in the world of adolescent boys, you became the easiest target for them. You quickly learned [you taught yourself] how to navigate through middle/high school.
You put your fists up when you needed to, used your words when your temper wouldn't flare up, and you'd run because, well, you were great at running. Not so much the physical act of running [you actually hated it] but mentally. You were never really there. And you've been trying to change that but sometimes you fall back into the empty space between your head or the one in your chest.
After your years as a sensitive high-school kid, you spent some time with yourself. You learned how to build a hard iron shell around who you really are. You closed yourself off from the world, from people that wanted to get to know you, from everything. You lived like this for years.
Clutter comes, confuses and invades. The junk in your yard and the brain you can’t change. You’re out of control. You don’t want to go. It’s hard to stay warm when the cold’s in your bones.
And that's how it's been. You froze yourself over. At one point, you were a river. Now you are a glacier [you still are today but you know how to control it]. Friends, girlfriends, family, they would all cry in front of you and you sit there and watch while they stare at you and wonder what happened. Why you wouldn't cry with them or feel the things they feel. It's like you have a switch that you could flip on or off at any moment.
Do you remember the last time you cried? And I mean really cried. Yes, you've shed tears over ex-partners numerous times but do you remember the time you truly, honestly, cried. Do you remember when your walls finally came down and you collapsed into another person arms while tears fell down your face and onto their shirt?
It was a couple weeks after your grandmother had passed away. You felt [and still feel] an extreme amount of guilt for the way you always said you'd go and visit "next year". Those two words ring in your head like a siren. Loud and intimidating. An angry reminder of what you should have done and what you could have done. You hadn't felt any of that guilt for a while though, you were busy at school. But one day, in between classes, a song comes on shuffle and tears you down.
There were new stories just last time I saw her from the life of my mama’s mother. We’ll have to dream up the ones that we missed because nothing about life is forever. I’ll love you forever.
I'm sorry. I shouldn't have played that song. And you know the way it makes you feel. So I won't explain it. You know that you love your grandmother and you know that she loves you. I shouldn't have brought this up.