Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve always been incredibly conscious of crying in front of people. Even around my family or parents, I was never comfortable with it. Unlike plenty of other children, I didn’t ask for or crave sympathy. I never wanted people to worry about me or why I was crying. Up to now, I remain the same way. I don’t like it when people waste emotion(s) on me. I don’t know why. I just don’t think I’m very worthy of them, if at all. I’m just me, after all.

Of course, there were a lot of times when I couldn’t help but run to my mom or nannies crying. But 98% of the time, whenever I got emotionally hurt in front of my family, I always tried to avoid them seeing me cry. It made me feel awkward and ashamed that I was “shallow” enough to shed tears about whatever it was. I would always rather keep to myself and save everyone else the time and myself the attention, which to this day is something I still don’t quite enjoy. I would always turn away or run somewhere else I could be alone so I could cry to myself and let my emotions out. If there was nowhere else to go, I’d try my best to hold it all in and suck it up until I got a moment alone.

I’m the same way today. I really don’t like crying in front of people. Not because it shows weakness, but because of the same reasons as they always have been. I don’t want people giving me attention I don’t deserve. I don’t want to talk about whatever caused me to cry. I don’t want to open up. I don’t want to realize the reality of the bullshit that caused me to cry. I don’t want people to waste emotions on me. I don’t want them to think about why I cried. And bottom line is, I just don’t want to. The reasons go on, I’m sure. But I think I’ve given enough.

Earlier this morning my mom asked me about my (old) bestfriend Vincent. He and I haven’t seen each other in a while. And we haven’t spoken in ages, it seems.  He hasn’t made any effort to contact me or hang out with me and I’m not going to lie, it’s been hurting me a lot. I was pouring coffee into my mug and Mom innocently asked me how he’s been, if we’ve been seeing each other at all. I didn’t lie; I told her I didn’t have any answers, because we haven’t seen or talked to each other, etc. etc. But I didn’t divulge the complete truth either. I was getting frustrated because a) I couldn’t find the damn creamer for my coffee, and b) I didn’t want to talk about Vincent. I was trying to stall and keep my attention on finding the creamer because thinking about Vincent makes me want to cry. I was holding stinging tears back while my heart pounded heavily beneath my chest. I didn’t want to talk about it, I didn’t even want to think about it. But politely, I shoved the subject aside.

I walked away for a moment while small tears ran down my face. I couldn’t take it, I didn’t want to go back there and think everything over again like I always do. The subject has been worn out to me. I’ve spoken about it to three of my best friends, and even to an old teacher Vincent and I had last year. She was our favorite, and I’d like to believe that we were hers. She knew that Vincent and I were attached to the hip, brother and sister, and the absolute closest. She told me to call him. I told her I have, multiple times and more. I’ve thought about the broken friendship so many times, and it hits me more and worse each time I do. It’s just painful. He was my bestfriend and I’ve lost him.