And it comes….. that feeling that my chest went straight to hell. That feeling like my lungs are forcing air through my throat. The wieght of my tongue is unbearable. My mind is telling me to “Stop!! Suck it up!! Men don’t cry.” A feeling of embarrassment fuels my emotional state. I think about my situation. Why I even have the audacity to let my emotions get the best of me. I’ve been here before. I’ve been in worse than this. There’s someone out there existing right now this second in a situation i couldn’t hold a candle to. So why am I about to cry? These questions flow through my thoughts, even with the heavy heart, even with the sweat on my brow and water rushing to escape my tear ducts. I ask myself why? How did I get here. In this bathroom? On this stall? In this situation? Alone. Helpless. Defenseless. Emotional to the point where I am about to let go and cry. Why?
……… Because I hurt. And when I dont want to complain to someone who’s going to tell me what i dont want to hear, and I don’t feel like guzzling a liter of Svedka, or watching my problem escaping through the lit end of my blunt or watching a film that will take my mind to a place far away from where i am…. this feeling of, “Im about to cry.” hits me. I don’t want a hug. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to escape. I just want to…. cry. And maybe my delimma will miraculously be over when I’m done.
It sucks so bad. It hurts so much. But as a man, we “can’t” express that emotion. Its taboo. I’ll be a “bitch” or a “punk” or whatever term that can imasculate me to the point where i will always feel ashamed to show emotional pain without aggression. So I let society get the best of me. And I mentally wipe the tears that never appeared away and tell myself whatever was bothering me isn’t that serious. And I will live another day.
Inside Nianda Speaks