Dead Inside

I've been told that I'm dead inside. Honestly, the way I see it, it's not a bad thing. It's not that I don't FEEL. It's that I don't SHOW feelings and, ordinarily, I handle tragedy and sadness with humor. It's a coping mechanism for me. To everyone else, it looks like callousness. Fuck 'em.

Death and tragedy are a part of life. If I allow myself to let in all the crappy things that go on in this world, I would crumple into a heap and never be able to function again. It's not that things don't affect me as profoundly as they affect others, but crying about it and dwelling on it will not change anything. The dead are still dead, the sick are still sick, the poor are still poor, injustice is still out there, and there is no prince riding up on a white horse to save the maiden. So, my motto has simply become Suck It Up.

I cry. Sure, I do. It's rare, but it happens. When it happens, it's usually away from others. No need to subject others to that. I don't like discussing my feelings. I'm very much like a male in that regard. Life is too fucking short to lay around feeling sorry for yourself or others or beating someone else over the head with your sob story. Enjoy every moment that you can. The sucky parts of life are what makes the rest so great.

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