Bad Habit Not Talent

     I cry all the time now. My cousin and I were actually just talking about it this past Saturday. We both are always spilling silent tears. The difference between her and I is that mine are always behind closed doors. I have always been very good at hiding my emotions. To the point where it might actually be a curse not a blessing--a bad habit, not a talent. To the point where people probably whisper to each other "How can she be so cold?", "If I was her I would be a visible wreck", "She must be lying, look at her, she doesn't actually feel that way". Just because I make it a point to never be visible, doesn't mean I am not a wreck. Hell, Nathan barely ever sees that side of me. I can count on one hand how many times I have let myself breakdown in front of him in the past 7--almost 8 now--years. There is only one time I ever broke down in front of my therapist for--look at me now, talking about it like I am bragging. Who am I? How gross is that? I don't wan't to be this way, I swear it. 

    I catch myself constantly checking my phone. Sometimes even staring at it. Just waiting for that text, although I know it will be a phone call if I am not there. They said it would be days now. Today I saw her in a wheel chair. She looks so much like my Mamó--so strong yet so frail. I try to write, but this is all I can write about now. I feel like a broken record. Even in therapy it is all that takes up our time--my thoughts of her. I feel like I am running in circles. I feel like a shell of myself. I feel out of control. I feel like I am floating just inches off the ground and I can't catch my footing. I feel helpless. I feel empty because all my screaming hasn't been answered--hasn't been heard. Even my tears now-a-days are, like I said, silent. I silently shake in cold showers like I am coming off a withdrawal. I feel nauseous. All. The. Time. I can't sleep. I barely eat. 

    No one can help me. People ask me how it is going or how she is doing, and what does anyone expect me to say? I say the truth, "Well she is still dying". Those words always trigger the same response, a look of shock from my cold tone, then a look of disgust as I watch their eyes process exactly what my cold tone said, but it all melts into pity at the end. I don't want their pity.

    Like I said; it's a bad h--actually just read the title because I am not going to write it again.