Babies cry a lot. I know why. They have fears and frustrations that cannot be expressed in words. But when they get older, they are expected to hold their sadnesses in if they can't talk about it sensibly. If a boy of ten cries with the uselessness of it all, he is greeted with "Big boys don't cry. You're a big boy, aren't you?" But he's just expressing his fears that he doesn't know how to vent otherwise.
And even if we talk about our feelings, there's still the possibility that people will say, "So? That's stupid." Our society is not a friendly one. If you don't put a wall up, the world will destroy you. But sometimes, living in a walled city is lonely. And it gets worse as time goes on. The wall gets higher, and you forget how to open the gates. Your secrets, your hopes, your dreams, mean nothing. You forget joy. You can't get hurt, but you can't feel happiness because you can't feel. Nothing matters anymore.
I don't remember exactly when I erected my first wall. Maybe when I first heard the murmurs behind my back, when I first heard people say, "Wow, she's really a weirdo." I was hurt. I didn't want it to happen again. I started, tentatively, to build walls. But time went on, and I forgot. I let my guard down, and again I was hurt. And again. Finally, I erected walls that none could penetrate. I became desensitized. I forgot how to smile, but I learned how not to cry. Each time I was cut, the sting lessened. But even so, I wonder if the wall was worth its cost.
'96/'97
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