My emotional control has been remarked upon. Has been said to be remarkable. I am unsure if this is a good thing. When I am upset, I say so; I articulate the whys and the hows, I explain my hurt in simple words. I don't cry, except that sometimes I do. I try to protect myself - I am marshmallow soft, sticky and vulnerable. I worry sometimes that I try too hard, and that people will think I am cold. And I worry sometimes that I am cold.
But I am not. I walked to work this morning with tears streaming down my rosie cheeks and a catch in my breath. No wracking sobs, just a quiet, composed cry. A curly headed eejit with oversized headphones and a leaking face. People stared. I arrived on Leeson Street, made my excuses and smiled, whey-faced and red-eyed, for the camera. I drank tea, made my excuses and smiled, whey-faced and red-eyed, for the company.
Now I'm home and I'm safe, explaining my hurt in simple words.
But I am not. I walked to work this morning with tears streaming down my rosie cheeks and a catch in my breath. No wracking sobs, just a quiet, composed cry. A curly headed eejit with oversized headphones and a leaking face. People stared. I arrived on Leeson Street, made my excuses and smiled, whey-faced and red-eyed, for the camera. I drank tea, made my excuses and smiled, whey-faced and red-eyed, for the company.
Now I'm home and I'm safe, explaining my hurt in simple words.
