I can still feel the burning sensation taking over my throat, my chest and the reluctant muscles that hold my features together, my body was fighting me.
I can still remember the taste of the deranged and strange wave of fear that carved its way into my thoughts as I prevented the shame that an imminent outburst would take over in case I gave in. I can still hear the words in my head and the words that followed this moment coming from my dad's lips: "Don't hold your tears, never hold your tears." I heard him once and that was enough, for once has always proved to be enough for me.
After the very first time I felt like crying in public and that I tried to hold it in, the physical pain I went through ended up being just a reminder of how my body responded to the deliberated disregard of my own feelings and instincts, a competent way of proving me to myself even in such an early stage of my growing process.
Maybe crying is the only way my body can let the frustration of a harsh feeling escape, and maybe - just maybe - my father knew better not to let me hold everything in even though I initially thought that keeping what I feel to myself was the best method to preserve my integrity. Although I still hold so much in, maybe more than I should, crying is the only physical proof of my incapacity to withhold this ocean of passion I master and have no clue of what to do with.
***
picture from here.
