I cried last night. I only point this out because it has been a while since I have, and I am fairly certain it will be a while before I do again. This has nothing to do with the belief held by some individuals that men who cry are wusses. I really don’t care how much of a man you think I am.
I have conditioned myself to expect the worse possible outcome in most situations. This is because, before I began that conditioning, I used to expect the best and was constantly being let down. Sure, a better initial outlook would be somewhere in between the best and the worse, but it seems that I am incapable of that. It is because of this conditioning that I rarely cry. This also gives me a somewhat stoic appearance to others, though that is not the case at all.
I don’t like being cynical, because with it comes being alone.
Sometimes, some things in my life seem constantly good enough that I can raise my level of expectation. It is not a conscious thing, mind you, but something that merely happens, and then sometime later I realize it happened, and yet can do nothing about it.
Last night, I thought I was going to lose one of those constant things. One of those things I have learned to trust, and accept and rely on. And I was scared. Very scared. And part of me said, “Daniel, don’t budge. You don’t need this thing”, and the other part of me knew the truth. I cried.
And when I left last night, I felt better. I felt as though I had not mistrusted. I felt as though I would not end up hurt in the long run. This morning, however, there is a bitter taste in my mouth that is worse than that of my morning coffee. I am considering forcing myself to close off in order to save me from the pain that will inevitably come.
No one really knows I am this cynical. I do a good job at hiding it.