Men, when was the last time you cried?
The Cost of Silence
My father raised me to believe emotions are weakness, then tried to punish me for seeking therapy, so I sent him to jail. Now a year later, he’s telling everyone I’m mentally unstable.
On my fourth birthday, my dad gifted me with violence. One of the kids at the party was running around and slammed head first into my skull. I started crying my eyes out.
That’s when my dad scooped me up and took me to the bathroom. But instead of wiping my eyes dry or just giving me a hug, he hit me hard.
“You’re a big boy now, and big boys don’t cry,” was all he said before walking out and leaving me there to lick my wounds.
From there, I did my best to never be upset. I was so successful that my dad even started testing me to see if I’d crack.
I come home to see my action figures being chopped into little pieces with a steak knife. Or sometimes on TV, he would play compilation videos of the most gory, gruesome videos from horror movies. But the pain from my fourth birthday memory was so sharp that I never cracked.
Sometimes my big brother Sam would try to come to me when our dad wasn’t home. It’s okay to show emotions, he’d say while stroking my hair.
Just don’t do it in front of dad, but you can always come to me for anything.
At the time, I was so wired to my dad’s approval that I honestly started to believe Sam was a wuss. I never told on him, but I secretly hoped he would die for being such a weakling, that it was what he deserved.
Well, dad was driving Sam to school with me in the back seat when a car started speeding down the road. Luckily, Dad managed to stop in time.
As we all caught our breaths from the near-death experience, a truck came out of nowhere and slammed right into us. That’s what you get for driving in NYC on Halloween night.
I guess I managed to brace for impact in such a way that left me with just a slight concussion. But as I was rushed to the hospital, I saw Sam was left behind. That’s when I knew he was dead.
A numbness flooded my body. Looking back, I was undoubtedly disassociating. A few days later, when I processed everything, I came to the conclusion that the reason I was alive and Sam was dead was simple. Because he was a wuss and he deserved his fate.
Throughout my entire unconventional period of grief, I didn’t cry, not once. This made my dad love me 100 times more. He told me I was a real man and I would grow up to be big and strong.
It was like his words were my only source of joy. So whenever I felt that familiar feeling of gray creeping into my heart, I would just sink it into the pit of my stomach.
My days became filled with long naps and overeating. By the time I turned 15, I was a 400 lb overweight and sewers lidal teenager. I had numbed myself so much that I couldn’t even remember what empathy felt like.
I’d spend all day only watching out for myself with the if I make someone sad, that’s their problem mentality.
When I turned 16, the guidance counselor pulled me in for a mandatory meeting. I thought she was going to give out to me for being so selfish or even tell me I needed to lose some serious weight. Instead she stared at me with her big blue eyes.
Nate, I’m concerned about you. We all are.
She then handed me a leaflet for therapy.
Take this. I think it can really help.
I yelled at the top of my lungs.
What the f? Respectfully, I don’t need a shrink is the last thing I said before shoving the paper deep into my pocket and walking out.
It was pretty much the exact same reaction my dad would have had until later that day. My dad was watching Shaw Shank Redemption, Sam’s favorite movie.
From downstairs, I could picture Sam’s face changing through his favorite scenes. He’d always annoy us by quoting the characters as they said their lines. For the first time in years, I actually wanted to cry.
But no tears came out. So instead, I called the therapy number. She told me she had been expecting me, and we had our first session right there and then. Didn’t even talk about payment.
By the end of it, I was in fact crying my eyes out into my pillow so my dad wouldn’t hear, but still. From there, I started journaling and meditating.
Feeling again was so exhausting that I was still napping for hours each day. But I also liked it. I started to understand why people didn’t just unal alive themselves. My heart felt so full.
