In The Absence of Tears
A friend once told me he could never imagine me depressed. “There is nothing but sunshine and daisies and rainbows in your world,” he said. “I can almost see the butterflies hovering over your head. A serious problem for you is a pimple or a flat tire.”
Of course, he is completely wrong.
I don’t know why a lot of people seem to think my life is perfect. I don’t have any idea why he would think I’m perpetually on Prozac just because I laugh at all his jokes, even the bad ones (it’s called charity laugh, you unfunny bastard) and don’t feel the need to whine about my problems to anyone who will listen.
The truth is, I’m not very good at expressing my emotions. I’m real good at listening to other people’s problems but not talking about my own. I equate talking or even brooding over my problems to weakness and self-pity. Instead, I immerse myself in work, social activities and hobbies. And because there’s a tendency to want to isolate yourself from the world and wallow in the depths of your despair, I try to spend as much time as possible with people whenever I feel down. Especially people who mean something to me. Just listening to you talk about your trip to Cambodia, or your dick of a boss, or the liberating feeling of not wearing underwear (don’t ask) really helps, because it reminds me that the world doesn’t revolve around me.
That’s the advice people always give when you’re going through a difficult period. Go for drinks with friends. Go shopping. Go do something you enjoy.
But for me, it has not done much. The solace I was seeking was never to be found in the malls and watering holes of KL. Keeping myself busy has made time pass by faster, but the days are still dreary and the nights still desolate.
Even being constantly surrounded by people doesn’t change anything. Have you ever felt so alone in a room full of people?
The trouble is, maybe by not letting myself despair, there is never an outlet for all this negativity. The worst kind of sorrow is the kind not expressed in tears. How do you get rid of pain when you deny it even exists? Where then does it all go? I know where it goes. It internalizes and becomes so well-hidden that it starts eating at you without you even being aware of it. It consumes you from within, bit by bit, until there is nothing left.
Until you are nothing but a void, an abyss.
I quickly laugh at everything for fear of having to cry.
- Pierre Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais, French author
