Falling apart

I've had a revelation of sorts this week---- it's my fault that people say stupid things to try and make me feel better. Want to know why it's my fault? Because I make it hard to let people be comforting. Sounds a little crazy, but there's some truth to it. It is much easier to comfort someone who is weepy and crying than someone who puts up a wall. So because I don't crumble in front of every person who says something idiotic, it's essentially my fault that they keep talking.

Someone at church this past Sunday referred to me as "the Rock". Sunday was All Saints Sunday, and there's a part in the service where they read the names of everyone who's died over the last year. And because I'm not one to fall apart in front of people, I get called a Rock. Which translates into, "what the heck is wrong with you, you should be crying, don't you even care?" What do they know anyway? I am not a rock. I don't want to be anyone's rock. There's absolutely nothing wrong with showing emotion. Somedays I wish I could, I think it might help. But it's not who I am. It upsets me that they all think I am cold and uncaring because I refuse to share my heart with people who are virtually strangers. I don't trust easily, and I don't bare my soul to just anyone. I try and tell myself that the people who really know me understand. My parents know it. I wonder sometimes if I make it harder on them, but they know it. My friend Sally knows it. Debbie knows it. Lauren knows it. So why do I really care what anyone else thinks?

Because the truth is that I am a mess. I've been slowly falling apart for the last seven months, and I don't know how to pick up the pieces. I'm tired of putting up with people being stupid, making excuses that they say stuff because they don't know any better, and then I come off as the rude one.

I am so tired of being mad at Emily, but dangit, I am so mad I can't get past it.