and the dam broke

I used to have to poke myself in the eye at funerals. not really, but only because I didn't care that I couldn't cry. it was almost a claim to fame for me, something I was proud of: my inability to shed a tear. once I passed the age where you cried about splinters, it almost slowed to being an annual (semi-annual if I'm generous) event. I carried my own pain around at arm's length with a limp hand, and other people's pain never went past my brain, none of it could get all the way in. and then something happened. and the dam broke. and there was no holding this pain away, because it's point of origin was the deepest parts of me. and I cried more in a month than I probably did in the entirety of my life. and who knows, maybe half the tears weren't even about that, maybe they were just leftover from old funerals and friends' heartaches. and now it seems everything can get in, and it doesn't matter how many times I swallow I still have to look out the window. but its ok, its great in fact. because I think its called compassion, and its called the ability to feel, and apparently someone had to take a hatchet to my heart to get me there, but it broke the dam, so it was worth it.