Dry Tears

I cried, but didn't today. There's a political cartoon out there, with a happy little dog behind the terminal. The text: "On the Internet, nobody knows you're a dog."

On the Internet, you can hide behind emoticons. I smiled today when I wasn't smiling. I laughed without mirth, and felt false joy.

It wasn't dishonest or malicious, either; it was my better self typing away in the window, the one that displays compassion and empathy when my real self feels longing or pain. The ideal person, who has limitless strength, or seeming wisdom. The self that knows better. A much better person than the one who's actually behind the keyboard. The one who can always be there for a friend and never needs anything himself. The one who can't be hurt. Not anymore.

So tempting, to be able to hide behind the distance and the letters of the text. Over the internet, nobody knows when the rear of your throat tightens and prickles and aches like you've just swallowed a quart of vinegar. When your shoulders tense and move forward, and that spot in your sternum feels like it's going to implode. Or when the corners of your eyes pinch, either to hold back tears or to squeeze them out of your lids. Not unless you tell them.

Felt the shiver and the strain, the trembling and the tension, but no tears. And it's just as well.

It's much better to be happy, but this sensation is part of being human. I hope never to forget what this feels like.