223,000 strikes of Paint

Matters of the heart

I crack open a egg. The hot skillet sizzles as soon as the egg touches it. I wipe moisture from my brow with the back of my hand.
I watch the egg sizzle as it cooks. My stomach churns with hunger as the aroma of eggs fill the air. I flip the egg, it sizzles in the pan.

I look outside through my window. It's sunny and warm. I hear birds chirp. I poke the egg and scrape it on a plate. I sprinkle salt and pepper and grab a fork. I sit down on the couch and stare at the plate.

I sigh and take a bite. I look at my phone and see no new notifications. I force myself to finish the rest of the egg.
I walk in the bathroom and gaze at myself in the mirror. My hair is greasy and messy. I poke my reflection, I know I'm the same person, but I don't feel like myself.

Tears fill my vision and I choke back sobs.

I stare at myself, I lost my confidence, and zest for life. My heart pounds in my chest, I grip the counter tightly, my knuckles turn white. I poke my reflection.
"Be a man,"
I tell myself.
"Men aren't supposed to cry!"
I glare angrily at myself. I remember crying as a child my mother would comfort me and whisper soothing words, but my father got angry, scream insults, and demand I stop being a sissy.

I feel my heart beat quicken as I choke back tears. Pain tore through my chest and up my shoulder. I grab my chest and tilt my head back, I won't allow myself to cry. The pain grew more intense in my chest. I stumble out the door, I shakily grab my phone off the couch and dial emergency services.

I press the green button, my vision fades and my body went limp. The phone falls through my fingers and hits the floor.

I open my eyes, everything feels hazy. I sit up and wince. I lay back down and examine my surroundings. The walls are white, the room smells of cleaner. The door opens and in walks a man wearing a white coat.
"Good evening, sir." The doctor says "You had a nearly fatal heart attack."
My eyes open wide, and I shake my head.
"I thought that only happens when you're older."
The doctor sighs.
"Poor stress management is the number one cause of heart attacks."

I lay down my head on the pillow and stare at the ceiling.

"We'll get you started on some medication and monitor you for the next few days." The doctor clears his throat.

"Any questions?"
I look at him.
"Do you cry, doc?"
He chuckles and nods his head. "It's very important to feel emotional pain and crying allows us to heal, and reduce cortisol levels in the body."
I look away from his direction and stare at the floor.
"I was taught crying meant weakness." I look at the doctor.
He pushes his glasses up.
"Crying takes guts and it's admirable when a man opens up about his struggles. Crying is a strength and more men need to realize that."
I stare at him.
"So you're saying if I allowed myself to cry I wouldn't be in this position?"
The doctor shrugs his shoulders.
"Possibly."
I close my eyes. "Thanks, doc," I mumble.
He nods his head and exits the room.
I shakily take a breath and allow tears to fall.