When I filled out a survey a couple of weeks ago, one that happened to ask me the last time I cried, I wrote my honest answer: I don't really cry. I'm something of a robot that way.
But I actually thought about that more over the following few days.
I used to cry. I used to cry a LOT. If a teacher didn't call on me, someone didn't smile at me in the hallway, I got a bad grade, I got a good grade but could have done better, complained to the teacher and didn't get it changed. If I called a friend to go to lunch, and they couldn't go. If...you get the picture.
Partly, I grew up. Partly, I settled into being me and learned that not all disappointments are a direct reflection on my personality, intelligence or mere existence in the world. In other words, I figured out that the world doesn't revolve around me.
Funnily enough, I never thought that the world revolving around me meant that I should get my way all the time, that the world should do my bidding. No, I believed that the world was, instead, so concerned with my unhappiness that everyone in it had conspired to make sure that this unhappiness continued, regardless of my attempts to the contrary.
Now, I don't cry nearly as often.
When I do, they are great, huge, loud sobs that frighten the cat and worry my mom.
Though I don't cry much now, I used to.