In My Darkest Hour

my brother recently had his son, about a week ago. nothing could prepare me for that moment when he came in through those gray sterile doors and announce the birth of his son. it was a moment that stays etched in your mind for all eternity. my mom and sister crying in joy, my dad was extremely happy, and my little brothers were congratulating him. everyone was happy, except me. like i said before, affection is something that im not good at showing or receiving. but this was different. this is my brother. my blood. i wanted to feel happy for him but i couldnt. at one point throughout that moment of celebration i was expecting compassion to kick in, but it never did. my emotions stood me up at the worst time.
 my poker face was on the minute i stepped into the hospital. i dont like hospitals. death roamed the halls, giving the chosen few invitations to their final dance. i was sure of it. my lungs felt squeezed and my stomach felt like it was eating itself. its ironic how most people are born in a hospital and most people die in a hospital. my dreams have shown me in a hospital before, and it was never a happy ending.

 am i reading too deep into my own flaws? what am i overlooking? writing about it only gets me so far. i need a 3rd party opinion. my own answers are becoming questions themselves. the simplest thought becomes a giant game of chess in my mind. that day at the hospital, my family saw the part of me that they knew existed but never wanted to witness. they saw past my mask and didnt like what they saw. they saw nothing. nothing but a serious scowl on a day that represents and means so much to them. to me, it was just another day. no joy, no hope, no love. no compassion. im not going to say that i dont care, because maybe i do. the situation doesnt affect me. it makes my life indifferent, even if its a major family event.

i was born with a talent not many people have. my brain is a sponge for knowledge. if i dont understand something, i make it my goal to find out everything i can and make myself an expert on the subject. which is probably why i obsess with everything. my mind is my own enemy. what it doesnt know it wants to learn, and what it learns is never enough. its past midnight at the moment im typing this and i have so many questions to ask. the main questions that's bothered me is the one i get asked frequently: why am i like this? what happened to me in my past that molded me into what people see me as? i dont know. and thats the part i cant figure out. i dont smile, i rarely laugh, and for some reason people tell me i look intimidating to approach. all i can answer with is "thats just who i am". genuine compassion was something i felt i could give out when i was younger. but life has taught me something. a person can only donate so much of themselves to others before they turn into the the person who needs.