I used to think all feelings, except happy feelings, were evil. And then even some of those happy ones were just a bit too much, too. Tears, even joyful ones, were immature. Being too expressive was foolish. I believed emotional people were unstable and thus unable to clearly rationalize. But then I broke. For two straight months, I couldn't think. The sudden onslaught of inward pain numbed me and my body reacted by going into shock from exposure to foreign feelings I'd once refused to know. And for that short time I didn't care about what I'd once thought of emotions—they owned me and all reason and logic were gone. But as my senses slowly returned, I hated myself for giving in to the emotions that gripped all of me. I'm not sure how I would have got through it if a couple of my friends hadn't told me over and over that, it was okay to grieve. With my friends support, I let myself feel my way through those dark months and I let my brain just die for...