I have a problem: My eyes are incontinent.

I am not embarrassed about crying simply because I am male–I am ashamed of the things that I cry about. Often I am fine, crying only when appropriate–but there are days, or longer periods of time, in which I cry at inappropriate things. Stories that are neither sad nor happy and not because I feel the spirit. Stupid movies that I don’t care about. Someone criticizing me for the smallest thing–especially if they are right. Luckily, I usually don’t cry openly unless I am in a place where I feel some measure of comfort: at home, at church, in the dark, etc., so I am not overly embarrassed on a regular basis.

I really wish that I had some sort of monthly cycle to blame it on, but what excuse do I have? None. No reason at all. Not because I’m sensitive. Not because I am spiritual. Not even because I hurt or am frustrated. Yet when I cry, I fear that I am leading people to believe one of these things about me and I don’t like misleading people. I feel extremely hypocritical whenever someone sees me cry. No, I am not that touched by the story of how you found your dog dead in the alley–I think you deserved it. I’m just crying because I have something in my eye.

I first noticed my problem on my mission where it may possibly have been a gift. If that is the case however, I feel that it has been perverted now. Unfortunately, it has gotten worse with time. By the time I’m 64, my eyes will be leaking continuously and I may need to have implants or wear eye-diapers to prevent my saline tears from ravaging my then-delicate skin.

I am grateful that I am not afflicted with something worse than incontinent eyeballs, but this seems like something which I should be able to overcome. It seems more like a choice then an affliction. Perhaps someday they will find a biological basis for being a crybaby like they have for being gay, and then I will be absolved of my guilt, but until then I can’t help but feel that by crying I promise people something that I can’t (or at least don’t) deliver.

And now that you have read 5 paragraphs of me complaining about my defective tear ducts. That’s so pathetic it makes me want to cry. When will I write something other than complaining? Probably never–in fact I think my next entry will be me complaining about how I can’t do anything except complain.

You have been warned.