When my dad died, I realized that the saddest part of my situation was that I've allowed myself to be hurt so much in the past that I've somehow forgotten what it's like to feel pain. I've become so numb and so used to the whirlpool of depression that I wasn't capable of mourning for my own father. I cried of course, but there was always this empty space inside me and it was longing for grief and desolation. It was frustrating because I couldn't give it.
I am ashamed of the petty love life issues that have mercilessly scythed me in the past. I am ashamed that I couldn't mourn. I am ashamed that I was apathetic. I am ashamed because I wasn't sad enough. And I know I should have been very sad.