This is an interesting, and relevant, topic for the week, considering everything that has been going on in my life lately.
A friend told me last night that it was a "bad thing" that I didn't open up to people about things. I was insulted at first--I don't come from the school of thought that believes in talking every single thought and emotion to death. Then I thought about it, and compared my best friend and I's different handlings of our recent breakup.
My best friend, on the minimum, makes a short remark about his ex daily. There is at least one drawn-out, sorrowful rant about her. There are recounts of every dream in which she is even the most minimal factor. There are taboo songs, words, movies, etc. because they bring back terrible memories of their short-lived happiness. Her name is a four-letter word (both literally and figuratively).
On the other hand, I have taken the road less traveled. When my ex and I broke up in July, and I had to move home from California, only the most important people in my life were notified, and even then it was more of a heads-up, I'm coming back to Jersey sort of thing. They asked questioned, I provided the least amount of detail possible. They comforted, I overdid the bravado or ignored their help completely. I cut off any conversation even remotely related to my feelings about the break-up.
I'm not sure that the avoidance tactic is the best approach for my emotional state. I was raised in a family that propagated Tylenol for any kind of ache or pain. I rely on my friends in times of need for laughter, for self-esteem boosts, and for general company. But even to my best and closest friends and family, pouring my heart out just feels unnatural.
My friends that understand this part of me have been great. When I met up with an old high school friend and reluctantly (and briefly) described why I was home, her immediate response was to order me a shot and change the subject. Now that's a girl after my own heart.